Institutio Oratoria

The deepest bass and the highest treble notes are unsuited to oratory: for the former lack clearness and, owing to their excessive fullness, have no emotional power, while the latter are too thin and, owing to excess of clearness, give an impression of extravagance and are incompatible with the inflexions demanded by delivery and place too great a strain upon the voice.

For the voice is like the strings of a musical instrument; the slacker it is the deeper and fuller the note produced, whereas if it be tightened, the sound becomes thinner and shriller. Consequently, the deepest notes lack force, and the higher run the risk of cracking the voice. The orator will, therefore, employ the intermediate notes, which must be raised when we speak with energy and lowered when we adopt a more subdued tone.

For the first essential of a good delivery is evenness. The voice must not run joltingly, with irregularity of rhythm and sound, mixing long and short syllables, grave accents and acute, tones loud and low, without discrimination, the result being that this universal unevenness produces the impression of

I must warn my readers not to fall into the error of supposing that evenness and variety are incompatible with one another, since the fault opposed to evenness is unevenness, while the opposite of variety is that which the Greeks term μονοείδεια, or uniformity of aspect. The art of producing variety not merely charms and refreshes the ear, but, by the very fact that it involves a change of effort, revives the speaker's flagging energies. It is like the relief caused by changes in position, such as are involved by standing, walking, sitting and lying, none of which can be endured for a long time together.

But the most important point (which I shall proceed to discuss a little later) is the necessity of adapting the voice to suit the nature of the various subjects on which we are speaking and the moods that they demand: otherwise our voice will be at variance with our language. We must, therefore, avoid that which the Greeks call monotony, that is to say, the unvarying exertion both of lungs and voice. By this I do not simply mean that we must avoid saying everything in a loud tone, a fault which amounts to madness, or in a colloquial tone, which creates an impression of lifelessness, or in a subdued murmur, which is utterly destructive of all vigour.

What I mean is this: within the limits of one passage and the compass of one emotion we may vary our tone to a certain, though not a very great extent, according as the dignity of the language, the nature of the thought, the conclusion and opening of our sentences or transitions from one point to another, may demand. Thus, those who paint in monochrome

Let us take as an example the opening of Cicero's magnificent speech in defence of Milo. Is it not clear that the orator has to change his tone almost at every stop? it is the same face, but the expression is changed. Etsi vereor, iudices, ne turpe sit,

pre fortissimo viro dicere incipientem timere.[*](pro Mil. i. 1 sqq. Although I fear, gentlemen, that it may be discreditable that I should feel afraid on rising to defend the harvest of men, and though it is far from becoming that, whereas Titus Annius is more concerned for the safety of the State than for his own, I should he unable to bring a like degree of courage to aid me in pleading his cause; still, the strange appearance of this novel tribunal dismays my eyes, which, whithersoever they turn, look in vain for the customary aspect of the forum and the time-honoured usage of the courts. For your bench is not surrounded, as it used to be, by a ring of spectators, etc. ) Although the general tone of the passage is restrained and subdued, since it is not merely an exordium, but the exordium of a man suffering from serious anxiety, still something fuller and bolder is required in the tone, when he says pro fortissiomo viro, than when he says etsi cereor and turpe sit and timere.

But his second breath must be more vigorous, partly owing to the natural increase of effort, since we always speak our second sentence with less timidity, and partly because he indicates the high courage of Milo: minimeque deceat, cum T. Annius ipse magis de rei publicae salute quam de sua perturbetur. Then he proceeds to something like a reproof of himself: me ad eius causam parem animi maguitudinem adferre non posse.

The next clause suggests a reflexion on the conduct of others: tamen haec novi iudicii nova forma terret oculos. And then in what follows he opens every stop, as the saying is: qui, quocunque inciderunt, consuetudinem fori et pristinum morem iudiciorum requirunt: while the next clause is even fuller and freer: non enim corona cousessus vester cinctus est, ut solebat.

I have called attention to these points to make it clear that there is a certain variety, not merely in

We must also beware of confusing our utterance by excessive volubility, which results in disregard of punctuation, loss of emotional power, and sometimes in the clipping of words. The opposite fault is excessive slowness of speech, which is a sign of lack of readiness in invention, tends by its sluggishness to render our hearers inattentive, and, further, wastes the time allotted to us for speaking, [*](aquam perdit. Lit. wastes water. The reference is to the clepsydra or water-clock employed for the measurement of time. ) a consideration which is of some importance. Our speech must be ready, but not precipitate, under control, but not slow,

while we must not take breath so often as to break up our sentence, nor, on the other hand, sustain it until it fails us from exhaustion. For the sound produced by loss of breath is disagreeable; we gasp like a drowning man and fill our lungs with long drawn inhalations at in appropriate moments, giving the impression that our action is due not to choice, but to compulsion. Therefore, in attacking a period of abnormal length, we should collect our breath, but quickly, noiselessly and imperceptibly. On other occasions we shall be able to take breath at the natural breaks in the substance of our speech.

But we must exercise our breathing capacity to make it as great as possible. To produce this result Demosthenes used to recite as many successive lines as

Sometimes the breath, although capable of sustained effort and sufficiently full and clear, lacks firmness when exerted, had for that reason is liable to become tremulous, like bodies which, although to all appearances sound, receive insufficient support from the sinews. This the Greeks call βρασμός. [*](βράγχος is generally read, but the word is used in the sense of hotrseness, which is not what Quintilian describes. I would read βρασμός, a word meaning effervescence, shaking, shivering. Here = tremolo. ) There are some too who, owing to the loss of teeth, do not draw in the breath naturally, but suck it in with a hissing sound. There are others who pant incessantly and so loudly that it is perfectly audible within them: they remind one of heavily-laden beasts of burden straining against the yoke.

Some indeed actually affect this mannerism, as though to suggest that they are struggling with the host of ideas that crowd themselves upon them and oppressed by a greater flood of eloquence than their throats are capable of uttering. Others, again, find a difficulty in opening their mouths, and seem to struggle with their words; and, further, although they are not actually faults of the voice, yet since they arise out of the use of the voice, I think this is the most appropriate place for referring to the habit of coughing and spitting with frequency while speaking, of hawking up phlegm from the depths of the lungs, like water from a well, [*](trochea is a windlass used for raising water from a well. ) sprinkling the nearest of the bystanders with saliva, and expelling the greater portion of the breath through the nostrils.

But any of these faults are tolerable compared with the practice of chanting instead of speaking, which is the worst feature of our modern oratory, whether in the courts or in the

What can be more fatal to any emotional appeal than that the speaker should, when the situation calls for grief, anger, indignation or pity, not merely avoid the expression of those emotions which require to be kindled in the judge, but outrage the dignity of the courts with noises such as are dear to the Lycians and Carians? For Cicero [*](Or. xviii. 57. ) has told us that the rhetoricians of Lycia and Caria come near to singing in their perorations. But, as a matter of tact, we have somewhat overstepped the limits imposed by the more restrained style of singing.

I ask you, does anyone sing, I will not say when his theme is murder, sacrilege or parricide, but at any rate when he deals with figures or accounts, or, to cut a long story short, when he is pleading in any kind of lawsuit whatever? And if such a form of intonation is to be permitted at all, there is really no reason why the modulations of the voice should not be accompanied by harps and flutes, or even by cymbals, which would be more appropriate to the revolting exhibitions of which I am speaking.

And yet we show no reluctance in indulging this vicious practice. For no one thinks his own singing hideous, and it involves less trouble than genuine pleading. There are, moreover, some persons who, in thorough conformity with their other vices, are possessed with a perpetual passion for hearing something that will soothe their ears. But, it may be urged, does not