Institutio Oratoria

Again in legal cases of minor importance a similar simplicity will be found to be most becoming, a simplicity, that is to say, that does not dispense with rhythm altogether, but uses rhythms of a different kind, conceals them and employs a certain secrecy in their construction.

But the more closely welded style is composed of three elements: the comma, or as we call it incisum, the colon, or in Latin menbrum, and the period, [*]( See § 122; comma, colon, period, now applied to stops, originally referred to varying lengths of clauses or sentences. ) which Roman writers call ambitus, circumductum, continuatio or conclusio. Further, in all artistic structure there are three necessary qualities, order, connexion and rhythm.

which must be considered in connexion with words taken both singly and in conjunction. Words taken singly are known as asyndeta (unconnected). In dealing with them we must take care that our style does not diminish in force through the fact that a weaker word is made to follow a stronger: as, for example, if after calling a man a despoiler of temples we were to speak of him as a thief, or after styling him a highwayman were to dub him an insolent fellow. For sentences should rise and grow in force: of this an excellent example is provided by Cicero, [*](Phil. II. xxv. 63. ) where he says,

You, with that throat, those lungs, that strength, that would do credit to a prizefighter, in every limb of your body

men and women,

day and night,

rising and setting,

In some cases a change in the order will make a word superfluous: for example, we write fratres gemini rather than gemini fratres (twin-brothers), since if gemini came first, there would be no necessity to add fratres. The rule which some have sought to enforce that nouns should precede verbs, and verbs adverbs, while epithets and pronouns should follow their substantives, is a mere extravagance, since the reverse order is often adopted with excellent effect.

Another piece of extravagant pedantry is to insist that the first place should always be occupied by what is first

If the demands of artistic structure permit, it is far best to end the sentence with a verb: for it is in verbs that the real strength of language resides. But if it results in harshness of sound, this principle must give way before the demands of rhythm, as is frequently the case in the best authors of Rome and Greece. Of course, in every case where a verb does not end the sentence, we shall have an hyperbaton, [*](See VIII. vi. 62 sqq.) but hyperbaton is an admitted trope or figure, and therefore is to be regarded as an adornment.

For words are not cut to suit metrical feet, and are therefore transferred from place to place to form the most suitable combinations, just as in the case of unhewn stones their very irregularity is the means of suggesting what other stones they will best fit and what will supply them with the surest resting-place. On the other hand, the happiest effects of language are produced when it is found possible to employ the natural order, apt connexion and appropriate rhythm.

Some transpositions are too long, as I have pointed out in previous books, [*](Only, apparently, in VIII. ii. 14.) while at times they involve faulty structure, although some writers actually aim at this vicious type of transposition, in order to create an appearance of freedom and license, as in the following phrases from Maecenas, sole et aurora rubent plurima ; [*](They grow red in the sunlight and the fullness of dawn. The meaning is uncertain, plurima might be neut. nom. plural. ) inter se sacra movit aqua fraxinos ; [*](The sacred stream ran through the ash-grove.) ne exequias quidem unus inter miserrimos viderem meas. [*](May I never, alone amidst the most miserable of men, behold my own funeral rites.) The worst feature in these examples, is that he plays pranks

not infrequently possible to give special significance to a word by placing it at the close of the sentence and thereby stamping and impressing it on the mind of the hearer, whereas if it were placed in the middle of the sentence, it would remain unnoticed, escape the attention and be obscured by its surroundings; the following passage from Cicero will illustrate what I mean: ut tibi necesse esset in conspectu populi Romani vomere postridie.

[*](Phil. II. xxv. 63. That you were compelled to vomit the next day in the presence of the Roman people. ) Transfer the last word to some other position and the effect will be decreased. For the whole passage is made to converge to a point at the end; the disgraceful circumstance of his being forced to vomit has been mentioned and the audience expect nothing more, when the orator adds yet a further revolting feature of the case, namely that he was still unable to retain his food the day after the carouse.

Domitius Afer was in the habit of transferring words at the cadence of the sentence solely for the purpose of harshening his rhythm, more especially in his exordia, as, for example, in his defence of Cloatilla, where he says gratias again continuo, [*](I will thank you at once.) and in his defence of Laelia, where he says, eis utrisque apud te iudicem periclitatur Laelia. [*]( Owing to both of these circumstances Laelia runs the risk of betng condemned with you for judge. ) To such an extent did he avoid the voluptuous effect of soft and delicate rhythm, that he actually interposed obstacles to break the natural harmonies of his language.

There is a further drawback resulting from the faulty arrangement of words, with which we are all familiar, namely, that it leads to ambiguity. The above remarks will, I think, suffice as a brief summary of the points which require notice in connexion with order. If the order is

I will follow the natural order and will begin by pointing out that there are some blemishes so obvious that even the uneducated regard them as worthy of censure; I refer to occasions when two consecutive words form some unseemly expression by the coalescence of the last syllable of the first word and the first of the second. [*](cp. VIII. 45. ) Again, there are occasions when vowels clash. When this happens, the language is broken by gaps and interstices and seems to labour. The most unpleasing effects of sound will be produced by the juxtaposition of the same long vowels, while the worst hiatus occurs between vowels which are pronounced hollow- or open-mouthed. [*](i.e. A, O, U. )

E has a flatter, i a narrower sound, and consequently such blemishes are less noticeable where they are concerned. It is a less serious fault to place short vowels after long, a statement which applies even more strongly to placing short vowels before long. But the least unsatisfactory combination is that of two short vowels. And in all conjunctions of vowels, the resulting sound will be proportionately soft or harsh according as they resemble or differ from each other in the method of utterance.

On the other hand, hiatus is not to be regarded as so very terrible a crime: in fact I do not know which is the worse fault in this connexion, carelessness or a pedantic

On the other hand Demosthenes and Cicero show a sense of proportion in the way in which they face the problem. For the coalescence of two letters, known as συναλοιφή, may make our language run more smoothly than if every word closed with its own vowel, while sometimes hiatus may even prove becoming and create an impression of grandeur, as in the following case, pulchra oratione ista iacta te. [*](Boast yourself of that fine speech of yours.) For syllables which are naturally long and rich in sound gain something from the time which intervenes between two vowels, as though there were a perceptible pause.

I cannot do better than quote the words of Cicero [*](Or. xxiii. 77. ) on this subject. Hiatus, he says, and the meeting of vowels produce a certain softness of effect, such as to suggest a not unpleasing carelessness on the part of the orator, as though he were more anxious about his matter than his words. But consonants also are liable to conflict at the juncture of words, more especially those letters which are comparatively harsh in sound; as for instance when the final s of one word clashes with x at the opening of the next. Still more unpleasing is the hissing sound produced by the collision between a pair of these consonants, as in the phrase ars studiorum.

This was the reason why Servius, as he

Hence we get forms such as belligerare and pomeridiem, to which the diee hanc [*](i.e. for belligerares, postmeridiem and diem hanc. ) of Cato the Censor, where the final m is softened into an e, presents an analogy. Unlearned readers are apt to alter such forms when they come across them in old books, and in their desire to decry the ignorance of the scribes convict themselves of the same fault.

On the other hand, whenever this same letter m comes at the end of a word and is brought into contact with the opening vowel of the next word in such a manner as to render coalescence possible, it is, although written, so faintly pronounced ( e.g. in phrases such as nultum ille and quantum erat ) that it may almost be regarded as producing the sound of a new letter. [*]( A very probable account is that -m was reduced through the lips not being closed to pronounce it. If, instead of closing the lips all that were done were to drop the uvula, a nasal sound would be given to the following initial vowel, so that fine onerat would be pronounced finewonerat with a nasalized o. Lindsay, Lat. Langu. p. 62. It is this sound which Quintilian describes as almost the sound of a new letter. ) For it is not elided, but merely obscured, and may be considered as a symbol occurring between two vowels simply to prevent their coalescence.