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THE ART 
 
 or 
 
 EXTEMPOEE SPEAKING. 
 
 HIISTT S 
 
 FOB 
 
 THE PULPIT, THE SENATE, and THE BAB. 
 BY M. BAtJTAIN, 
 
 TICAE-GEUEEAL AND PROFESSOR AT THE SORBONNE, ETO. STO. 
 
 "wt:tii ^DDiTiojsrs 
 
 B7 A 
 
 MEMBEK OF THE NEW YORK BAR. 
 
 SIXTH EDITION. 
 
 KEW YORK: 
 
 OHAELES SCEIBNEE & CO., 
 
 124 GEAND BTEEET. 
 
 1865. 
 
EavMRBP Meording to Act of Confmi, In tht yev 1BS& Vy 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER, 
 
 li ttw ClirVfr Offiu of (lie rXitiict Court or the Uoitod Statei, for tba Scutheni NatrtolM 
 Now York. 
 
P K E F A G E . 
 
 The following "Work, by the eloquent M. 
 Batjtain, lias no counterpart or rival in the 
 English language, so prolific of treatises upon 
 Ehetoric, and the separate portions of the arts 
 of composition and delivery. All those parts 
 of oratory, however necessary to public 
 speaking, or conducive to success in its per- 
 formance, yet leave comparatively aside the 
 precise business of off-hand extemporising. If 
 we mistake not, the subject will be found to 
 be handled with masterly ability by the au- 
 thor of this volume, who, keeping his end ever 
 in view, and exemplifying in the treatment of 
 his matter that clarte — so distinctively French, 
 Bud which Quintilian says is the first quality 
 
n PEEFACE. 
 
 of style — subordinates everything to the one 
 grand purpose of extempoiisation. 
 
 The treatise not only supplies a desideraUim 
 in the literature of the language, but it minis- 
 ters to a need peculiarly existing under our 
 -representative system of popular government. 
 It is true, and felt to be bo, — ^that reniark of 
 an acute observer of American instilutions 
 and manners, that " In no country :whatever 
 is a genius for writing or speaking a more use- 
 ful or commanding endowment than in this." 
 To render the work more aptly suited to the 
 precise req^uirements among ourselves, three 
 chapters are added by the American Editor, 
 which it is hoped will serve to smooth .the 
 way for the unpractised, or unassisted stu- 
 dent of delivery. Cicero says in his treatise 
 De Oratore, " There is requisite to the orator 
 the acuteness of the logician, the subtilty of 
 the philosopher, the skilful harmony, almost, 
 of the poet, the memory of a juriconsult, 
 the tragedian's voice, and the gesture of 
 the most finished actors." But he speaks of 
 the highest, for he adds immediately that 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 " nothing is more rare among men than a per- 
 fect orator." The gradations, as in all arts, 
 are infinite, but a certain degree, is within the 
 reach of most men, and many in their efibrts 
 to advance, will become indebted, consciously 
 or unconsciously, to this admirable little work 
 of M. Bautain. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 )jec 
 poraneoua Speech 
 
 ( Exposition of the Subject.— Definition of an extem- 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 The Qualifications necessary for Public Speaking . 10 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Mental aptitudes for Public Speaking, capable of being 
 acquired, or formed by, study . . .42 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 Physical Qualities of the Orator, natural and acquired 84 
 
-CONTENTS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 Division of the Subject .... 108 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 / Preparation of the Plan . , . .113 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 Political and Forensic Spealdng . , .124 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 Speaking from the Christian Pulpit, and Teaching, . 138 
 
 CHAP. IX 
 
 • Determination of the Subject and Conception of the 
 
 Idea of the Discourse .... 146 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 \ Conception pf the Subject. — Direct Method . . 1S6 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 /Conceptionof the Subject. — Indirect Method . . 163 
 
 CHAP. XIL 
 /The Formation and the Arrangement of Ideas . 176 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 PASI 
 
 Arrangement of the Plan . . i 188 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 Character of the Plan ..... 199 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 fi'ii-al Preparation before Spenking . . iO'i 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 Final Intellectual Preparation .... 208 
 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 Final Moral Preparation . , , . • 213 
 
 CHAP. xvin. 
 
 Bodily Preparation . . . , . 229 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 The Discourse ...... 238 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 The Beginning, or Exordium .... 240 
 
 ■CHAP. XXI. 
 Rntrauce into the Subject .... 247 
 
XU CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. xxn. 
 
 PAOI 
 
 The Derclopment ..... 254 
 
 CHAP. XXIII. 
 The Crisis of the Discourse .... 26S 
 
 CHAP. xxiy. 
 The Close of the Discourse, or Peroration . . 280 
 
 CHAP. XXV. 
 After the Discourse ..... 287 
 
 ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS. 
 
 CHAP. XXVI. 
 The Logic of the Orator ... 298 
 
 CHAP. xxvn. 
 
 The Voice in Public Spealdng . . . 829 
 
 CHAP, xxvni. 
 
 Rules of Order and Debate . . . .956 
 
THE ART 
 
 EXTEMPOEE SPEAKIia. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ElXPOSinOK ■ OF THE SUBJECT. — ^DEFINITIOK OB 
 A2J BXTEMP0:i^Alra:01JS SPEECH. 
 
 Let us iii-4be first place exactly determine the 
 subject to which we are to devote our atten- 
 tion, in order that nothing may he expected 
 beyond that which it is our wish and our power 
 to commit to these pages. 
 
 We have no iatention of composing a trea- 
 tise on eloquence. The world has had enough 
 on this subject since the time of Aristotle, 
 Cicero, QuiutUian, Fenelon, and many others, 
 B 
 
2 STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT. 
 
 Treatises on rhetoric abound, and it appears 
 scarcely necessary to produce a new one. 
 
 It is not proposed to treat of the art of 
 writing, nor, consequently, of reciting or pro- 
 perly delivering a discourse elaborated at lei- 
 sure, and learnt by heart. 
 
 A man may certainly become a great orator 
 by writing speeches and reciting them well. 
 Witness Bossuet, Bourdaloue, Massillon, and 
 many others. It is possible in this manner to 
 instruct, to touch the feelings, and to persuade 
 the hearer ; which is the object of the art of 
 oratory. 
 
 Our subject is confined within narrower limits, 
 viz. to the art, of speaking well and suitably in a 
 given situation, whether in the Christian pulpit 
 or in the professorial chair, at the bar or in deli- 
 berative assemblies. We shall therefore confine 
 our attention solely to a discourse, neither 
 written nor leamt by heart, but improvised; 
 necessarily composed by the orator on the veiy 
 moment of delivery, without any preparation 
 or previous combination of phrases. Let us 
 then determine, in the first place, what is an 
 improvised (or extempore) speech, and the 
 manner in which a speech is extemporised. 
 
STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT. 3 
 
 Extemporisation consists of speaking on the first 
 imptilse; that is to say, •without a preliminary- 
 arrangement of phrases. It is the instanta- 
 neous manifestation, the expression, of an actual 
 thought, or the sudden explosion of a feeling 
 or mental movement. 
 
 It is very evident that extemporisation can act 
 only on the form of words, the form of a dis- 
 course ; for, in order to speak, it is necessary to 
 have something to say, and that something must 
 already be existing in the mind, or still more 
 deeply in the intimate feeling of the orator. 
 ITevertheless, the thought or feeling may he in 
 a concealed state, and the possessor may not 
 have clearly appreciated or distinctly perceived 
 it at the moment of opening his lips under the 
 impression of some circumstance or some un- 
 foreseen cause of excitement. 
 
 Ideas and conditions of the mind cannot he 
 extemporised ; and the more perfectly they are 
 possessed or feU the greater is the probability 
 of their lively explosion or of their being deve- 
 loped with force and clearness. 
 
 We will not speak of those exceptional 
 cases where a passion, involuntarily excited oi 
 aroused, bursts forth of a sudden in some sub- 
 b2 
 
1 STATEMENT OF THE STTEJEOT. 
 
 lime ■words, or with an eloquent harangue. 
 " Facit indignatio versum," says Juvenal. 
 
 Every feeling unexpectedly aroused in an ex- 
 cited mind may, like a volcano, scatter around 
 burning lava, or like a cloud, charged with 
 storms and^ hursting suddenly from electric 
 commotion, produce thunder and lightning, a 
 terrible and devastating hail or a salutary and 
 fertilising shower. "No advice can be given for 
 such a situation, for nature alone furnishes the 
 means, in proportion to individual constitu- 
 tion and development. There lies the source 
 of all poetry, of all eloquence, and of all artistic 
 power. Improvisation such as this recognises 
 no rules, and rejects teaching. The coarsest, 
 the most ignorant man may thus occasionally 
 be eloquent, if he feel vividly and express him- 
 self energetically, in words and gesture. 
 
 "We will devote our attention only to pre- 
 pared extempore speaking, that is to say, to those 
 addresses which have to be delivered in public 
 before a specified auditory, on a particular day, 
 on a given subject, and with the view of 
 achieving a certain result. 
 
 It is true that in such cases the discourse, if 
 written beforehand, can be recited or read. 
 
STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT. 5 
 
 There are some persons who are masters of reci- 
 tation or of reading, and can thus produce a 
 great effect. In this manner, doubtless, both 
 thoughts and words can be better 'weighed, and 
 the speaker can deliver what he has to say with 
 greater precision. But there is this drawback, 
 that the discourse is colder, less apposite, and 
 approximates too nearly to dissertation. Nay, 
 should any unforeseen circumstance occur, 
 such as an objection, a rejoinjier, or a discussion 
 of any kind, the speaker not expecting, may 
 find himself stopped short or at fault, to the 
 great detriment of his cause or his subject. 
 Moreover, a preacher, a professor, or a senator, 
 who is liable to be called upon to speak at any 
 moment, has not always the time to compose a 
 discourse, stiQ less to learn it by rote. In 
 speaking from his fulness, therefore, as the 
 saying is, he can speak oftener, and produce a 
 greater effect, if he speak well. 
 
 His speaking will also be more lively and 
 brilliant, — more real, and more apposite. Ori- 
 ginating with the occasion, and at the very 
 moment, it will bear more closely on the sub- 
 ject, and strike with greater force and pre- 
 cision. His words wiU be warmer from thoir 
 bS 
 
6 STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT. 
 
 freslmess, and they mil in this manner com 
 mnnicate increased fervour to the audience. 
 They mil have all the energy of an instan- 
 taneous effort, and of a sudden burst. 
 
 The vitality of thought is singularly stimu- 
 lated by this necessity of instantaneous pro- 
 duction, by this actual necessity of self-expres- 
 sion, and of communication to other minds. 
 It is a kind of child-bearing in public, of which 
 the speaker feels aU the effort and aU the 
 pain, and in this he is assisted and supported 
 by the sympathy of his hearers, who witness 
 with lively interest this labour of mental life, 
 and who receive with pleasure this bantling of 
 thought ; that is to say, an idea well conceived 
 and brought to light ; weU formed, with a fine 
 expression, or with a body of graceful and well- 
 constructed phraseology. 
 
 But it is not our object to compare these 
 two methods of public speaking, nor to place 
 in the balance their advantages and defects. 
 It is possible to excel in both ways, and 
 every one must endeavour to discover the 
 manner which best suits him, and the method 
 by which, according to his nature, his qualities, 
 and his position, his words can achieve the 
 
STATEMENT OF THE SlfBJECT. 7 
 
 greater amount of good, instruct more clearly 
 and more fully, and touch the heart more effec- 
 tually. What suits one does not suit another. 
 God distributes his gifts as seems best to 
 Him ; and every tree bears fruit according to 
 its kind. It is important for man^to discover 
 the gift he has received, to make use of it 
 with usury, and to discharge faithfully his high 
 vocation. "Fiunt oratores, nascuntur poetse," 
 has said Quintilian; meaning, doubtless, that 
 poetic genius is a gift from heaven, and that 
 oratorical talent can be acquired. This is only 
 half true ; for if teaching and labour can con- 
 tribute to the formation of an orator, neither 
 one nor the other will give him the germ and the 
 power of eloquence. They can excite and 
 nourish, but they can never ignite the sacred 
 fire. 
 
 But amongst J;hose who have received this 
 divine gift of words some have only been 
 enabled to exercise it with the pen, and ^ 
 occasionally even the most eloquent writers 
 are incapable of delivering in public that 
 which they K9liw so well to compose in pri- 
 vate. They are troubled and embarrassed be. 
 fore even the least imposing audience. J.J 
 
 b4 
 
8 STATEMENT OF THE 8TJBJE0T. 
 
 Rousseau could never speak in public ; and 
 the Abb6 de Lamennais, wliose style is so 
 vigorous, never ventured to enter the pulpit, 
 and was imable to address even a meeting of 
 children. 
 
 Others, on the contrary, possess the faculty 
 of easily expressing ia public their- feelings and 
 their thoughts. The presence of hearers stimu- 
 lates them, and augments the elasticity of their 
 mind and the vivacity of their tongue. It is 
 these only that we shall address, for we have 
 spoken in this manner through life and have 
 never been able to do otherwise. Many a 
 time, however, have we made the attempt, by 
 preparing an exordium, a tirade, or a perora- 
 tion, with the intention of speaking better or 
 in a inore striking manner. But we have 
 never succeeded in reciting what we had pre- 
 pared, and in the manner in which we had 
 constructed it. Our laboured compositions have 
 always missed their object, and have made us 
 embarrassed or obscure. Thus, it appears, we 
 were made^ and we have been forced to follow 
 our nature. In such matters the lesson to be 
 ieamt is in turning to account the demands of 
 nature which must be satisfied. 
 
STATEMENT OF THE StrBJECT". l) 
 
 As extemporising a speech regards the form 
 only, as has been before stated, it follows 
 that, before attempting to speak in this manner, 
 two things are necessary. 1. The foundation 
 of the discourse, or the thought and succession 
 of thoughts to be expressed. 2. The means of 
 expression, or the language in which they are' 
 to be spoken, so as to avoid the necessity of 
 seeking the words at the same moment as the 
 ideas, and the risk of stopping short of or being 
 embarrassed in the composition of the phrase- 
 ology. In other terms, the speaker must know 
 what he wishes to say and how to say it. 
 
 Improvisation, therefore, supposes the special 
 qualifications on which we are about to speak, 
 not precisely with the view of teaching the 
 means of acquiring them, as for the most part 
 they are- gifts of nature ; but to induce those to 
 cultivate and develope tnem who have the good 
 fortune to possess them ; and, above aU, to 
 point out the signs by which any one may dis- 
 cover whether he be capable of speaking in 
 publicj and how, in so domg, to succeed, 
 
10 NATDEAl QrAUTIES HECE8SABT. 
 
 CHAP. n. 
 
 THE QtrAirPICATIONS NDOESSAET TOE PUBLIC 
 SPEAKING. 
 
 At the root of every real talent, whateyer it 
 may be, there lies a natural aptness, conferring 
 on the person endowed "with it a particular 
 power; and this aptness depends alike on the 
 intellectual temperament and the physical or- 
 ganisation ; for man being essentially composed 
 of mind and body, all that he does in reason, or 
 in his quality as a reasonable being, comes 
 from these two portions of his being and from 
 their mutual relations. The mind commands, 
 it is true, and the body must obey like an 
 instrument ; but the instrument has also its 
 influence, especially over the talent of the 
 artist, by the manner in which it responds tft 
 his wishes, to his feelings, to the motions which 
 he communicates to it, to the vigour which 
 he seeks to display. Thus speaking is an 
 art and the finest of arts; it should express 
 
NATURAL QXTALITIES NECESSABT. 11 
 
 the mind by form, ideas by words, feelings by 
 sounds, all that the mind feelg, thinks, and 
 wishes by signs aud external action. To ob- 
 tain skill in this art, therefore, there are some 
 qualifications which regard the mind, and others 
 which depend on the body. 
 
 The dispositions 6f the mind are natural or 
 acquired. The former, which we are about to 
 set forth in this chapter, are — 
 
 1. A lively sensibility. 
 
 2. A penetrating intelligence. 
 
 3. A sound reason, or, as it is commonly 
 
 called, good sense. 
 
 4. A prompt imagination. 
 
 5. A firm and decisive will. 
 
 6. A natural necessity of expansion, or of 
 
 communicating to others ideas and feel- 
 ings. 
 'J. Finally, a certain instinct which urges % 
 man to speak, as a bird to sing. 
 
 § 1. — A lively Sensibility. 
 
 Art has its root in sensibility, and although 
 it depends much on the body, and especially on 
 the nerves which are its physical medium, sen- 
 
12 NATUEAL QUALITIES NECESSAET. 
 
 sibility is nevertheless one of the principal 
 powers of the. mind, not to say a faculty, as 
 the word faculty denotes a manner of acting, 
 and as sensibility is a manner of suffering or of 
 sustaining an action. 
 
 Thus the mind which lives only by its affini- 
 ties, and which for action - always requires an 
 impression, acts only in proportion to the in- 
 citements, it receives, and the manner in which 
 it receives them. It is, therefore, in this pe- 
 culiar manner of receiving and appropriating 
 impressions of things that consists the vivacity 
 of sensibility necessary to speaking, as to every 
 artistic expression. Every man feels according 
 to his sensitiveness ; but all do not feel in the 
 same manner, and thus are neither able to ex- 
 press what they feel in the same manner, nor 
 disposed to the same kind of expression. Hence 
 vocation to the different arts, or the natural 
 inclination of the mind to express one particular 
 thing which it feels the more, and with the 
 greater pleasure. In this, also, hes the origin 
 of taste in art, and for a particular art, whether 
 in the exercise of such art or in the appreciation 
 of its works. Some have more taste and faci- 
 lity in the plastic arts ; others in the acoustic 
 
NATUEAL QUALITIES NECESSAET. 13 
 
 arts; and even in the exercise of the same art 
 there are different dispositions to a certain 
 mode of expression which produce different 
 styles. Thus in poetry there are poets who 
 compose odes, epic poetry, tragedy, comedy, 
 eotg^ idyls and eclogues, &o. &c., which are 
 aU poetic expressions of the human mind; and 
 so &,r they resemble each other ; hut they differ 
 in the object which they reproduce, in the 
 manner of representing it, and a poet in one 
 style rarely sucQeeds ia another. He can sing 
 in one strain and not otherwise, as the song of 
 a lark is not that of a nightiagale. 
 
 It is thus in the art of speaking, in eloquence 
 as regards the object to be expressed. One 
 speaker is more suited to set forth ideas, their 
 connexion, and their gradations. He discerns 
 perfectly the congruity, the difference, the con- 
 trast of thoughts, and thus he will deliver 
 them suddenly with much facility, delicacy, 
 and subtUty. He has perception, a taste for 
 idea; he conceives it distinctly, and wiU. there- 
 fore enunciate it gracefully and clearly. Such a 
 one is made to teach and instruct. 
 
 Another has a greater enjoyment of every- 
 thing relating to the feelings, the affections, to 
 
14 NATUEAI, QUAUTIES NECE8SAET. 
 
 soft or strong emotions. He will therefore 
 employ with greater pleasure and greater 
 success aU that can touch, move, and hurry 
 away : he wUl, above all, cause the fibres of the 
 heart to vibrate. Such a one will be an orator 
 rather than a professor, and wiU be better able 
 to persuade by emotion than to convince by 
 reason. 
 
 A third delights in images and pictures. He 
 feels more vividly everything that he can grasp 
 and reproduce in his imagination; he therefore 
 takes pleasure in these reproductions. Such a 
 one wiU therefore be specially a descriptive 
 speaker, and will rise almost to poetry in hia 
 prose. He will speak to the imagination of hia 
 hearers rather than to their heart or mind: he 
 win affect but little, and instruct still less; but 
 he will be able to amuse and interest, he wiU 
 attract by originality, by the variety of his 
 pictures, and by the vivacity and brilliancy of 
 his colouring. 
 
 In these different instances we see that sen- 
 sibility is vividly excited either by ideas, by 
 feelings, or by images ; and it is evident that he 
 who would extemporise a discourse in one of 
 these three .methods must begin by feeling 
 
NATUEAL QUAinTES NECESSAET. 15 
 
 vividly the subject of which he has to speak, 
 and that his expression mil always he propor- 
 tionate to the impression of it he will have 
 received and retained. 
 
 But if sensibility must be strong, it must 
 nevertheless not be excited to excess; for it 
 then renders expression impossible from the 
 agitation of the mind and the over-excitement 
 of the nervous system, which paralyses the 
 organs. Thus, the precept of Horace, "Si via 
 me fiere, dolendum est primum ipsi tibi," is true 
 only for those who write in their closet, and 
 does not apply to the orator. Before the 
 public, he must not weep, nor even be moved 
 to such a point that his voice will fail him, or 
 be stifled by sobs ; he must weep with his 
 voice, and not with his eyes ; he should have 
 tears in his voice, but so as to be master of 
 them. 
 
 At times, doubtless, a great effect may be 
 produced by the very inability to speak, caused 
 by the enthusiasm of feeling or the violence of 
 grief; but then the discourse is finished, or, 
 rather, it is no longer needed, and little matter, 
 if the object be attained. -But, for the art of 
 oratory, sensibility must be restrained suffici- 
 
16 NATURAL QUALniES NECESSAEY. 
 
 ently at least for words to run their proper 
 course. The feelings must not explode at once, 
 but escape little by litlje, so as gradually- to 
 animate the whole body of the discourse. It is 
 thus that art idealises nature in rejecting aU 
 that from iastinct or passion may be too rough 
 or impetuous. The character of Christian art, 
 that which renders it sublime, is, that in all its 
 works there is a predominance of mind over 
 matter, of the soul over the body, of man over 
 nature. Christian feeling is never intemperate, 
 never disorderly. It is always restraLued within 
 a certain point by the power of that wiU which, 
 assisted by the higher strength supporting it, 
 governs events, or rather, does not yield to 
 them; and when it appears overcome it bends 
 beneath the storm of adversity, but is righted 
 by resignation, and does- not break. It is more 
 than the "thinking reed of Pascal ; it is a reed 
 that wills. For this reason the types of Chris- 
 tian art will never be surpassed. Never beneath 
 the sun will there be seen images more sublime 
 or more beautiful than the figures of Jesus 
 Christ and the Virgin. In this point of view 
 the Christian orator, inasmuch as he is a Chris- 
 tian, is very superior to the Pagan orator; he 
 
NATUEAL QTTALITIES NECESSAET. 11 
 
 conceives, he feels very differently, both earthly 
 and heavenly things, and his manner of feeling 
 is more spiritual, pure, and worthy of man, for 
 being less material, it gives to his expression 
 something noble, elevated and superhuman, 
 approaching the language of heaven. 
 
 The same may be said for the statement of 
 ideas. It is doubtless necessary that they 
 should be felt strongly -with aU that they 
 embrace, so that they may be analysed and 
 developed ; that the developed may be re-em- 
 bodied, again concentrated, and reduced to 
 unity. In this operation there is an infinity of 
 gradations ■which must be dehcately perceived 
 and appreciated. But if this feeling become 
 too strong, or take too completely possession 
 of the mind, analysis or exposition becomes 
 impossible ; the speaker is absorbed by the con- 
 templation only of the general idea, is unable to 
 enter upon its development, and from that 
 moment he is incapable of speaking. This is 
 the case with men of genius, but of an exag- 
 gerated mental sensibility, who feel the necessity 
 of writing to display their thoughts, because they 
 require time to reflect and recover themselvea 
 from the fulness of the idea which civercomea 
 
 
18 NATUEAl QUALITIES ITECEBSAET, 
 
 them at first, or when they are required to speak 
 of a sudden. Such was prohably the case with 
 Rousseau, who was endowed with remarkable 
 sensibility of mind. It may even happen that 
 a too vehement and over exclusive perception 
 of an idea may convert it into a fixed idea, and 
 may lead to madness. Everything is so well 
 balanced in our existence, everything must be 
 done in such measure and proportion, that, no 
 sooner do we exceed, however little, that mean 
 point where lies the relative perception of hu- 
 manity, — than we fall into exaggeration, which 
 destroys and renders powerless as much as de- 
 ficiency itself. — In medio virtus. 
 
 For description, sensibility, and even exqui- 
 site sensibility, is required, but here also not too 
 much, otherwise we wander to impressions of 
 detail, and we end by producing a species of 
 poem or monograph of each flower or object 
 which pleases us. 
 
 It is what is called in painting tablea,ux de 
 genre, which may for an instant attract and 
 amuse, but which do not represent one deep idea 
 or one worthy of art. It is in literature that 
 kind of poetry or romance which the Ger- 
 mans, and especially the English, delight in, and 
 
NATUEAi QUALITIES NECESSAET. 19 
 
 wMch consists in painting in tlie greatest detail 
 the commonest things of life. Impressions are 
 then taken from the domestic hearth, from the 
 life of a family, or of a country, as agsthetie 
 sentiments, as effects of art, faUing into a paltry 
 realism, which lowers art in making it descend 
 to the commonplace and ahsurdities of reality. 
 Finally, it is the defect of those preachers who 
 delight in continual descriptions, whether of 
 physical or of moral nature, whose sermons, sub- 
 ject to their taste for imagery, are only galleries 
 of pictures which may amuse those who think to 
 recognise in them the portraits of others, hut 
 which can never instruct nor touch any one. 
 He who would speak well, therefore, must feel 
 what he has to say with sufficient strength to 
 express it with warmth and vivacity; but his 
 feeling must not attain that vehemence which 
 prevents the mind from acting, and paralyses 
 the expression from the very fulness of the 
 feeling. This would be a sort of intellectual 
 apoplexy, taking away the gift of speech, and 
 rendering it powerless by excess of life, 
 • 03 
 
20 KATtTEAL QTJALITrES HECESSABT. 
 
 § 2. — Keen Intelligence. 
 
 In speaking, the feeling or that which is felt, 
 must he resolved into ideas, thoughts, images, 
 and thence into -words, phrases, language, as a 
 cloud or condensed vapour is transformed and 
 distilled into rain. "Eloquium Domini sicut 
 imbres," says the Psalmist. The faculty which 
 effects this transformation, by the operation of 
 the mind accounting inwardly and reflectively 
 for all that is passing through it, is intelligence, 
 or the faculty of reading ,in ourselves. It is 
 for this reason that animals possessing sensi- 
 bility, and at times senses even more subtle 
 than those of man, are incapable of speaking, 
 in a strict sense, although, like all other beings 
 on earth, and especially living beings, they 
 have a spontaneous language, by which is 
 naturally manifested all that takes place in 
 them. They have no intelligence, and thus 
 they have neither consciousness nor reflection, 
 though there exists in them a principle of life, 
 gifted with sensibility and instinct, which gives 
 them the semblance of human intelligence, but 
 it cannot be maintained that they are reasonable, 
 which would imply liberty and moral responsi- 
 
KATTTRAT. QUALITIES NECESSAET. 21 
 
 bility for their acts. For reason to exist, it is 
 necessary that the mind, capable of feeling and 
 seeing, should have the power of self-possession 
 by means of reflection, and to consider and 
 analyse by thought all that it has perceived 
 and seen. Thus is formed in us an intel- 
 lectual world peopled by our conceptions, that 
 is to say, with ideas, with notions and images, 
 which we can compare, combine, and divide in 
 a thousand manners, according -to their approx- 
 imation or their difference; and which are 
 finally expressed in speech, — the successive 
 development of which is always the analysis of 
 thought. 
 
 Thus every extemporised discourse presup- 
 poses a preliminary operation of thought. The 
 thought must have been well conceived, held, 
 and grasped in a single idea which contains the 
 whole substance. Then, for the exposition of 
 this idea, it must have been divided into its 
 principal parts, or into other subordinate ideas 
 as members of it, and then again into others still 
 more minutely, untU the subject is exhausted. 
 This multitude of thoughts must be well ar- 
 ranged, so that at the very moment each may 
 arrive in the place marked out for it, and 
 cS 
 
22 XATUEAL QUALITIES NBCESSAET. 
 
 appear in its turn ia the discourse to play 
 its part and fiilfil its function, the value of 
 which consists in the antecedents which pre- 
 pare and the consequences which develope it, as 
 figures in an arithmetical operation have value 
 in themselves and also by their position. 
 
 Much iutelligence is therefore required for 
 this preparatory labour, so useful in extem- 
 porisation; or, in other words, for the elahorar 
 tion of a plan, without which it would bfi risk 
 to hazard on ground so. dangerous and so 
 slippery. The first condition of speaking is to 
 know what is intended to be said, and the 
 greater the intelligence employed in the pre- 
 paration of the speech, and the more clearly is 
 it conceived, the greater the probability ©f 
 presenting it well to others or of speaking 
 well. 
 
 That which is well conceived is clearly enun- 
 ciated. 
 
 Nevertheless, this first labour is not sufficient] 
 it is easy enough in the silence of the closet, 
 pen in hand, to elaborate a plan to be com- 
 mitted to paper, and polished at leisure. But 
 this plan must pass from the paper to the head, 
 and be there established in divisions and subdi< 
 
NATtJEAL QUALITIES HECE8SAEY. 23 
 
 vdsions, according to the order of thoughts both 
 as a whole and in detail ; which cannot he well 
 done, and in a sure and lasting manner, unless 
 the miad keeps the ideas linked by theu- inti- 
 mate, and not by their superficial relations; 
 —by accidental or purely external associations, 
 such as are formed by the imagination and the 
 senses. In a word, there must reign between 
 all the parts of the plan an order of filiation or 
 generation; which is called the logical con- 
 nection. Thus, the logical connexion is the 
 product of the intelligence which intuitively 
 perceives the connexion of ideas, even the 
 most removed and the most profound ; and of 
 the reason which completes the view of the 
 intelligence, by showing on the one hand con- 
 nexion by a chain of intermediary ideas, and 
 on the other the order of this connexion, by 
 means of reflection, and unites them in a 
 thought to be presented, or an end to be at- 
 tained. 
 
 Then comes a third step, which exacts even 
 a greater subtUty and greater promptitude of 
 mind. This plan which. has been committed to 
 paper, which is now carefully kept in the head, 
 must be realised in words, and endowed with 
 a 
 
24 HATUEAL QXTALITIES NECESSAET. 
 
 flesh and life in the discourse. It is like drj 
 bones which, by the breath of the orator, are 
 of a sudden to reassume their muscles, nerves 
 and skin, and to rise, each in its place, to 
 form a living body, beautiful to behold. The 
 speaker must successively pass before his hearers 
 all that he carries in his mind — aU his ideas, 
 in suddenly giving to each, in its. place, Oody, 
 covering, colour, and hfe. He should. Low- 
 ever, while speaking, Janus-Uke, see double, 
 within, at his plan ; without, at the thread 
 of his discourse; so as to keep within the 
 line of his thought, without disturbing his 
 arrangement, or diverging. He must, finally, 
 be able, as on a day of battle, suddenly to 
 modify what he has beforehand prepared; fol- 
 lowing whatever may present itself, and this 
 without relinquishing his principal idea, which 
 sustains all, and without which he would become 
 the plaything of chance. He requires still 
 many things, which will be pointed out later, 
 when we shall have to speak of the discourse 
 itself; and aU of which, like those which we 
 have just mentioned, presumes the exercise ol 
 an intense, rapid, and most penetrating intel- 
 ligence. 
 
NATUEAI, QTrALTITES NECESSAET. 25 
 
 § 3. — Might Meason or Good Sense. 
 
 A great deal of talent may exist ■without 
 common sense, and tMs is often the case with 
 clever persons, and especially those who wish 
 to appear clever. By endeavouring to study 
 objects under new phases, to say new things, or 
 things appare&tly new, they end by never con- 
 sidering them in a right light; and the habit 
 of regarding them in aU maimer of aspects, 
 takes away the faculty of seeing them in fuU 
 and directly, in their true meanings and natural 
 bearings. 
 
 Now, nothing is so fatal to extemporisation 
 as this wi-etched facility of the mind for 
 losing itself in detaSs, and neglecting the main 
 point. Without at this moment speaking of 
 the construction of the plan, wherein simplicity 
 and clearness, to which good sense is singularly 
 conducive, ought, above all things, to prevail, 
 it is evident that this quality, so useful in con- 
 duct and in business, is more than ever so in 
 the instantaneous formation of a discourse, and 
 in the dangerous task of extemporising, whether 
 as regards matter or manner. 
 ■ Good sense is the instinctive action of right 
 
26 NATUEAL QITALITIES NE0E8SAET. 
 
 reason, discriminating -with a rapidity of feel- 
 ing, and by a sort of taste, what is or is not 
 suitaWe in any given situation. Therefore, it 
 is a sudden appreciation of a thousand bearings 
 depending on circumstances, as when, amidst 
 the fervor of delivery and from the general 
 effect of the address — things not to be esti- 
 mated by the plan alone, but declaring them- 
 selves on the instant — an idea on which stress 
 should be laid — ^what part of it should be ne- 
 glected — ^what should be compressed — what 
 should be enlarged upon — must aU be promptly 
 seized. Then a new thought which suggests 
 itself and must be introduced — an explanation 
 which might run to too great a length and which 
 must be abridged — an emotion or effect to be 
 excited as you pass on without losing sight of 
 the main effect — a digression into which you 
 may enter without breaking the guiding thread 
 of this labyrinth and while at need recovering 
 it — aU have to be judged of, decided upon, 
 and executed at the very moment itself, and 
 during the unsuspended progress of the dis- 
 course. 
 
 The same applies to the foi-m or style of the 
 speech, How many mental and literary pra- 
 
NATTJEAL QTTAUriES KECESSAEr. 27 
 
 prieties to be observed! A doubtful phrase 
 commg into the mouth and to be discarded, — 
 an ambitious, pretentious expression to be 
 avoided, — a trite or commonplace term which 
 occurs and to be excluded, — a sentence which 
 is opened with a certain boldness and the close 
 of which is not yet clear, — even whUe you 
 are finishing the development of one period, 
 your view thrown forward to the next thought, 
 and to the link which is to connect it with that 
 which you are ending ! Truly there is enough 
 to produce giddiness when one reflects on the 
 matter; nevertheless, the discernment of such 
 a multiplicity of points must be instantaneous, 
 and indeed it is performed with a kind of cer- 
 tainty, and as it were of its own accord, if the 
 subject have been fitly prepared, if you be 
 thoroughly in possession of it, and if you be 
 well inclined at the moment. 
 
 But in order to walk with this direct and 
 firm step through a discourse, which arises, as 
 it were, before the orator in proportion as he 
 advances, like an enchanted forest, all teeming 
 with sorceries and apparitions, in which so many 
 dififerent paths cross each other, — in order to 
 aecept none of these brilliant phantoms save 
 
28 NATUEAIi QUALITIES KEOESSAET. 
 
 those Trhich can be serviceaWe to the subject, dis- 
 pelling like vain shadows all the rest, — ^in order 
 to choose exactly the road which best leads to 
 your destination, and, above all, to keep con- 
 stantly in that which you have marked out for 
 yourself beforehand, shunning all the other 
 byways, however alluring they may appear, and 
 not allowing yourself to be carried away or to 
 swerve from your line, either in gait or deport- 
 ment, — you most assuredly require that clear, 
 decisive, and certain sight which good sense 
 gives, and that kind of instinct or taste for truth 
 which it alone produces. 
 
 § 4. — Readiness of Imagination. 
 
 Imagination is like a double-faced mirror, in 
 part turned towards the outer world, and re- 
 flecting its objects, in part towards the light of 
 ideas, tinging it with its hues, forming it into 
 representations, and disposing it in pictures, 
 while decomposing it as the prism the solar ray. 
 It is thus that speech renders metaphysical 
 objects more approachable and comprehensible; 
 it gives them a body, or a raiment, which 
 makes them visible and almost palpable. 
 
NATTIEAIi QUAXrriES HECESSAET. 29 
 
 Imagination is one of the most necessary of 
 the orator's faculties, and especially to him who 
 extemporises, first, in order that he may he able 
 to fix his plan well in his mind — ^for it is 
 chiefly by means of the imagination that it is 
 there fixed, or painted; in the second place, 
 in order that it may be preserved there ia fuU 
 life, well connected, and well arranged, ^untU 
 the moment for realising it or putting it forth 
 by means of the discourse. Imagination is also 
 very useful to' him in order to represent sud- 
 denly to himself what he wishes to express to 
 others when a new thought arises, and when 
 an image, geiToinating, as it were, ia the heat 
 of oratorical action, like a flower opening 
 forthwith under the sun's rays, is presented 
 unexpectedly to the mind. Then the instant 
 he has a glimpse of it, after having rapidly de- 
 cided whether it suits the subject and befits its 
 place, he, whUe yet spending, seizes it eagerly, 
 passes it warm beneath the active machinery 
 of the imagLnation, extends, refines, developes, 
 makes it ductile and glittering, and marks 
 it at once with some of tjie types or moul ils 
 which imagination possesses. Or else, if we 
 may be allowed another comparison, the thought 
 
30 S-AT0KAL QUALITIES NECEBSAET. 
 
 passes through the presses of the imagination, 
 like those sheets of paper which revolve be- 
 tween the cylinders of mechanical presses, and 
 issue forth all covered with characters and 
 images. 
 
 Now this most complicated and suhtle lahour 
 must be performed with the quickness of light- 
 ning, amidst the onward current of the discourse, 
 which cannot be arrested or slackened without 
 becoming languid. The imagination ought 
 then to be endowed with great quickness in 
 the formation and variation of its pictures ; but 
 it requires also great clearness, in order to pro- 
 duce at the first efibrt, a well-marked image, 
 the lines and outlines defined with exactitude, 
 and the tints bright, — so that language has 
 only to reproduce it unhesitatingly, and uncon- 
 fusedly, as an object is faithfully represented 
 in a spotless glass. For you must not grope 
 for your words while speaking, under penalty 
 of braying like a donkey, which is the death of 
 a discourse. The expression of the thought 
 must be eifected at the first stroke, and de- 
 cidedly — a condition which hinders many men, 
 and even men of talent, firom speaking in pubhc. 
 Their imagination is not suflSciently supple, 
 
NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSAET. 31 
 
 i-eady, or clear; it •works too slowly, and is 
 left behind by the lightning of the thought, 
 which at first dazzles it, a result due either to 
 a natural deficiency, or to want of practice ; or 
 else — and this is the most general case with 
 men of talent, it arises from allowing the 
 mind to be too much excited and agitated in 
 the presence of the public and in the hurry of 
 the moment ; whence a certain incapacity for 
 speaking, not unlike inability to walk produced 
 by giddiness. 
 
 § 5. — Firmness and Decision qf Will. 
 
 Unquesti»nably courage is necessary to ven- 
 ture upon speaking in public. To rise before 
 an assembly, often numerous and imposing, 
 without books or notes, carrying everything 
 in the head, and to undertake a discourse in 
 the midst of general silence, with all eyes 
 fixed on you, under the obligation of keeping 
 that audieiice attentive and interested for three 
 quarters of an hour, an hour, and sometimes 
 longer, is assuredly an arduous task and a 
 weighty bm-den. All who accept this burden, 
 or have it imposed upon them, know how 
 
32 NATUEAl QUALITIES NECESSAET. 
 
 heavy it is, and what physical and mental 
 suffering is experienced until it is discharged. 
 Timidity or hesitation will make a person inca- 
 pable of the duty ; and such -vyill always recoil 
 from the dangers of the situation. 
 
 When, indeed, it is remembered, how little 
 is required to disconcert and even paralyse the 
 orator, — ^his own condition, bodily and moral, 
 which is hot always favourable at a given mo- 
 ment, — that of the hearers so unstable and 
 prone to vary never known, — the distractions 
 which may assail and divert him from his sub- 
 ject, — the failure perhaps of memory, so that 
 a part of the j)lan, and occasionally its main 
 division, may be lost on the instant^the inei-t- 
 ness of the imagination, which may play him 
 false, and bring feebly and confusedly to the 
 mind what it represents, — the escape of an 
 unlucky expression, — the not finding the pro- 
 per term, — a sentence badly begun, out of 
 which he no longer knows his way, — and finally, 
 all the influences to which he is subjected, and 
 which converge upon him from a thousand eyes, 
 — when all these things are borne in mind, it 
 is truly enough to make a person lose head or 
 heart, and the only wonder is that men can be 
 
JJATUEAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 33 
 
 found who will face such dangers, and fling 
 themselves into the midst of them. Nor, 
 mdeed, ought they to he coui-ted " save when 
 duty urges, when your mission enjoins it, or in 
 order to fulfil some obligation of conscience 
 or of position. Any other motive — such as 
 ambition, vainglory, or interest — exposes you 
 to cruel miscalculations and well-merited down- 
 falls. 
 
 The strength of will needful to face such a 
 situation is of course aided and sustained by a 
 suitable preparation ; and, of all preparations the 
 best is to know well what you would say, and 
 to have a clear conception of it. But yet, be- 
 sides the possession of the idea and the chain of 
 the thoughts on which you have a good hold, 
 there is still the hazard of uttering appropriate 
 or inappropriate words. Who is assured before- 
 hand, that, on such a day, expressions will not 
 prove rebellious to him, that the right phrase will 
 come in the place appointed, and that language 
 (like a sword) will not turn its edge ? It is in 
 the details of diction at the moment, or the 
 instantaneous composition of the discourse and 
 of sentences, that great decision is required to 
 select words as they fly past, to control them 
 D 
 
34 NATTJEAJL QUALITIES NECE6SAET. 
 
 immediately, and, amidst many unsuitable, to 
 allow none but what are suitable to drop from 
 the lips. -Moreover, a certaia boldness is 
 required, — and who knows whether it will 
 always be a successful boldness ? — to begin the 
 development of any sudden idea, without know- 
 ing whither it will lead you — ^to obey some 
 oratorical inspiration which may carry you far 
 away from the subject, and finally, to enter, 
 and to jump, as it were, with both feet together, 
 into a sentence, the issue of which you cannot 
 foresee, particularly in French, which has only 
 one possible class of terminations to its periods. 
 Nevertheless, when once you have begun, 
 you must rigidly beware of retreating by any 
 break in the thought or in the sentence. You 
 must go on daringly to the end, even though' 
 you take refuge in some unauthorised turn of 
 expression or some incorrectness of language. 
 Timid minds are frightened from adopting 
 these extreme resources; for which reason we 
 affirm that to expose oneself to this hazard, — 
 and whoever extemporises does so, — decision 
 and even a little rashness of will are neces- 
 sary, beforehand and during the process, in 
 order to sustain it, to undergo all without faint- 
 
NATUEAL QUALITIES NECESSAET. 35 
 
 ing, and to reach the destination without a 
 serious Iround, or, at all events, without a ML 
 
 § 6. — Mcipa7isiveness of Oharacfer. 
 
 There are two sorts of expansiveness, that of 
 the mind and that of the heart. 
 
 The mind seeks after truth, which is its 
 natural object. 
 
 lifow truth is like light, or rather, it is the 
 light of the intelligence ; and this is why it is 
 diffusive by its very nature, and spontaneously 
 enters wherever an avenue is opened to it. 
 When, therefore, we perceive or think that we 
 perceive a truth, the mind rejoices in and 
 feeds upon it, because it is its natural ah- 
 ment; in assimilating and appropriating it, the 
 mind partakes of its expansive force, and expe- 
 riences the desire of announcing to others what 
 it knows itself, and of making them see what it 
 sees. It is its happiness to become a torch 
 , of this light, and to help in diffusing it. It 
 sometimes even glories in' the joy 't feels ; the 
 pride also of enlightening our fellows, and sa 
 of ruling them to a certain extent, and of 
 seeming above them, is part of the feeling. A 
 
 d2 
 
36 NATUEAL QUALITIES NECESSAET. 
 
 keen and intelligent mind, ■\vhicli seeks truth, 
 seizes it quickly and conceives it clearly, is 
 more eager than another to communicate what 
 it knows; and if, along with this, such a mind 
 loves glory, — and who loves it not, at least in 
 youth? — it will be impelled the more towards 
 public speaking, -aud more capable of exercising 
 the power of eloquence. 
 
 But there is, besides, a certain disposition of 
 character and heart which contributes much 
 to the same result, as is seen in women and 
 children, who speak willingly and with great 
 ease, on account of their more impressionable 
 sensibility, the dehcacy of their organs, and 
 their extreme, mobihty. Something of this is 
 required in the extemporiser. A self-centred 
 person, who reflects a great deal and meditates 
 long before he can perceive a truth or seize an 
 analogy, and who either cannot or will not 
 manifest what he feels or thinks until he has 
 exactly shaped the expression of it, is not fitted 
 for extemporaneous speaking. A melancholy, 
 morose, misanthropic person, who shuns society, 
 «lreads the intercourse of men, and delights in 
 solitary musing, will have a difficulty in speaking 
 in public ; he has not the taste for it, au ^ his 
 
J^ATURAL QTLAXmES NECESSAET. 37 
 
 nature is against it. "What is needed for this 
 art, ■with a quick mind, is an open, confiding, 
 and cheerful character, which loves men and 
 takes pleasure in joining itself to others. Mis- 
 trust shuts the heart, the mind, and the month. 
 
 This expansiveness of character, which is 
 favourable to extemporaneous speaking, has cer-. 
 tainly its disadvantages also. It sometimes gives 
 to the mind an imsettled levity and too much 
 recklessness, and something ventm-esome or 
 superficial to the style. But these disadvan- 
 tages may be lessened or neutralized by a serious 
 preparation, by a weU-considered and well- 
 defined plan, which will sustain and direct the 
 exuberance of language, and remove by previous 
 reflection the chances of digressiveness and in 
 consequence. 
 
 § 7. — Instinctive or natural Gift of Speaking. 
 
 Art may develope, and perfect the talent of 
 a speaker, but cannot produce it. The exer- 
 cises of grammar and of rhetoric wiU teach 
 a person how to speak correctly and elegantly ; 
 but nothing can teach him to be eloquent, or give 
 that eloquence which comes from the heart and 
 goes to the heai-t. AH the precepts and arti- 
 d3 
 
38 NATUEAI, QUALITIES NECE8SAIiT. 
 
 fices on earth can but form the appearances or 
 semblance of it. Now this true and natural 
 eloquence which moves, persuades, and tran- 
 ■sports, consists ol a soul and a body, like man, 
 whose image, glory, and word it is. 
 
 The soul of eloquence is the centre of the 
 human soul itself which, enlightened by the 
 rays of an idea, or warmed and stirred by an 
 Impression-, flashes or bursts forth to manifest, 
 by some sign or other, what it feels oy sees. 
 This it is which gives movement and life to a 
 discourse ; it is like a kindled torch, or a shud- 
 dering and vibrating nerve. 
 
 The Jbody of eloquence is the language 
 which it requires in order to speak, and 
 which must harmoniously clothe what it thinks 
 or feels, as a fine shape harmonizes with the 
 spirit which it contains. The material part of 
 language is learnt instinctively, and practice 
 makes us feel and seize its delicacies and 
 shades. The understanding then, which sees 
 rightly and conceives clearly, and the heart 
 which feels keenly, find naturally, and withe ut 
 effort, the words and the arrangement of words 
 most analogous to what is to be expressed. 
 Hence the ' innate talent of eloquence, whicfe 
 
NATURAL QUALITIES NEOESSAET. 39 
 
 results alike from certain intellectual and 
 moral aptitudes, *and from the physical consti- 
 tution, especially from that of the senses and 
 of the organs of the voice. 
 
 There are men organized to speak well as 
 there are birds organized to sing well, bees to 
 make honey, and beavers to build. 
 
 Doubtless, all men are capable of speaking, 
 since they are rational beings, and the exercise 
 of reason is impossible -without speech ; beyond 
 aU doubt, moreover, any man may become 
 momentarily eloquent, being suddenly illumi- 
 nated by an idea, by some passing inspiration, 
 or the vehement impulse of a feeling, or a 
 desire-; bursts also and cries of passion are 
 often of a high kind of eloquence. But it 
 is the eifect of an instant, which passes aivay 
 with the unusual circumstances which have 
 produced it; during the rest of their lives 
 these same persons may speak very ill, and be 
 incapable of pronouncing a sentence in public. 
 They have not the gift of words, and those 
 alone who are endowed with it by nature, can 
 derive advantage from the advice we offer 
 Ln order to turn this precious talent to account 
 in the service of truth and justice. 
 
40 NATUEAL QITALITIES IIECESSAIIT. 
 
 It is mth eloquence as •with all art ; to 
 succeed in it you must he made for it, or called 
 to it incessantly, and in a manner almost un- 
 conqueralile, by a mysterious tendency or in- 
 explicable attraction, wliicli influences the whole 
 being, wHch ultimately turns to its object, as 
 the magnetic needle to the north. -At the 
 root of all arts, so various in their expression, 
 there is something in common to them all — 
 namely, the life of the soul, the life of the 
 mind, which feels the want of dififusing, mani- 
 festing, and multiplying itself; each individual 
 also has something peculiar and original, by 
 which he is impelled, on account of his special 
 organisation, or constitution of mind and body, 
 to reproduce his mental life in such or such 
 a way, by such or such means, or in such or 
 such a material form. Hence the boundless 
 diversity of the arts and of their productions. 
 Speech is certainly the noblest and most 
 powerful of the arts : first, because by its 
 nature, it is nearest to the intelligence whose 
 ideas it alone perfectly expresses; secondly, in 
 consequence of the higher purity, the more 
 exquisite delicacy of its means of expression, 
 being the least gross of any, • Holding on to 
 
UATCKAI, QUAirnES ITECESSAET. 41 
 
 eartli by nothing save a light breath; lastly, 
 on account of its great directness of action, so 
 powerful over the mind, making it conceive 
 things, comprehend thought, and grasp the 
 truth. 
 
 In order, then, to exercise with success the 
 art of speaking, — or to speak eloquently, — ^it 
 is necessary to have a natural talent, which is 
 a gift of Heaven, and which all science with 
 its precepts, and all earth's teaching with its 
 exercises, are unable to supply. 
 
42 ACQTJTEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 
 
 CHAP. ni. 
 
 MENTAIi APTITUDES FOB PUBLIC SPEAKING, 
 CAPABLE OF BEING ACQUIEED, OE FOEMED BT 
 STUDY. 
 
 The dispositions which can be acquired, or 
 formed by study, come next after the natural 
 aptitudes of the mind, and these -will be the 
 subject of this chapter. 
 
 "We give the name of acquired dispositions to 
 certain aptitudes of mind, the germ of which is 
 no doubt supplied by nature, but which may be 
 called forth and developed in a remarkable 
 manner by instruction, practice,^ and habit, 
 whereas purely natural talent, although it also 
 may be perfected by art, resembles, neverthe- 
 less, to a certain extent, that instinct which 
 attains its object at the first effort. It may 
 even happen that a remarkable acquired ability, 
 such, for instance, as the art of speaking rheto- 
 rically, has but slight natural root, that is, but 
 little real talent, producing nothing except by 
 
AOQtJIEED QCTALITIES OF MIND. 43 
 
 dint of art, practice, and toU ; but if tlie natural 
 root he absent, however beautiful tbe products 
 may at first appear, people soon feel their artifi- 
 cial character and want of life. ^ 
 
 The acquired mental aptitudes are, the art or 
 method of thinking and the art or method of 
 saying. But before considering them, we will 
 say a few words about the orator's fund or store 
 of acquirements, which must not be confounded 
 with acquired qualities. 
 
 § 1. — Acquisitions or Fund needful to the Orator. 
 
 The orator's capital is that sum of science or 
 knowledge which is necessary to him in order 
 to speak pertinently upon any subject what- 
 ever ; and science or knowledge are not extem- 
 porised. Although knowledge does not give 
 the talent for speaking, stiH he who knows well 
 what he has to say, has many chances of saying 
 it well, especially if he has a clear and distinct 
 conception of it. 
 
 " What you conceive aright you express clearly ; 
 And the words to say it in, come easily." 
 
 It is an excellent preparation, then, for the 
 art of speaking to study perseveringly, — not 
 
44 ACQUEBED QUALITIES OF MIND, 
 
 merely the matter about wHch you hnvc to 
 discourse — a thing always done before speaking 
 in public, unless a person be presumptuous and' 
 demented, — but generally all those subjects 
 which form part of a liberal education, and 
 which constitute the usual instruction of men 
 intended for intellectual and moral professions. 
 These were what were formerly termed classical 
 studies, and they included grammar, rhetoric, 
 logic, a certain portion of literature, history, 
 mathematical and physical science, and religious 
 -knowledge. These "classical studies" were per- 
 fected and completed by the superior courses of 
 the imiversities. 
 
 To have gone through a good educational 
 career, or been distinguished at school, as it is 
 commonly expressed, is an immense advantage ; 
 for it is in childhood and youth that the 
 greatest number of things are learnt, and learnt 
 best, in the sense, that knowledge acquired at 
 that age is the most durable. It is more than 
 this, it is ineffaceable, and constitutes an in- 
 destructible fund, a sort of mental ground-work 
 upon which is raised aU other instruction and 
 education ; and this fund, according to the 
 manner in which it is placed in the mind 
 
ACQtriEED QUALITIES OF IHND. 45 
 
 determines the solidity and dimensions cf each 
 person's intellectual and moral existence. 
 
 It is impossible to estimate accurately the 
 influence of the first instruction •which a man 
 receives : that influence depends upon the Tirtue 
 of the words which instruct, and on the way 
 they are received. It is a sort of fertilisation, 
 the fruits of which are sometimes slow ia 
 ripening, and come forth late. As the hfe- 
 giving action of instruction cannot be exercised 
 except by words and the signs of language, the 
 form often overHes the spirit, and many retain 
 scarcely more than the letter or the words, 
 which they reproduce from memory with great 
 facility. The larger part of iafantine successes 
 and collegiate glories consist of this. Others, 
 on the contrary, deeply smitten with the spirit 
 of what is said, early conceive ideas of a fertile 
 kiad destined to become the parent ideas of 
 aU their future thoughts. The more im- 
 pressed and absorbed their mind is interiorly, 
 the less vivid, the less brilliant it appears ex- 
 teriorly. It carries within it confusedly ideas 
 which are too great for what contains them, 
 and of which it cannot yet render to itself an 
 account ; and it is only afterwards, when it 
 
46 ACQUIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 
 
 has capacity and time for reflection, ttat it 
 knows how to recognise, turn to advantage, 
 and bring forth to the light, the treasures buried 
 within. 
 
 Hence two kinds of fund or of intellectual 
 wealth, the fruit of instruction, and derived 
 from the manner in which it has been given 
 and received. 
 
 1. A collection of words, expressions, images, 
 facts, supei-ficial thoughts, common places,— 
 things commonly received and already dis- 
 cussed; whatever, in a word, strikes the senses, 
 excites the imagination, and easily impresses 
 itself upon the memory. It is not to be denied 
 that this intellectual baggage, however light, 
 accumulated during many years, and arranged 
 with a certain degree of order, may be of some 
 service towards speaking with facility on some 
 occasions, but then like a rhetorician ; that is, 
 composing on the instant a sort of discourse or 
 harangue more or less elegant, wherein there 
 may be oertaia happy expressions but few 
 ideas, and which may yet affibrd a transient 
 pleasure to the listener, without moving or 
 instructing him. In many circumstances, dis- 
 courses of this class are in keeping; they a1 
 
ACQCIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 47 
 
 least suffice. It is a part played in a given 
 situation, a portion of the programme per- 
 formed, and it is assuredly an advantage not to 
 be despised to acquit oneself of it ■with, honour, 
 or even mthout discredit. 
 
 2. But the real fund is in ideas, not in 
 phrases, in the succession or connexion of 
 the thoughts, and not in a series of facts or 
 images. He -who has laid in a store in this 
 manner is not so ready at a speech, because 
 there is within him a veritable thought with 
 which his spirit strives in order to master, 
 possess, and manifest it, so soon as he shall have 
 thoroughly entered into it ; such a man speaks 
 not merely from memory or imagination, only 
 and always with a labour of the understanding, 
 and then what he produces is something with 
 life in it and capable of inspiring life — and this 
 is just what distinguishes the orator from the 
 rhetorician. 
 
 The latter may chai-m by his language, but 
 he imparts no life ; and thus nothing is produced 
 in the mind of the hearer. It is pleasant 
 muac which delights the ear for a moment, 
 and leaves nothing behind it. Vox et prcetei'ea 
 nihil. 
 
i8 ACQtriEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 
 
 The former raises up a new set of objects in 
 the hearer's mind, producing therein feelings, 
 affections, emotions, ideas; he renews it, trans- 
 forms it, and turns it into a likeness of himself; 
 and as the Almighty created aU things hy His 
 word, so the true orator animates those who 
 understand him. by his, and mates them live 
 with his own intellectual life. But in this, as 
 in aU things, it is only by a Divine virtue 
 that life is transmitted. The sacred fire 
 which warms the bosom of the orator is inspi- 
 ration from on high : pectus est quod disertum 
 facit. Without this life-giving fire, the finest 
 phrases that can be put together are but sound- 
 ing brass and tinlding symbols. 
 
 The fund to be amassed, therefore, by those 
 who intend to speak in public, is a treasury of 
 ideas, thoughts, and principles of knowledge, 
 strongly conceived, firmly linked together, 
 carefully wrought out, in such a way that, 
 throughout all this diversity of study, the mind, 
 BO far as may be, shall admit nothing save what 
 it thoroughly comprehends, or at least has 
 made its own to a certain extent, by meditation. 
 Thus, knowledge becomes strangely melted 
 doAvn, not cmnbersome to the understanding; 
 
ACQUIEED QUALITIES OF MEn). 49 
 
 and not overburdening the memory. It is the 
 essence of things reduced to thfiir simplest ex- 
 pression, and comprising all their concentrated 
 virtue. It is the drop of oil extracted from 
 thousands of roses, and fi-aught with their accu- 
 mulated odours ; the heahng poTVer of a hun- 
 dred-weight of bark in a few grains of quinine. 
 In a word, it is the idea in its intellectuahty, 
 and metaphysical purity, compared to the mul 
 tiplicity of facts and images from which it has 
 been extracted, and of which it is the law. 
 This point is not weU enough miderstood in 
 our day, when material things are made para- 
 mount, and the spirit is postponed to the letter 
 — to such a degree indeed that even Ln instrue 
 tion, and in spiritual or mental things, no less 
 than in all else, quantity is considered more 
 than quahty. 
 
 Under the specious pretext of preparing men 
 betimes for their future profession in society, 
 and of making them, what are called sjpecial 
 men, their attention is directed from the tender- 
 ost age to phenomena, which occupy the senses 
 and the imagination without exciting thought ; 
 and above all, without recalling the mind home 
 to itself, in order to teach it self-knowledge. 
 
50 ACQTJIEED QUALirrES OF MIND. 
 
 self-direc'tion, and self-possession, — 'wortli, as- 
 suredly, the knowledge or possession of every- 
 thing else. Instruction is materialised to the 
 utmost ; and in the same degree education is 
 sensualised. It is driven headlong into that 
 path which is the acknowledged reproach of 
 contemporary art, — ^not nature and truth, hut 
 naturalism and realism. People care no longer 
 for any but positive, or, as it is styled, pro- 
 fessional instruction, — that is, such as may 
 directly serve to earn the bread of this world. 
 Men are trained for the one end of turning 
 this earth to account, and securing in it a 
 comfortable position. It is forgotten that the 
 true man, like thought, is an idea even more 
 than a body or a letter, and that the body 
 and the letter have no value except from the 
 idea which animates him, and which he should 
 express. The ideal is dreaded now-a^days, or 
 rather it is not imderstood, it is no longer 
 appreciated, because our views are absorbed by 
 the real, and the pleasures of the body are 
 more sought after than those of the mind. 
 
 For this/ reason the natural and physical 
 sciences, which make matter their study, with 
 Qiathematins as their handmaidens, because 
 
ACQTJtEED QITAilTIES OF MIND. 61 
 
 they measure the finite, are so much honoured 
 in our day. In these pursuits eV3rything is 
 positive — ^matter, form, letter, number, weight, 
 and measure; and as the end of these studies 
 is the amelioration, or at least the embellish- 
 ment of earthly Hfe, the multitude rushes 
 readily in this direction, and the mind becomes 
 the servant, or rather the slave of the body. 
 
 Every science, at present, ■which is not 
 directly or iudirectly subservient to some 
 material want or enjoyment, — ^that is, to 
 something positive, as the saying is, — ^&lls 
 into contempt and opprobrium, or is at least 
 abandoned. Philosophy furnishes a melan- 
 choly example. True, it has well deserved 
 this &,te by its excess and extravagance in 
 recent times; and the same will invariably 
 befall it, whenever it effects independence, 
 and refuses fealty to Divine authority. It 
 is the same with literature, the fine arts, and 
 whatever promotes the civilization of men and 
 the triumph of the Divine principle made 
 after the image of God, over the brute formed 
 after the image of the world. All these noble 
 objects are abandoned as useless, or of little 
 importance to the wants and happiness of 
 ■ 9 
 
52 ACQUiEED QUAimES OF MIND. 
 
 actual society. Religion has alone sur\ived, 
 thanks to her unchangeahle teaching and her 
 Divine origin, which place her above human in- 
 stitutions and the vicissitudes of earth. But 
 for the Rock of the Divine Word, but for 
 the Divine foundation-stone, on which she is 
 built, she also, under pretence of rendering 
 her more useful or more positive, more suited 
 to the wants and lights of the age, would 
 have been lowered and materialised, then 
 the last link which binds humanity to heaven 
 would have been broken, and the spiritual 
 man would have been whoUy interred in the 
 slough of this world, buried in sensuality. 
 Let but one glance be given at what has been 
 ihe fate of Religion and its Divine authority, 
 in some instances and a notion wiU be gained of 
 the degradation from which Religion stUl pre- 
 serves the hmnan race. She is the last refuge 
 of freedom and dignity of the mind against 
 material force. Everywhere else, religious in- 
 struction, without faith and without fixed rule, 
 is at the mercy of human science, and therefore 
 of the world's power, which makes that science 
 the instrument of its own predominance. 
 I crave forgiveness for this disgi'cssion which 
 
ACQUIEED QFAUTIES OF MIND. 63 
 
 has escaped from a heart deeply saddened at 
 the lowering of our system of studies and 
 the decline of our education, which will lead 
 to a new species of harbaris'm in this age of 
 ours. 
 
 I return to my subject, that is, to the fund 
 which he who wishes to speak in public should 
 form within himself; and I say to the young 
 who may read me, — ^if, indeed, they will read me 
 at all — ^I say, at least to those who may feel 
 themselves impelled to the noble exercise of 
 eloquence : " My young friends, before speak- 
 mg, endeayour to know what you have to say, 
 and for this, study — study well. Obtain by 
 perseverance an acquaintance first with aU that 
 relates to classical learning; and then let each 
 labour ardently in the department to which his 
 vocation urges him . Whatever you study, do so 
 soUdly and conscientiously. Bend your whole 
 mind to the object you seek to know, and let 
 it not go till you have entered into, mastered, 
 and grasped it, so as to comprehend it, to con- 
 ceive it within yourselves, to possess the full 
 idea of it, and to be able to give an account 
 of it to yom-selves and others. There is but 
 one time for acquirement, the time of youth. 
 e3 
 
54: ACQUIEED QUALTTIES OF MIND. 
 
 Bees gather in the flower season only ; they 
 aftenrards live upon their wax anl honey. In 
 youth all the faculties are woudrously adapted 
 to receive and retain, and the mind eagerly 
 welcomes what comes from without. It is 
 now that supplies should be laid in, the 
 harvest gathered, and stored in the garner. 
 Later comes the threshing of the sheaves, and 
 the severing of the grain from the straw, — 
 the grinding, the formation of pure flour, the 
 kneading of it, and the making of bread. But 
 there would be neither bread, nor flour, nor 
 grain, if there had been no reaping, — and what 
 can be reaped if the seed has not been cast, nor 
 the ground opened and prepared ? Sow, then, 
 the field of your mind as much as possible, till 
 it, and moisten it with your sweat, that the good 
 seed may bear fruit, and use the sickle cou- 
 rageously in the h^at of the day, in order to fill 
 the storehouse of your understanding. Then 
 when you shaU have to feed a famishing people 
 with the bread of eloquence, you will have in 
 hand rich ears to beat, and generous grain 
 yielding pure substance ; from this substance, 
 kneaded in yo'zr mind with a little leaven 
 from on high, imparting to it a divine fer- 
 
ACQUXKED QUALITIES OF MDTD. 65 
 
 mentation, you may form inteUectnal bread 
 full of flavour and solidity, ■which 'will give 
 your audience the nourishment of mind and 
 soul, even as bread gives aliment to the body." 
 
 § 2. — To Tcnow how to speak, you must first 
 know how to think. 
 
 "We now come to the acquired qualities pro- 
 perly so called, that is, to the art of thinking, 
 and the method of expressing what is thought 
 which may be learnt by study and formed by 
 well-directed practise. 
 
 Although we think by nature, yet is there 
 an art of thinking which teaches us to do with 
 greater ease and certainty what our nature, as 
 rational beings, leads us to do spontaneously. 
 In aU that man voluntarily does, liberty has its 
 own share ; and Uberty, which nowhere exists 
 without intelUgence, is ever the source of pro- 
 gress and perfection. Man learns how to think 
 as he learns how to speak, read, write, and sing, 
 to move his body gracefully, and to use aU. the 
 powers of mind and body. 
 
 Logic teaches the art of thinking. The 
 orator therefore must be a good logician ; not 
 e4 
 
56 ACQTHEED QtrALITIES OF MIND. 
 
 alone theoretically, but practically. It is not 
 his business to know how to declaim about 
 the origin and formation of ideas, nor about 
 the four operations of thought. It is not 
 the method of teaching, but the use of logic 
 which he requires, — and a prompt and dex- 
 terous familiarity with it he will not acquire 
 except by long and repeated exercises, under the 
 guidance of an experienced thinker, an artist of 
 thought, who wOl teach him how to do with 
 ease what he knows how to do already of him- 
 self imperfectly. 
 
 We, in this point of view, somewhat regret 
 the disuse of the old syllogistic "method of the 
 schools ; for we are convinced that, properly 
 applied and seriously dii'ected, it gives quick- 
 ness, subtilty, clearness, and something sure 
 and firm to the mind, rarely found in the 
 thinkers of the present day. The fault for- 
 merly, perhaps, was in the exeessiveness of 
 the dialectical turn, and frequently the style 
 became spoUt by dryness, heaviness, and an 
 appearance of pedantry. Still, men knew how 
 to state a question, and how to treat it : they 
 knew at which end to begin it in order to 
 develope and solve it ; and the line of the argu- 
 
ACQTTIEED QITAIilTEES OF MIND. 57 
 
 ment, distinctly marked out, led straight to 
 tlie object and to a conclusionf The fault 
 now-a-days is in an absence or deficiency 
 of method. People remain a long time before 
 their subject "without knowing how to begin it, 
 even though they rightly understand its very ' 
 terms. This supeiinduces interminable prepa- 
 rations, desultory introductions, a confused ex- 
 position, a disorderly development, and finally 
 no conclusion, or at least nothing decisive. 
 There are really few men in our day who 
 know how to think, that is, how to lay down 
 and develope a subject in such a way as to 
 Instruct and interest those who read them 
 or listen to them. A horror is everywhere 
 felt'' for rules or for what imposes constraint, 
 \nd, as nearly all the barriers have been re- 
 jaoved which supported and protected human 
 activity by obliging it to exert itself within 
 fixed lines, liberty has become disorder, men 
 swerve from the track in order to walk at their 
 ease; and, far froin gaining by it, they lose 
 great part, of their time and their strength in 
 seeking a path which would have been shown 
 them from the outset had they chosen to accept 
 of discipline, and to allow themselves to bo 
 
58 ACQTJIfiED QUALirrES OF MIND. 
 
 guided. In order to think la tlieir own fashion, 
 or be origLaal, they think at random, just as 
 ideas happen to come, if any come ; and the 
 upshot, for the most part, is vagueness, oddity, 
 and confusion. This is the era of the vague 
 •and the ahnost. Everybody wants to speak of 
 everything, as everybody wants to interfere 
 in everything ; and the result is that amidst this 
 flood of thoughts, this overflow of divergent or 
 irreconcilable words and actions, the minds of 
 men, tossed to and fro, float uncertain, without 
 a notion where they are going, just as the wind 
 blows or the current drives. 
 
 I would have, then, persons who are intended 
 for public speaking, follow a course of logic, 
 rather practical than theoretic, in which the 
 mind should be vigorously trained to the divi- 
 sion and combination of ideas upon interesting 
 and instructive topics. These exercises should 
 be written or oral. Sometimes it should be a 
 dissertation on a point of literature, morals, 
 or history ; and a habit should be acquired 
 of composing with order and method, by point- 
 ing out, in proportion as the student proceeded, 
 the several parts of the discourse, the steps of 
 the development, and means of proof — in a 
 
ACQUTEED QUALITIES OF MEND. 59 
 
 word, -whatever serves to treat a subject suitably 
 Sometimes it should be a discussion between 
 several debaters, with the whole apparatus and 
 strict rules of a dialectic argument, under the 
 master's direction ; the disputants should not 
 be allowed to proceed or conclude without re-* 
 ducing their thoughts to the forms of syllogistic 
 reasoning, — a process which entails some length- 
 iness, and even heaviness upon the discourse, 
 but it gives greater clearness, order, and cer- 
 tainty. At other times, the debate might be 
 extemporaneous, and then, in the unforeseen 
 character of the discussion and in aU the 
 sparks of intelligence which it strikes forth, 
 win be seen the minds which are distinguished, 
 the minds that know how to take possession 
 of an idea at once, enter into it, divide, and 
 expound it. There should, for every position 
 or thesis, be the counter-position or antithesis, 
 and some one to maintain it ; for in every 
 subject there are reasons for and against. 
 Thus would the student learn to look at things 
 in various lights, and not to aUow himself to 
 be absorbed by one point of view, or by a pre- 
 conceived opinion. But these gymnastics of 
 thinking ought to be led by an intelligent mas- 
 
60 AOUtntEED QITALITIES OF MIND. 
 
 ter, who suffers not himself to be swayed by 
 forms or enslaved by routine. Eeal thinking 
 must be effected under all these forms of dis- 
 putation and argument, but the letter must not 
 Mil the spirit, as frequently was the case in the 
 schools of antiquity. For then it would no 
 longer be anything but an affair of memory, 
 and the life of intelligence would die away. I 
 am convinced, — and I have made the experi- 
 ment for a length of years in the' Faculty of 
 Strasbourg, where I had established those ex- 
 ercises, which proved exceedingly useful, — I 
 am convinced that young men, who thus occu- 
 pied themselves during a year or two in turn- 
 ing over and handling a variety of questions, 
 in stirring up a multiplicity of ideas, and who 
 should, with a view to this, write and speak a 
 great deal, always with order, with method, 
 and under -good guidance, would become able 
 thinkers; and, if endowed with high intelli- 
 gence, would become men mighty in word or 
 in deed, or in both together, according to their 
 capacity, character and nature. 
 
ACQUIRED QUAIITEEB OF MIND. 61 
 
 § 3. — That Good Speaking may he learnt, and 
 how. 
 
 However, it is not enough to think metho- 
 dically, in order to speak ■well, although this he 
 a great step towards it ; to express or say what 
 is thought is also necessary; in other words, 
 form must be added to the substance. 
 
 We must learn then how to speak as well as 
 how to think well. 
 
 Here, again, practice surpasses theory, and 
 daily exercise is worth more than precepts. 
 Rhetoric teaches the art of language ; that is, of 
 speaking or writing elegantly, while grammar 
 shows how to do so with correctness. It is clear 
 that before anything else, the rules of language 
 must be known and observed; but correctness 
 gives neither elegance nor grace, which are the 
 most requisite qualities of the orator. How are 
 they then to be acquired ? 
 
 In the first place there is what cannot be 
 acquired — a natural fund, which nature alone 
 can give. Women are remarkable for it. The 
 gracefulness with which nature has endowed 
 them, diffuses itself generally into their lan- 
 guage ; and some speak, and even write, admi 
 
62 ACQTJIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 
 
 /'^rably, -without any study ; under the sole in- 
 spiration of feeling or passion. Credit, indeed, 
 must be given to the medium in which they 
 are placed, and the society in which they live, 
 constituting a moral atmosphere in which their 
 very impressionable and open minds — ^unless wil- 
 fully closed — absorb aU influences with avidity, 
 and receive a kiad of spontaneous culture and 
 education. As plants, which bear in their germs 
 the hidden treasures of the most briUiant and 
 odoriferous flowers, inhale from the ground 
 where they are flxed, and the air which encom- 
 passes them, the coarsest juices and the subtilest 
 fluids, which they marvellously transform by 
 assimilation; so these delicate souls absorb into 
 themselves all they come in contact with, aU that 
 impresses or nourishes them; whicli they mani- 
 fest by a soft radiation, by a graceful efflorescence 
 in their movements, actions, words, and what- 
 ever emanates from their persons. 
 
 "Women naturally speak better than men. 
 They express themselves more easily, more 
 vividly ; with more arch simplicity, because 
 they feel more rapidly and more delicately. 
 Hence the loquacity with which they are re- 
 proached, and which is an effect of their 
 
ACQUHtED QUALITIES OF MIND. 63 
 
 constitution and temperament. Hence there 
 are so many women vrlio ■write in an admi- 
 rable and remarkable manner, although they 
 have studied neither rhetoric nor logic, and 
 even without knowing grammar or orthography. 
 They write as they speak; they speak pretty 
 much as the birds sing, — and their language 
 has the same charm. Add to this the sweetness 
 of their organ, the flexibility of their voice, the 
 variety of their intonations, according to the 
 feeling which animates them ; the mobility of 
 their physiognomy, which greatly increases 
 the effect of words, the picturesqueness of their 
 gestures, and in short the gracefmness of then* 
 whole exterior: thus, although not destined for 
 orators by their sex or social position, they 
 have aU the power of the orator, and all his 
 success, in their sphere, and in the circle of 
 their activity. For none better know how to 
 touch, persuade, and influence, which, I think, is 
 the end and the perfection of eloquence. 
 / Men, then, who wish to acquire the art of 
 speaking, must learn by study what most 
 women do naturally ; and in this respect those 
 whose temperament most approaches the femi- 
 nine, ia greater sensibility, and livelier im- 
 
64: iCQTJIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 
 
 pressionableness, -will have less difficulty than 
 others, and wiU succeed better. 
 
 However, as the man who speaks ia puhlio 
 has to express loftier ideas, general notions, and 
 deeper or more extensive comhinations, vrhich 
 'imply depth, — ^penetration of mind, and reflec- 
 tive power, — quah'ties very scarce among 
 women, — ^he wiU never he able to expound 
 these subjects, the result of abstraction and 
 meditation, with grace of feeling and easiness of 
 language spontaneously, and, by nature.- Here 
 art must supply what nature refuses; by dUi- 
 gent labor, by exercises multiplied without 
 end, the diction must be rendered pliable, the 
 speech discipUned, and broken in, that it may 
 become an amenable instrument which^ obe- 
 dient to the least touch of the will, and lightest 
 challenge of thought, wiE furnish instantly 
 a copious style, seeming to flow spontaneously, 
 the result nevertheless of the subtUest art ; like 
 fountains which, with great cost and magnifi- 
 cence, carry the waters of our rivers into our 
 squares, yet appear to pour forth naturally. 
 Thus the words of the orator, by dint of toil 
 and of art, and this even on the most abstract 
 subjects, ought to attain a limpid and an easy 
 
ACQUIEED QtrALITIES OF MIND. 65 
 
 flow, with which he hardly troubles himself^ 
 but to whicj his attention is aU the time 
 directed, in order to bring to light .the ideas 
 in his mind, the images in his fancy, and the 
 emotions of his heart. 
 
 Such is the talent to be acquired! Fit 
 fabricando fdber, says the adage; and it is the 
 same with the journeyman of words, and forger 
 of eloquence. The iron must be often beaten, 
 especially while it is hot, to give it stape ; so 
 must we continually hammer language to be- 
 come masters of it, and to fashion it, if we 
 would become cabable of speaking in public. 
 It is not enough to leam the rules of style, the 
 tropes and figures of rhetoric; the use and 
 proper application of them must be known ; and 
 this cannot be learnt except by much speaking 
 and much writing under the direction of an able 
 master, who knows how to write and speak 
 himself; for in this both precept and example are 
 necessary, and example is better than precept. 
 
 He who has a capacity for public speaking 
 will leam it best by listening to those who 
 know how to speak well, and he will make 
 more progress by striving to imitate them than 
 by aU their instructions: as the young birds, 
 F 
 
66 ACQUniED QUALITIES OF MIND. 
 
 on their first attempts to quit the parent nest, 
 try at first their unskilful flight in the track 
 of their parents, guided and sustained hy their 
 ■wings, and venture not except with eyes fixed 
 on them, so a youth who is learning how to 
 become a writer, follows his master with confi- 
 dence while imitating him, and in his first 
 essays cleaves timidly at his heels, daring in 
 the beginning to go only where he is led, 
 but every day tries to proceed a little far- 
 ther, drawn on, and, as it were, carried by his 
 guide. It is a great blessing to have an able 
 man for a master. It is worth more than all 
 books ; for it is a living book, imparting Ufe at 
 the same moment as instruction. It is one 
 torch kindling another. Then an inestimable 
 advantage is gained, for, to the authority of 
 the master, which youth is always more or less 
 prone to dispute, is added the authority of talent 
 which invariably prevails. He gladly receives 
 the advice and guidance of the man whose 
 superiority he recognises. This much is needed 
 to quell the pride of, youth, and cast down, or 
 at least abate, its presumption and self-confi- 
 dence. It willingly listens to the master it 
 admires, and feels happy in his society. 
 
ACQUIEED QUAUTIES OF MIND. 67 
 
 I had this happiness, and I have always 
 been deeply grateful to the Almighty who pro- 
 cured it for me, and to the iUustiious man who 
 was the iastrument of His beneficence. For 
 nearly four years, at the Lyceum of Charle- 
 magne and the Ecole Jformale, I profited daily 
 by the lessons and example of Monsieur VpxE- 
 iiAis, then almost as young as his pupils ; and, 
 if I know anything of the art of speaking 
 and writing, I say it before the world, to him, 
 after God, I owe it. 
 
 § 4. — 27iat to speak weU in public, one must 
 first know how to write. 
 
 You will never be capable of speaking pro- 
 perly in public, unless you acquire such mastery 
 of your own thought as to be able to decompose 
 it into its parts, to analyse it into its elements, 
 and then at need, to recompose, regather, and 
 concentrate it again by a synthetical process. 
 Now this analysis of the idea, which displays 
 it, as it were, before the eyes cf the mind, is 
 well executed only by writing. The pen is 
 the scalpel which dissects the thoughts, and 
 
 k2 
 
68 ACQTJIEED QUA1ITIE8 OF MmD. 
 
 nerer, except when you write down what you 
 behold internally, can you succeed in clearly 
 discerning all that is contained in a conception, 
 or in obtaining its weU-marked scope. Tou 
 then understand yourself, and make others 
 imderstand you. 
 
 You should therefore begin by learning to 
 write, in order to give yourself a right account 
 of your own thoughts, before you venture 
 yourself to speak. They who have not learned 
 this first, speak in general badly and with diffi- 
 culty ; unless, indeed, they have that fatal 
 facility, a thousand times worse than hesita- 
 tion or than silence, which drowns thought in 
 floods of words, or in a torrent of copiousness, 
 sweeping away good earth, and leaving behind 
 sand and stones alone. Heaven keep us from 
 those interminable talkers, such as are often to 
 be foimd in southern countries, who deluge 
 you, relatively to anything and to nothing, with 
 a shower of dissertation and a downpouring of 
 their eloquence ! During nine-tenths of the 
 time there is not one rational thought in the 
 whole of this twaddle, carrying along in ,ita 
 course every kind of rubbish and platitude. 
 The class of persons who produce a speech 
 
ACQUIEED QUAUriES OF imirD. 69 
 
 60 easily, and who are ready at tlie sliortest mo- 
 ment to extemporise a speech, a dissertation, or 
 a homily, know not how to compose a tolerahle 
 sentence; and I repeat that, with such excep- 
 tions as defy all rule, he who has not learnt 
 how to write will never know how to speak. 
 
 To leam to write, one must write a great deal 
 in imitation of those who know how, and under 
 their guidance, just as one learns to draw or 
 paint from good models, and by means of wise 
 instruction. It is a school process, or a work- 
 shop process, if the phrase be preferred, and to 
 a great extent mechanical and literal, but indis- 
 pensable to the student of letters. Thus the 
 musician must tutor his fingers to pliancy, in 
 order to execute easily and instantaneously all 
 the movements necessary for the quick produc- 
 tion of sounds, depending on the structure of 
 his instrument. Thus, likewise, the singer 
 niust become master of all the movements of 
 his throat, and must long and unremittingly 
 practise vocal exercises, until the wiU expe- 
 riences no difficulty in determining those con- 
 tractions and expansions of the windpipe which 
 modify and inflect the voice in every degree 
 and fraction of its scale. 
 
70 ACQUIEED QXTAUTIES OF MIND. 
 
 In the same manner, the future oiator must, 
 by long study and repeated compositions of a 
 finished kind, handle and turn all expressions 
 of language, various consti actions of Sentences, 
 and endless combinations of words, until they 
 have become supple and weU-trained instru- 
 ments of the mind, giving him no longer any 
 trouble while actually speaking, and accommo- 
 dating themselves unresistingly to the slightest 
 guidance of his thought. 
 
 With inverted languages, in which the sen- 
 tence may assume several arrangements, this is 
 more easy, for you have more than one way to 
 express the same thought; and thus there are 
 more chances of expressing yourself, if not 
 better, at least more conveniently. But in 
 our language,* whose principal merit is clear- 
 ness, and whose path is always the straightest, 
 that is, the most logical possible, — a quality 
 which constitutes its value, for, after aU, speech 
 is made to convey our thoughts, — ^it is more 
 difficult to speak well, and especially to extem- 
 porise, because there is but one manner of con- 
 
 * The English language holds, in' this respect, a middle 
 place between the French and the two great all-capable 
 tongu S3 of classic antiquity. 
 
ACQUIEED QTTAIJTIES OF MmD. 71 
 
 structing the sentence, and if you have the 
 misfortune of missing, at ttie outset, this du-ect 
 and single way, you are involved in a by-path 
 without any outlets, and can emerge from it 
 only by breaking through the enclosures or 
 escaping across country. You are then astray, 
 or lost in a quicksand, — a painful result for 
 aU concerned, both for him who speaks, and 
 for those who listen. 
 
 It is therefore indispensable to acquire the 
 perfect mastery of your instrument, if you 
 wish so to play upon it in pubhc as to give 
 pleasure to others, and avoid bringing confu- 
 sion upon yourself. As the violinist commands 
 with the touch every part of the string, and 
 his fingers alight on the exact point in order 
 to produce the required sound, so the mind 
 of the orator ought to alight precisely on the 
 right word, corresponding to each part of the 
 thought, and to seize on the most suitable 
 arrangement of words, in order to exhibit the 
 development of its parts with due regard to 
 each sentence as weU as to the whole dis- 
 course. An admirable and prodigious task in 
 the quickness and certitude of the discernment 
 is executed at the moment of extemporising, 
 
 74 
 
73 ACQtriKED QUALITIES OP MIND. 
 
 and iu the taste and the tact which it implies. 
 And here especially are manifested the truth 
 and usfi of our old literary studies *nd of the 
 method which, up to our own day, has been 
 constantly employed, but now apparently de- 
 spised, or neglected, to the great injury of logic 
 and eloquence. 
 
 The end of that method is to stimulate and 
 bring out the intelligence of youth by the 
 incessant decomposition and recomposition of 
 speech, — in other words, by the continual exer- 
 cise of both analysis and synthesis ; and that 
 the exercise in question may be the more 
 closely reasoned and moie profitable, it is based 
 simultaneously on two languages studied to- 
 gethei', the one ancient and dead, and not 
 therefore to be learnt by rote, the other living 
 and as analogous as possible to the first. The 
 student is then made to account to himself 
 for all the words of both, and for their bearings 
 in particular sentences, in order to establish the 
 closest parallel between them, the most exact 
 equiponderance, and so to reproduce with all 
 attainable fidelity the idea of one language in 
 the other. Hence what are termed themes and 
 (versions, — the despair of idle school-boys. 
 
ACQITIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 73 
 
 indeed, but very servicealjle in forming and 
 perfecting the natural logic of the mind, which. 
 If carefully puraued for several years is the 
 best way of teaching the unpractised and 
 tender reason of youth aU the operations of 
 thought, — a feculty which, after aU, keeps 
 pace with words, and can work and manifest 
 itself only by means of the signs of language. 
 
 The superficial or positive philosopher ima- 
 gines that the object of this protracted tris^, 
 which occupies the finest years of youth, ifl ' 
 to learn Latin or Greek, and then exclaims that 
 the result is not worth either the trouble or the 
 time wluch it costs, and that, comparing one 
 language with another, it would be more pro- 
 fitable to teach children modem and spoken 
 tongues which might hereafter be of use tt 
 them in life. Such persons would be quite 
 right if this were the only end in view; for 
 doubtless, French or German would be more 
 seniceable for travel, trade, or anything of 
 that nature. 
 
 But there is another object which these per- 
 sons do not see, although it is the main object : 
 which is to teach thinking to individuals who 
 are destined to work in social life by their 
 
T4 ACQXJIKED QUALITIES OF MESTD. 
 
 thought, — to fashion labourers of the njind 
 to the functions of intelligence, as an apprcn^ 
 tice or handicraftsman is fashioned to material 
 functions and bodily toU. As these last are 
 taught to use their tools, and therefore to know 
 them thoroughly and handle them skilfully, in 
 like manner the former must also learn per- 
 fectly the implements of their caUing, and 
 tools of their craft, in order to use them ably 
 on all possible occasions. Now the necessary 
 instrument, — thought's indispensable tool, — 
 is language; and therefore, although people 
 speak naturally and almost without any teach- 
 ing, merely through living together, yet if 
 a person wish to become an able workman ol 
 speech, and consequiBntly of thought, as if he 
 sought to be an able locksmith or a skilful 
 mason, he must get instruction in the pro- 
 cesses of art, and be initiated in the rules 
 and methods which make it easier and more 
 efficient. 
 
 This is obtained by the study of languages 
 which is the object of classical pursuits. Froip 
 the elementary class to the " humanities," it 
 is oiie course of logic by nieans of compa- 
 rative grammar, — an4 it is th? only logic 
 
AOQUIEED QUALITIES OF MrCTD. 75 
 
 of which youth is capable. It is the easiest 
 training of thought Ijy and through words, 
 its material signs. A youth is thus taught 
 for several years to learn the connexions of 
 ideas by the relations of words, which he 
 is continually fashioning and re-fashioning ; 
 and whUe learning to form sentences, ever 
 with a thought in view, the details of which 
 he must explain and convey, he becomes used 
 to analysis and combination, and executes, in 
 the humble functions of grammar, Sr prelude 
 to the highest operations of science, which, 
 after all, are but the decomposition and mar- 
 shalling of ideas. 
 
 Who does not at once see what facility 
 the mind acquires by this perpetual comparison 
 of the terms and idioms of two languages, 
 which must be made to fit each other, and to 
 what a degree thought becomes refined and 
 subtile, in the presence of some idea which 
 has to be expressed? the phrases of two lan- 
 guages are measured and weighed incessantly ; 
 they are compared, each with each, and each 
 with the idea, to ascertain which will render 
 it best. 
 
 The efibrts are not useless which are made 
 
76 ACQUIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 
 
 by these youthful minds who thus, day after - 
 day, wrestle with the, thoughts of the most 
 illustrious writers of antiquity, in order to un- 
 derstand and translate them. How great a 
 privilege to commune daUy with the exalted 
 reason, the noble ideas, and the splendid diction 
 of those great and noble minds ! How great 
 Hhe advantage derived from such an intercourse, 
 and how great the intellectual gain in such a 
 company, and daily familiarity ! Then what a 
 pleasure to have found an equivalent tenn, and 
 to have transferred into one's own language, with 
 the same vigour or the same delicacy, what some 
 famous author has said in his ! "What profit 
 in this concussion of idioms, from which the 
 spark of idea's is so often striken iforth, — this 
 strife, unequal indeed, yet replete with a noble 
 emulation, between a youth, trying the nascent 
 strength of his thoughts, and some master 
 mind whose works enlighten and guide hu- 
 manity ! And finally, what more particularly 
 concerns our subject, what facility of expres- 
 sion, what aptitude for extemporaneous speak- 
 ing, must not accrue from this habit, contracted 
 from childhood, of handling and turning a 
 Bentence in every direction, until the most 
 
ACQT7IEED QirAIJTIES OF MIND. 77 
 
 perfect form "be found, of combining its terms 
 in all ways, in order t# arrive- at the arrange- 
 ment best fitted for the manifestation of the 
 thought, of polishing each member of it by 
 effacing asperities and smoothing crevices, of 
 balancing one sentence against another, in 
 order to give the whole oneness, measure, 
 harmony, and a sort of music, rendering it as 
 agreeable to the ear when spoken, as it is 
 luminous to the mind by which it is meditated. 
 
 No ; in no other way can the artist of words 
 be ever formed; and if a different method be 
 attempted, as is somewhat signified at present, 
 you will have, not artists, but handicraftsmen. 
 Means should always be proportioned to ends. 
 If you want orators, you must teach them how 
 to speak, and you will not teach them other^rise 
 than they have been taught heretofore. AH 
 our (French) great orators of the seventeenth 
 and eighteenth centuries have been formed in 
 this manner, and I am not aware that there 
 have ever been greater writers in the world, or 
 that the glory of France in this partic ilar has 
 been excelled. Let this splendour of eivi'isa- 
 tion, this blooming forth of the mind in poetiy, 
 literature, and eloquence, which have always 
 
rS- AOQtnEED QUALITIES OT MHO). 
 
 been the brightest crown and most beautiful 
 garland of humanity on earth, be once aban- 
 doned, in favour of conquest, and of the riches 
 produced by industry and commerce, — which 
 are much to be admii-ed, no doubt, but, after 
 all, minister more to body than to soul, 
 — be it so; we shall perhaps become more 
 learned in material things, and certainly more 
 wealthy ; we shall have more ways of winning 
 money and of losing it, more ways of enjoying 
 earthly life, and therefore of wearing out, and 
 perchance of degrading it : but shall we be the 
 happier? This is not certain. Shall we be 
 the better? — less certain still ; but what is 
 certain, is, that the life of human society or 
 civilization, however gUt, will be less beautiful,' 
 less noble, and less glorious. 
 
 There is another practice which strikingly 
 conduces towards facilitating expression and 
 towards perfecting its form ; we mean the 
 learning by heart of the finest passages in great 
 writers, and especially in the most musical 
 poets, so as to be able to recite them at a single 
 effort, at moments of leisure, during a solitary 
 walk for instance, when the mind so readEy 
 wanders. This practice, adopted in all schools, 
 
ALHirtESK liTJXUTIEO OJ SSOSI). 79 
 
 I& \\iTo'(TilM-Iy ad^arvtageoTis in rhetoric, and 
 duiipg '.lie Lrighi years of youth. At that 
 age it is easy and agreeable, and he ymo aspires 
 to the art of speaking ought nevdr to neglect it. 
 Besides furnishing the mind ■with all manner of 
 fine thoughts, well expressed and well linked 
 together, and thus nourishing, developing, and 
 enriching it, it has the additional advantage of 
 filling the understanding with graceful images, 
 of forming the ear to the rhythm and number 
 of the period, and of obtaining a sense of the 
 harmony of speech, which is not without its 
 own kind of music ; for ideas, and even such 
 as are the most abstract, enter the mind more 
 readily, and sink into it more deeply, when 
 presented in a pleasing feshion. By dint of 
 reading the beautifid lines of ComeiUe and 
 Racine, Bossnet's majestic and pregnant sen- 
 tences, the harmonious and cadenced composi- 
 tions of Fen61on and HassOlon, one gradually 
 and without effort acquires a language ap- 
 proaching theirs, and imitates them instinctively 
 through the natural attraction of the beautiful, 
 and the propensity to reproduce whatever 
 pleases; and at last, by repeating this exercise 
 daily for years, one attains a refined taste of 
 
80 ACQTIIKED QUALTriES OF MIND. 
 
 the delicacies of language and the shades of 
 style, just as a palate accustomed to the flavour 
 , of the most exquisite viands can no longer 
 endure the coarser. But what is only a dis- 
 advantage in bodily taste, -^ at least under 
 certain circumstances, is always beneficial to 
 the literary taste, which should seek its nutri- 
 ment, like -the bee, in the most aromatic 
 portions of the flower, in order to combine 
 them into delicious and perfumed honey. 
 
 By this process is prepared, moreover, in the 
 imaginative part of the understanding, a sort of 
 capacity for the oratorical form, fOr the shaping 
 of sentences, which I cannot liken to anything 
 better than to a mould carefully prepared, and 
 traced with delicate lines and varied patterns, 
 into which the stream of thought, flowing full 
 of life and ardour from a glowing mind in the fii'e 
 of declamation or composition, becomes fixed 
 even while it is being cast, as metal in a state 
 of fusion becomes instantaneously a beautiful 
 statue. Thus the oratorical diction should be 
 cast, all of one piece, by a single throw in order 
 to exhibit a beautiful and a living unity. But 
 for this a beautiful mould is indispensable, and 
 the young orator, who must have fmther re- 
 
ACQtriEED QITiXrnES OF MIND. 81 
 
 received from nature the artistic power, cwmot 
 fonn witliiii him that mould save with the 
 assistance of the great masters and by imitating 
 them. Genius alone is an exception to thia 
 rule, and genius is rare. 
 
 The best rhetorical professors, those who are 
 veritably artists of speech, and seek to fashion 
 others to their own likeness, recommend and 
 adopt this exercise largely ; it is irksome to the 
 indolent, but it amply indemnifies the toil 
 which it exacts by the fruits which it brings. 
 There is, besides, a way of alle\'iating the 
 trouble of it, anl that is, to read and learn 
 select pages of our great authors, while stroll- 
 ing under the shades of a garden or through 
 some rich country, when nature is in all her 
 biiUiancy. You may then recite them aloud in 
 such beautiful scenery, the impressions of which 
 deliciously blend with those of eloquence and 
 song. Every young man of any talent or 
 literary taste has made the expeiiment. 
 During the spring time of life, there is a sin- 
 gular charm for us in the spring time of nature ; 
 ind the redundance of fresh life in a youthful 
 soul trying its own powers in thought, in 
 painting, ov ii. poesy, is marvellonsiy and ia- 
 G 
 
82 ACQTTIEBD QUALITIES OF MIKD. 
 
 stinotively wooed into symjiathy with that 
 glorious life of the world around, whose ferti' 
 lising 'virtue evokes his genius, while it 
 enchants his senses by the suhtilest emotions, 
 and enriches his imagination with varied 
 pictures and brilliant hues. 
 
 Moreover, — and this is a privilege of youth, 
 which has its advantages as well as its incon- 
 veniences, — poetry and eloquence are never 
 better relished, that is, never with greater 
 delight and love, than at this age, ia the dawn 
 of the soul's life, amidst the first fruits of the 
 imagination and the heart's ianocence, in the 
 opening splendours of the ideal, which seems 
 to the understanding as a rising sun, tinging and 
 illumining all things <with its radiant fires. 
 The beauty that is understood and that whidi 
 is merely sensible wondrously harmonise, they 
 give each other enchantment and relief; or, to 
 speak more truly, material beauty is appreciated 
 only through the reflected light of mental 
 beauty, and as the rays emitted by an idea 
 illuminate and transfigure nature's forms and 
 nature's life, — so nature, on the other hand, 
 while it lovingly receives the lustre of some 
 heavenly thought, re&acts it gloriously io its 
 
ACQUIEED QUAUTIES OF METO. 83 
 
 prisms, and multiplies, whUe reflecting its 
 beams. 
 
 AU this the yeathfiil orator, or he who has 
 the power to become one, wiU feel and ex- 
 jserience, each person according to his nature 
 and his character, as he awakens the echoes of 
 some beautifiil scene with the finest accents of 
 human eloquence or poetry. While impressing 
 these more deeply in his memory, by help of 
 the spots wherein he learns them, which will 
 add to and thereafter facilitate his recollections, 
 he will imbibe unconsciously a twofold Ufe, the 
 purest and sublimest life of humanity, and that 
 great life of nature which is the thought of 
 the Almighty diffused throughout creation. 
 These two great lives, that of man and that of 
 nature, which spring from the same source, and 
 thither return, blended without being con- 
 founded within him, animating and nourishing 
 his own life, the life of his mind and of his 
 soul, will yet draw forth from his bosom, from 
 his poet's or orator's heart, a stream of eloquence 
 or of song which will run an imperishable 
 course. 
 
 03 
 
84 PHTSICAL ACQUIEED QUALITIES 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 PHrSICAL QUALITIES OP THE OEATOB, 
 ITATUEAI, AND ACQUIEED. 
 
 Ii is not enough for the orator. to have ideas 
 and to know how to express them, imparting 
 the most graceful turn to his diction, and pour- 
 ing forth . copious words into the form of a 
 musical and sonorous period; he must further 
 know how to articulate his speech, how to pro- 
 nounce and deliver his discourse. He must 
 have propriety of voice and gesture, or the 
 oratorical action, — a thing of immense im- 
 portance to the success of eloquence, in 
 which nature, as in everything, has a consi- 
 derable share, but art may play a great part. 
 Here, then, also is to be developed a natural 
 pi-edisposition, and a certain skill is to be 
 acquired. 
 
PHTSICAI- ACQUIEED QUAUnES. 85 
 
 § \.~The Voice. 
 
 Tlie voice, including all the organs which 
 serve to produce or modify it, is the speaker's 
 chief instrument ; and its quality essentially 
 depends, in the first instance, upon the forma- 
 tion of the chest, the throat, and mouth. Art 
 can do little to ameliorate this formation,- 
 but it can do much to facilitate and strengthen 
 the organic movements in aU that regards 
 breathing, the emission of sound, and pro- 
 nunciation. These matters ought to be the 
 object of a special duty. 
 
 It is very important, in speaking as in sing- 
 ing, to know how to send forth and how to 
 husband the breath, so as to spin lengthened 
 sounds and deliver a complete period, without 
 being blown, and without breaking a sentence 
 already begun, or a rush of declamation by a 
 gasp, — ^needful, indeed, for lungs that have 
 failed, but making a sort of disagreeable gap or 
 stoppage. 
 
 Care should also be taken not to speak too 
 fast, too loud, or with too much animation at 
 the outset ; for if you force your voice in the 
 beginning you are presently out of breath, or 
 
 08 
 
86 PHYSICAL ACQUIEED QUALmES. 
 
 your voice is xjracked or hoarse, and then j ou 
 fan no longer proceed without repeated efforts 
 which fatigue the hearers and exhaust the 
 speaker. All these precautions, which appear 
 trivial, but which are really of high importance, 
 are learned by labour, practice, and personal 
 experience. Still it is a very good thing to bo 
 warned and guided by the experience of others, 
 and this may be ensured advantageously by 
 frequent recitations aloud under the direction 
 of some master of elocution. 
 
 Enough stress is not laid on these things, if, 
 indeed, they are attended to at aU, in the 
 schools of rhetoric, in literary establishments, 
 and in seminaries, — ^wherein orators, neverthe- 
 less, are expected to be formed. Scarce any 
 but actors now-a-days trouble themselves about 
 them, and that is the reason we have so few 
 men in the liberal professions who know how 
 to speak, or even to read or recite a discourse 
 rightly. 
 
 On this point the ancients had a great advan- 
 tage over us; they attached far more import- 
 ance than we do to oratorical action, as we see 
 in the treatises of Cicero and QuintUian. It 
 was with them one half of eloquence at the 
 
PHTSIOAl ACQUIRED QTTAMTIES. 87 
 
 least ; and it is said that Demostlienes made it 
 tlie orator's chief quality. They, perhaps, weut 
 too far in this respect; and it came, doubtless, 
 of their having to speak before the multitude, 
 whose senses must be struck, whose passions 
 must be excited, and on whom power and bril- 
 liancy of voice have immense effect. As for 
 us, we fall into the contrary extreme, and fre- 
 quently our orators, even those most distin- 
 guished in point of style, do not know how to 
 speak their speeches. We are so unused to 
 beauty of form and nobility of air, that we an 
 amazed when we meet them. There is a cer 
 tain orator of our day who owes his success 
 and reputation merely to these advantages. 
 On the other hand, these alone are too little; 
 we miss much when a fine elocution and an 
 elegant or splendid delivery, carry off common- 
 place thoughts and expressions, more fuU of 
 sound than of sense. This is quickly perceived 
 in the perusal of those harangues which pro- 
 duced so great an effect when delivered, and in 
 which scarcely any of the emotions experienced 
 in listening to them is recovered after they have 
 once been fixed warm, as it were, on paper by 
 04 
 
88 PHYSICAI, ACQTJIEED QUALITIES. 
 
 the reporter's art. The spell of the oratorical 
 action is gone from them. 
 
 The modulation of the voice , proceeds prin- 
 cipally from the larynx, which produces and 
 modifies it almost without limit, by expan- 
 sion and contraction. First, then, we have 
 the formation of the larynx, with its muscles, 
 cartilages, membranes, . and tracery, which are 
 to the emission of vocal sound what the invo- 
 lutions of the brain probably are, instrument- 
 ally, in the operations of thought. But, in the 
 one case as in the other, the connexion of the 
 organs with the eflfects produced entirely escapes 
 us; and although we are continually availing 
 ourselves of the instrument, we do not perceive 
 in any manner the how of its ministrations. It 
 is only by use, and experiments often repeated,^ 
 that we learn to employ them with greatej 
 ease and power, and our skill in this respect 
 is wholly empirical. The researches of the 
 subtilest anatomy have given us no discovery in 
 the matter. AH that we have ascertained is, 
 that eveiy voice .has its natund bell-tone, which 
 makes it a bass voice, a tenor, or a soprano, 
 each with intermediate gradations. The middle 
 roice, or tenor, is the most favourable foi 
 
PHYSICAL AOQIHRED QUALITIES. S9 
 
 speaking ; it is that whicli maintains itself the 
 best, and which reaches the farthest when well 
 articulated. It is also the most pleasing, the 
 most endearing, and has the largest resources 
 for inflection, because, being in the middle of 
 the scale, it rises or sinks with greater ease, 
 and leans itself better to either hand. It there- 
 fore commands a greater variety of intonations, 
 which hinders monotony of elocution, and re- 
 awakens the attention of the hearer, so prone 
 to doze. 
 
 The upper voice, exceedingly clear at first, 
 is continually tending towards a scream. It 
 harshens as it proceeds, and at last becomes 
 falsetto and nasal. It requires great talent, 
 great liveliness of thought, language, and elo- 
 cution to compensate or redeem this blemish. 
 One of the most distinguished orators of our 
 time is an example in point. He used to suc- 
 ceed in obtaining a hearing for several hours 
 together, in spite of his lank and creaking voice, 
 — a real victory of mind over matter. 
 
 A bass voice is with difficulty pitched high, 
 and continually tends back. Grave and ma- 
 jestic at the outset, it soon grows heavy and 
 monotonous;, it has magnificent chords, but, if 
 
90 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES. 
 
 lobg listened to, produces frequently tne effect 
 of a drone, and soon tires and lulls to sleep 
 by the medley of commingling sounds. What, 
 then, if it he coarse, violent, . uttered with 
 bursts ? Why, it crushes the ear, if it thunders 
 in too confined an apartment ; and if it breaks 
 forth amidst some vast nave, where echoes 
 almost always exist, the bUlows of sound re- 
 verberating from every side, blend together, 
 should the orator be speaking fast, and the 
 result is a deafening confusion, and a sort of 
 acoustic chaos. 
 
 It is an advantage, then, to a speaker to 
 have a middle voice, since he has the greater 
 play for expression in its more numerous in- 
 flections. It is easy to understand how, by 
 constant practice, by frequent and intelligent 
 recitatio: i under able guidance, a person may 
 become master of these inflections, may pro- 
 duce thefn at will, and raise and lower his 
 voice in speaking as in siiiging^ either gra- 
 dually or abruptly, from tone to tone, up to 
 the very hi^;hest, according to the feeling, the 
 thought, or ohe emotions of the mind. Between 
 the acts <A the mental life and those of the 
 organs wliidh are subservient to them there is 
 
PHTSICAI, ACQITIEED QTJALrriES. 91 
 
 a natural correspondence and an inborn, ana- 
 logy, by virtue of the human constitution, 
 •which consists of a soul in union with a body ; 
 and, for this reason, all the impressions, agitar 
 tions, shudderings, and throbbings of the heart, 
 ■when it is stirred by the affections and the 
 passions, no less than the subtUest acts, the 
 nimblest operations of the intelligence — in a 
 ■word, all the modifications of the moral life 
 should find a tone, an accent in the voice, as 
 ■well as a sign in language, an accord, a pa- 
 rallel, in the physical life, and in its means of 
 expression. 
 
 In aU cases, ■whatever be the tone of the 
 voice, bass, tenor, or soprano, — ^what most 
 ■wins upon the hearers, ■what best seizes and 
 most easily retains their attention, is ■what may 
 be called a sympathetio voice. It is difficult 
 enough to say in what it consists; but ■what 
 very clearly characterises it, is the gift of 
 causing itself to be attended to. It is' a cer- 
 tain po'wer of attraction ■which dra'ws to it the 
 hearer's mind, and on its accents hangs his 
 attention. It is a secret virtue "which is in 
 speech, and •which penetrates at once, or little 
 by little, through the ear to the mind or into 
 
ya PHYSICAL ACQUIEED QUALITIES. 
 
 the heart of those who listen, charms them, 
 and holds them beneath the charm, to such a 
 degree that they are disposed, not only to 
 listen, hut even to admit what is said, and to 
 receive it with confidence. It is a voice which 
 inspires an affection for him who speaks, and 
 puts you instinctively on his side, so that his 
 words find an echo in the mind, repeating 
 there what he says, and reproduciug it easily 
 in the understanding and the heart. 
 
 A sympathetic voice singularly helps the 
 effect of the discourse, and is, besides, the 
 best, the most insinuating of exordiums (intro- 
 ductions). I know an orator who has, among 
 other' qualities, this in his favour, and who, 
 every time he mounts the pulpit, produces 
 invariably a profound sensation by his apostolic 
 countenance, and by the very first sounds of 
 his voice. 
 
 Whence comes, above all others, this quality 
 which can hardly be acquired by art? First, 
 certainly from the natural constitution of the 
 vocal organ, as in singing; but, next to this, 
 the soul may contribute much towards it by 
 the feelings and thoughts which actuate it, 
 and by the efforts which it makes to express 
 
PHYSICAL ACQUIEED QTTALirEES. 93 
 
 what is felt, and to convey it to others. There 
 is something sympathetic in the lively and 
 sincere manifestation of any affection ; and when 
 the hearer sees that the speaker is really moved, 
 the motion gains him by a sort of contagion, 
 and he begins to feel with him and like him ; 
 as two chords vibrating in miison. Or, again, 
 if a truth be unfolded to him with clearness, 
 in good order, and fervently, and if the 
 speaker shows that he understands or feels 
 what he says, the hearer, aU at once enlightened 
 and sharing in the same light, acquiesces will- 
 ingly, and receives the words addressed to him 
 with pleasure. In such cases ^he power of 
 conviction animates, enlivens, and transfigures 
 the voice, rendering it agreeable and effective 
 by virtue of the expression, just as a lofty 
 sou] or a great mind exalts and embellishes an 
 ordinary and even an ugly countenance. 
 
 The best way in which an orator can impart 
 to his voice the sympathetic power, even when 
 he may happen not to have it naturally, is to 
 express vividly whatever he says, and conse- 
 quently to feel it well himself, in order to make 
 others- feel it. Above all, the way is, to have 
 great benevolence, great charity in the heart, 
 
94 PHYSICAL AOQUBBED QUALITIBS 
 
 and to love to put them in practice, for 
 nothing gives more of sympathy to the voice 
 than real goodness. 
 
 Here the precepts of art are useless. We 
 cannot teach emotion, nor quick feelings, nor 
 the habit of throwing ardour and transport into 
 word and action ; it is the pectus (heart) 
 which accomplishes all this, and it is the pec- 
 tus also which makes the orator — Pectus est 
 quod disertum facit. For which reason, while 
 we admit the great efficacy of art and precept 
 In rendering the voice supple, in disciplining 
 it, in making it obedient, ready, capable of 
 traversing all the degrees of inflexion, and 
 producing each tone ; and while we recommend 
 those who desire to speak in public to devote 
 themselves to this preliminary study for the 
 formation of their instrument, like some skilful 
 singer or practised actor, we must still remind 
 them that the best prepared instrument remains 
 powerless and dead unless there be^ a soul to 
 animate it ; and that even without any culture, 
 without preparation, without this gymnastic 
 process, or this training of the vocal organs, 
 whoever is impelled fo speak by feeling, by 
 passion, or by conviction, will find spontaneously 
 
PHTSICAl ACQUIEED QUALITIES. 95 
 
 the tone, the inflexioiis, and all the modifica- 
 tions of voice which can best correspond with 
 what he wishes to express. Art is useful 
 chiefly to reciters, speakers from memory, and 
 actors, and thus, it is not to be denied, much 
 effect may also be produced by the illusion of 
 the natural. Still, it is after aU an illusion 
 only, a semblance of nature, and thus a thing 
 of artifice ; and nature itself wiU always be 
 superior to it. 
 
 For the same reason an extemporised ad- 
 dress, if it be such as it ought to be, is more 
 effective, and more impressive, than a recited 
 discourse. It smacks less of art, and the voice 
 vibrating and responsive to what the speaker 
 feels at the moment, finds naturally the tone 
 most proper, the true inflexions, and genuine 
 expression. 
 
 § 2. — Utterance. 
 
 Utterance is a very important condition of 
 being audible, and consequently of being 
 attended to. It determines the voice, or the 
 vowel, by the modification which this last re- 
 ceives from the consonant ; it produces syllables. 
 
96 PHYSICAI- ACQUIEED QUALITIES. 
 
 and by joining them together, gives the ■words, 
 the series of which forms what is termed articu- 
 late language. Man being organised for speech 
 speaks naturally the language he hears, and as he 
 hears it. His instinctive and original pronun- 
 ciation depends on the formation of the vocal 
 organs, and on the manner in which those aroimd 
 him pronounce. Therefore, nature discharges 
 here the chief function, but art may also exert a 
 certain power either to correct or abate organic 
 defects or vicious habits, or to develope and 
 perfect favourable aptitudes. Demosthenes, 
 the greatest orator of antiquity, whose very 
 name continues to be the symbol of eloquence, 
 is a remarkable case in point. Everybody is 
 aware that by nature he had a diificulty of ut- 
 terance almost amounting to a stammer, which 
 he succeeded ia overcoming by frequently de- 
 claiming on the searshore with pebbles in his 
 mouth. The pebbles obliged him to redouble 
 his exertions to subdue the rebelhous organ, 
 and the noise of the surge, obliging him to 
 speak more loudly and more distinctly in order 
 to hear his own words, accustomed him to the 
 still more deafening uproar of the people's 
 niighty voice in the market-place. 
 
PHTSIOAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES. 97 
 
 Prbfessors of elocution lay great stress on 
 wve manner of utterance, and they are right. 
 To form and "break" the organs to a distinct 
 and agreeable utterance, much practice is re- 
 quisite, under able tuition, and such as affords 
 an example of what it inculcates. 
 
 First, there is the emission of the voice, — 
 which the practitioner should know how to 
 raise and lower through every degree within 
 its range, — and in each degree to increase or 
 diminish, heighten or soften its power accord- 
 ing to circumstances, but always so as to pro- 
 duce no sound that is felse or disagreeable to 
 the ear. 
 
 Then comes articulation, which should be 
 neat, clear, sharply cut, — yet unexaggerated, 
 or else it will become heavy, harsh, and 
 hammer-like, rending the ear. 
 
 Next to this the prosody of the language 
 must be observed, giving its longs and its 
 shorts ; as in singing, the minims, semibreves, 
 quavers, and crotchets. This imparts to the 
 sentence variety, movement, and n easnre. A 
 written or spoken sentence admits, indeed, 
 strictly of notation as well as a bar of music; 
 and when this notation is followed by the voice 
 
98 PHTSIOAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES. 
 
 of the speaker, naturally or artificially, the 
 discourse gains in expression and pleasantness. 
 
 Moreover there is accentuation, or emphasis, 
 which marks the paramount tone of each sen- 
 tence, and even in each word, the syllable on 
 which the chief stress should be laid. Art may 
 here effect somewhat, especially in the enun- 
 ciation of words ; hut as regards the emphasis 
 of the sentence, it is impressed principally by 
 the palpitation of the soul, thrUling with desire, 
 feeling, or conviction. 
 
 Finally, there is the declamatory movement, 
 which, like the measure in music, should adapt 
 itself to what is to be conveyed, now grave and 
 solemn, now light, i rapid, with a guiding 
 rein, slackening or urging the pace, becomiag 
 nervous or gentle, according to the occasion ; 
 bursting forth at times with the vehemence of 
 a torrent, and at times flowing gently with the 
 clearness of a stream, or even triclding, drop 
 by drop, like water noiselessly filtered; which, 
 at last, fills the vessel that receives it, or wears 
 out the stone on which it falls. 
 
 In vocal speech, as in vocal music, there are 
 air infinitude of gradations ; and the orator 
 should have the feeling, the instinct, or the 
 
PHYSipAL ACQUIRED QtrALinES. 99 
 
 acquired habit of all these effects; and this 
 implies ia him a special taste and tact ■which 
 art may develope, hut can never implant. And 
 thus there is need of caution here, as in many 
 other cases, not to spoil nature by science, 
 while endeavouring to perfect her. School 
 precepts may teach a manner, a certain me- 
 chanical sMU in elocution, but can never im- 
 part the sacred fire which makes speech live, 
 nor those animated, delicate, just feelings of an 
 excited or impassioned soul, and of a mind con- 
 vinced, ■which grasps on the instant the pecu- 
 liarity of expression and of voice which are most 
 appropriate. 
 
 In general the masters of elocution and 
 enunciation somewhat resemble M. Jourdain's 
 professor of philosophy, who shows him how to 
 do ■with diiSculty, and badly, what he used to 
 do naturally and well, "We all speak prose, 
 and not the worst prose, from the outset. It is 
 pretty nearly the same ■with the enunciation of 
 a discourse ; and -with the utterance, the accen- 
 tuation, and the management of speech. The 
 best guides in these matters, the implied pre- 
 dispositions, are nature and the inspiration of 
 the moment ; while example is the most pro* 
 
100 PHYSICAL ACQUIEED QUALITIES. 
 
 Stable kind of teaching. He wlio has a turn 
 for eloquence will learn how to speak hy hearing 
 good speaking. It is orators who principally 
 form orators. 
 
 § 3. — Oratorical Action. 
 
 Under this title are particularly comprised 
 the movements of the countenance, the oarriage 
 and postures of the body, and above all ges- 
 ticulation; — ^three things which naturally ac- 
 company speech, and in an extraordinary de- 
 gree augment its expressiveness. Here, again, 
 nature achieves a great deal; but art also 
 assists, especially in the management of the body, 
 and in gesticulation. 
 
 An idea may be derived of what the coun- 
 tenance of the speaker adds to his address from 
 the instinctive want we experience of beholding 
 him, even when he is already sufficiently 
 audible. Not only all ears, but all eyes like- 
 wise are bent upon the speaker. The fact is 
 that man's face, and, above all, his eye, is 
 the mirror of his soul; also, in the light- 
 ning of the glance, thert is a flush of lustre 
 which illumines what is said; and on this 
 
PHTSICAI, iCQUIEED QUAUITES. 101 
 
 account it was imspeakably to be regretted that 
 BourdaJoue should haye spoken with his eyes 
 closed. One of the disadyantages of a recited 
 speech is to quench, or at least to enfeeble and. 
 dim the brilliancy of the discourse. 
 
 Besides which the rapid contractions and dila- 
 tations of the facial muscles, — which are each 
 moment changing and renewing the physi- 
 ognomy, by forming upon the visage a sort of 
 picture, analogous to the speaker's feeling, or to 
 his thought, — these signs of dismay or joy, 
 of fear or hope, of affiction of heart or of 
 calmness, of storm or serenity, aU these causes 
 which successively plough and agitate the coun- 
 tenance, like a sea shaken by the winds, and 
 which impart so much movement and life to 
 the physiognomy that it becomes like a second 
 discourse which doubles the force of the first, — 
 ought to be employed by the orator as so many 
 means of effect, mighty with the crowd whom 
 they strike and carry away. But it is under 
 nature's dictate that he will best employ them ; 
 and the best, the only method which it behoves 
 him to follow in this respect, is to grasp power- 
 fully, and to conceive thoroughly, what he has 
 to unfold or to describe ; and then to say it with 
 hs 
 
102 l-HTSIOAL ACQtriEED QUALITIES. 
 
 ail the sincerity and all tlie fervour of convic- 
 tion or emotion. The face will play its own 
 part spontaneously; for, as the various tnove- 
 ments of the countenance are produced of their 
 own accord in the ratio of the feeling experi- 
 enced, whenever you are really moved and under 
 the influence of passion, the face naturally 
 adapts the emotion of the words, as these that 
 of the mind ; and art can be of little avail under 
 these circumstances. 
 
 Let us, ia truth, not forget that the orator 
 is not an actor, who plays a fictitious character 
 by puttittg himself in another's position. He 
 must, by dint of art, enter into the situation 
 which he represents, and thus he has no means 
 of becoming impressed or moved except by the 
 study of his model, and the meditation of hia 
 part. He must, accordingly, compose his voice 
 as weU as bis countenance, and it requires great 
 cleverness and long habit to imitate by the in- 
 flexions of the voice, and the play of the phy- 
 siognomy, the true and spontaneous feeling 
 of nature. The actor, in a word, is obliged 
 to grimace morally as well as physically; and 
 on this account, even when most successful, 
 when most seeming to feel what le imper- 
 
PHTSICAI, ACQUIRED QUALITIES. 103 
 
 Bonates, as he in general feels it not, something 
 of this is perceptible; and it is the most con- 
 smmnate actor's fete, that, through a certain 
 illusion of the imagination, his acting is never 
 more than a grimace. Hence the vice, and 
 hence the disfavour of that professioij, notwith- 
 standing aU the talent and study which it re- 
 quires; there is always something disingenuous 
 in saying what you do not think, in manifesting 
 sentiments which are not your own. 
 
 The orator, on the contrary, unless he chooses 
 to become the advocate of falsehood, is always 
 with the truth. He must feel and think what- 
 ever he says, and consequently he may allow his 
 face and his eyes to speak for themselves. As 
 soon as his soul is moved, and becomes fervid, 
 it wiU find immediate expression in his coun- 
 tenance and in his whole person, and the more 
 natural and spontaneous is the play of his phy- 
 siognomy, the more effect it will produce. It is 
 not the same, or not to the same degree, with 
 regard to the movements of the body and to 
 gesticulation. The body, indeed, and limbs of 
 the speaker, animated by a soul expressing 
 itself fervidly, wiU represent naturally to a 
 a4 
 
104: PHTSICAl ACQUIRED QTTALiriES. 
 
 certain degree, by their outward movements 
 the inward movements of the mind. But the 
 machinery, if I may say so, is more complicated, 
 heavier, and more cumbersome, because matter 
 predominates here ; it is not easy to move 
 "without awkwardness and elegantly the whole 
 bulk of the body, and particularly the arms, 
 which are the most mobile organs, and those 
 most in sight. How many have a tolerably 
 good notion of speaking, and cannot move their 
 arms and hands properly, or have postures of 
 head and attitudes which are at once ungraceful 
 and at variance with their words. It is in this 
 department of action that speakers most betray 
 their inexperience and embarrassment; and, at 
 the same time, the clumsiness or inappropriate- 
 ness of the gestures ; the puerility or affectation 
 of the attitudes used, are enough to spoil the 
 best speech's effect. 
 
 Efforts are worth making, then, to acquire 
 beforehand good habits in this respect, in order 
 that the body, trained with deliberation to 
 impulse of the words, and to adapt itself to 
 their inspiration, may execute of its own accoid, 
 and gracefully,. the most expressive movements, 
 may itself take the most appropriate attitiides, 
 
PHTSICAl ACQriEKD QUAUITEB. 105 
 
 and not have its limbs ■vrorking ineffectually or 
 untowardly, Tvith tlie arms motionless and tied 
 down to the figure, or the hands nailed to the 
 pulpit or the platform balustrade. An abrupt 
 or jerky gesticulation is specially to be avoided, 
 such as a regular swing up and down, down 
 and up again, of the speaker's arms, which gives 
 the appearance of two hatchets incessantly at 
 work. Generally speaking, moderation is better 
 than superfluity of gesticulation. Nothing ia 
 more wearisome to the audience than a violent 
 delivery without respite ; and next to a monotony 
 of voice, nothing more readily puts it to sleep 
 than a gesture for ever repeated, which marks 
 with exactness each part of the period, as a 
 pendulum keeps tim.e. 
 
 This portion of oratorical delivery, more im- 
 portant than is supposed, greatly attended to 
 by the ancients, and -too much neglected by the 
 modems, may be acquired by aU the exercises 
 irhich form the body, by giving it carriage and 
 ease, grace of countenance and motion; and 
 still more by well-directed studies in eloc-jtion 
 in what concerns gesture under a clever master. 
 To this should be added the often-repeated 
 study of the example of those speakers who 
 
106 PHYSICAL AOQinEED QUALITIES. 
 
 are most distinguished for th.e quality in ques- 
 tion, — ^TyMch is only too rare at the present 
 day. 
 
 But what perhaps conduces more than all 
 this to form the faculty mentioned is the fre- 
 quenting good company, — that is, of the so- 
 ciety most distinguished for elegance of lan- 
 guage and fine manners. KTothing can supply 
 the place in this regard of a primary education 
 iu the midst of the most refined class. In this 
 medium the youth fashions himself, as it were, of 
 Ms own accord, by the impressions he is every 
 moment receiving, and the instractive imitation 
 of what he sees and hears. It is the privilege 
 of high society, and of what used to be called 
 men of the court. There one learns to speak 
 with correctness and grace, almost without 
 "itudy, by the mere force of habit; and if per- 
 sons of quality combined with this facility of 
 elocution that science, which is to be acquired 
 only by study; and the power of reflection, 
 which is formed chiefly in soUtude, — and this 
 is not very compatible with the life, of the 
 great world, — ^they would achieve oratorical 
 successes more easily than other peojde. 
 
 But they are, for the most part, deficient lu 
 
PHTSICAL ACQUIEED QPALnTEa. 1D7 
 
 acquirements, — rrhereas learned and thinking 
 men generally err in the manner. 
 
 To sum up: over and above the store of 
 science and of knowledge indispensable to the 
 orator, — who, beyond everything, shonld. be 
 acquainted with his subject, — the predisposi- 
 tions most needful in the art of speakmg, and 
 susceptible of acquisition, are — 
 
 1. The habit of taking thought to pieces, 
 
 and putting it together, — or analysis 
 and synthesis. 
 
 2. A knowledge of how to write correctly, 
 
 clearly, and elegantly. 
 
 3. A capacity for the bandUng of language 
 
 at will and without effort, and for the 
 sudden construction of sentences, with- 
 out stoppages or faults. 
 
 4. A power of ready and intelligent decla- 
 
 mation. 
 
 5. A neat, distinct, and emphatic utterance. 
 
 6. A good carriage of body. 
 
 7. An easy, expressive, and graceful gesticu- 
 
 lation. 
 
 8. And, above all this, manners and an air of 
 
 distinction, natural or acquired. 
 
PART II. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Division OF THE SUBJECT. 
 
 We have stated aU tlie dispositions, natural 
 or acquired, wMch are necessary, or, at all 
 events, most useful to the orator. We proceed 
 now to set him. to work, and we shall consider 
 him in all the steps of his task, and the succes- 
 sive processes which he has to employ, to carry' 
 it prosperously to completion. 
 
 It is perfectly understood that we make no 
 pretence to the laying down of rules; our 
 object is not to promulgate a theory nor a 
 didactic treatise. We are giving a few recom- 
 mendations derived from our own experience, — 
 and each person will take advantage of them aa 
 
DIVISION OF THE SUBJKCT. 109 
 
 he best may, adopting or leaviiig according to 
 his convenience what he chooses, and following 
 his own bent or requirements. 
 
 Each mind, inasmuch as it is a personality, 
 has its individual character, its own life, which 
 can never be another's, although it resembles 
 all of its Idnd. If in. the physical world there 
 are no two things quite alike, stUl less are 
 there among intelligent and free creatures. 
 Here, a still more wondrous variety prevails in 
 consequence of a certain liberty which exists, 
 and which acts in these different manners, 
 though limited to certain general conditions of 
 development and subject to the same law& 
 To this is due the originality of minds, which is, 
 in the intellectual order, what responsibility is in 
 the moral. 
 
 But whUe fuUy granting this variety of 
 action, springing from the nature, dispositions, 
 and circumstances of each person, stiU, after all, 
 as we are of the same species and the same 
 race, and as our mental and physical organisa- 
 tion is at the root the same, we must all, when 
 in similar situations, act in a manner fdnda* 
 mentally analogous, although different as to 
 form; and for tUs reason, indicatioiis of a 
 
110 DinSlOlT OF THE SUBJECT. 
 
 general nature, the result of a long and 
 laborious experience, may, within a certain 
 measure, prove useful to all, or at least to 
 many. 
 
 This it is which encourages us to unfold the 
 results of ours, giving them for what they are, 
 without imposing them on anybody, in the 
 deeply sincere desire of doing a service to the 
 young generation which comes after us, and 
 sparing them the rocks and mishaps of a 
 difficult navigation often accomplished by us. 
 
 To speak in public is to address several per- 
 sons at once, an assemblage incidentally or in- 
 tentionally collected, for some purpose or other. 
 Now this may be done under the most diverse 
 circumstances, and for various objects, — and 
 accordingly the discourse must be adapted both 
 in matter and in form to these varying condi- 
 tions. Yet are there requisites common to 
 them aU, which must be everywhere fulfilled, 
 if the speaker would speak pertinently, and 
 with any chance of success. 
 
 In fact, the end of public speaking is to win 
 the assent of the hearers, to imbue them with 
 your own convictions, or at least to incline 
 them, to feel, to think, and to will according 
 
DIYISION OF THE SUBJECT. Ill 
 
 10 your pirrpose, with reference to a given 
 object. 
 
 Hence, whenever you speak, and whatever 
 the audience, there is something to be said 
 which is indicated by the circumstances; there 
 is the way in saying it, or the method and 
 plan according to which you will unfold your 
 thought; atd. finally there is the realisation of 
 this plan by the actual discourse, composed and 
 ittered on the instant before those whom you 
 would persuade. Thus in an extemporaneous 
 discourse there are three things to be con- 
 sidered : — 
 
 1st. The subject being supplied by the cir- 
 cumstances, there is the preparation of the plan 
 or the organisation of the discourse, by means 
 of which you take possession of your subject. 
 * 2ndly. The transcript of impression of this 
 plan (originally fixed on paper by the pen) in 
 the head of the speaker, wherein it should be 
 written in a living feshion. 
 
 Srdly. The discourse itself or the successive 
 and, as &r as possible, complete spoken realisa- 
 tion of the plan prepared. 
 
 Sometimes the two first operations blend 
 
112 .DinsibK or the sttbject. 
 
 into one : — as, for example, you have to speak 
 suddenly witliout having time to write your 
 plan or to consider it. But when time is 
 allowed, they should be separate, and each 
 requires it own moment. 
 
 "We proceed to examine these three matters 
 in succession. 
 
PEEPAEATION OF THE PLAN. 113 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 PEEPAEAHOIir OP THE PLA2T. 
 
 The preparation of the plan of a discourse 
 implies, before anything else, a knowledge of 
 the things about which you have to speak ; but 
 a general knowledge is not enough; you may 
 have a great quantity of materials, of docu- 
 ments, and of information in your memory, and 
 not be aware how to bring them to bear. It 
 sometimes even happens that those who know 
 most, or have most matter in their heads, are 
 incapable of rightly conveying it. The over 
 abundance of acquisition and words, crushes the 
 miud, and stifles it, just as the head is paralysed 
 by a too great determination of blood, or a 
 lamp is extinguished by an excess of oil. 
 
 You must begin, therefore, by methodising 
 what you know about the subject yon wish to 
 treat, and thus, in each discourse, you must 
 adopt as your centre or cMef idea, the point 
 
lit PEEPAEATION OF THE PLAN. 
 
 to be explained, but subordinate to this idea all 
 the rest, in such a way as to constitu.te a sort 
 of organism, having its head, its organs, its main 
 limbs, and all the means of connexion and of 
 circulation by which the light of the paramount 
 idea, emanating from the focus, may be commu- 
 nicated to the furthest parts, even to the last 
 thought, and last word j as in the human body 
 the blood emerges from the heart, and is spread 
 throughout all the tissues, animating and colour- 
 mg the surface of the skin. 
 
 Thus only will there be life- in the discourse, 
 because a true unity will reign in it, — ^that 
 is, a natural imity resulting from an interior 
 development, an uiifolding from within, and 
 not from an artificial gathering of hetero- 
 geneous members and their arbitrary juxta- 
 position. 
 
 This constitutes the difference between words 
 that live and words that are dead. These 
 last may often also have a certain briUiancy 
 from the gorgeousness of the style or the 
 elegance of the sentence, but after having for a 
 moment charmed the ear, they leave the mind 
 cold and the heart empty. The speaker not 
 being master of his subject, which he has not 
 
PEEPAKATICJr OF THE PT.A-y. 115 
 
 gone into, nor made his own by meditation, re- 
 flects or reverberates other people's ideas, Tdth- 
 ont adding to them a particle of his heat or of his 
 life. It is a pale and borro-wed light, -which 
 like that of the moon, enables yon to see 
 vaguely and indistinctly, but neither warms nor 
 fertilises • possessing only a frigid and deadened 
 rjstre. 
 
 Speakers of this kind, even when they ex 
 temporise, speak rather from memory than 
 the understanding or feelings. They reproduce 
 "Hore or less easily shreds of what they have 
 read or heard, — and they have exactly enough 
 mind to effect this reproduction with a certain 
 facility, which tends to fluency or to twaddle. 
 They do not thoroughly know what they are 
 speaking about ; they do not themselves under- 
 stand all they sayj stUl less make others 
 understand. They have not entered into their 
 subject; they have fiUed their apprehension 
 with a mass of things relating to it, which 
 trickle out gradually as from a reservoir or 
 through a tap which . they ' open and shut at 
 pleasure. Eloquence of this description is but 
 BO much plain water, or rather it is so much 
 troubled water, bearing nothing along its pas- 
 I 2 
 
116 PEEPAEATION OF THE PLAH. 
 
 sage but TTords and the spectres of thoughts, 
 and pouring into the hearer's mind disgust, 
 wearisomeness, and nausea. Silence, which 
 wbuld at least leave the desire of listeniag, were 
 a hundred fold preferable ; but these spinners of 
 talk, who give us phrases instead of thoughts, 
 and exclamations instead of feelings, take away 
 all wish to hear and inspire a disgust for speak- 
 ing itself. 
 
 There is no way of avoiding this disad- 
 vantage except by means of a well-conceived, 
 deeply-considered, and seriously-elaborated plan. 
 He who knows not how to form such plan, 
 will never speak in a living or an effective 
 manner. He may become a rhetorician ; but he 
 will never be an orator. 
 
 Let us, then, see by what process this found- 
 ation of the orator's task must be laid ; for it is 
 to a discourse what the architect's design is to a 
 building. 
 
 The plan -of a discourse is the order of the 
 things which have to he unfolded. You must 
 therefore begin by gathering these together,, 
 whether facts or ideas, and examining each 
 separately, in their relation to the subject or 
 . purport of the discourse, and in their mutual 
 
PEEPAEATION OF THE PLAIT. 117 
 
 bearings witli respect to it. Next, after ' 
 having selected those wnich befit the subject, 
 and rejecting those which do not, you must 
 marshal them around the main idea, in such 
 a way as to arrange them according to their 
 rank and nnpottance, with respect to the 
 result which you have in view. But, what 
 is worth stiU. more than even this com- 
 position or synthesis, you should try, when 
 possible, to draw forth, by analysis or deduc- 
 tion, the complete development of one single 
 idea, which becomes not merely the centre,^- 
 but the very principle of the rest. This is 
 the best manner of explaining or developing, 
 because existences are thus produced in nature, 
 and a discourse, to have its fuU value, and full 
 efficiency, should imitate her in her vital pro- 
 cess, and perfect it by idealising that process. 
 
 In fact, reason, when thinking and express- 
 ing its thought, performs a natural function, 
 like the plant which germinates, flowers, and 
 bears fruit. It operates, indeed, according to 
 a more exalted power, but it follows in the 
 operation the same laws as all beings endued 
 with life ; and the methods of analysis and 
 synthesis, of deduction and induction, essential 
 I S 
 
118 PEEPAEATION OF THE I LAN. 
 
 to it, have tteir types and 871111)018 in the vital 
 acts of organic heings, which all proceed like- 
 wise by the way of expansion and contraction, 
 unfolding and enfolding, diffusion and collec- 
 tion. 
 
 The most perfect plan is, therefore, the plan 
 which organises a discourse in the manner- 
 nature constitutes any being fraught with life. 
 It is the sole means of giving to speaking a 
 real and natural unity, and, consequently, real 
 strength and beauty, which consist in the unity 
 of life. 
 
 This is doubtless the best method; but you 
 can often but make an approach towards it, 
 depending on the nature of the subject and 
 the circumstances in which you have to speak. 
 Hence a few differences, which must be men- 
 tioned, in the elaboration of the plan. 
 
 In the first place, we give warning that wp 
 do not mean to concern ourselves with that 
 popular eloquence which sometimes fulminates 
 like a thunderbolt amidst the anarchy of states 
 in riots, insurrections, and revolutions. Elo- 
 quence of that sort has no time to arrange a 
 plan ; it speaks according to the circumstances 
 and, as it were, at the dictate of the winds by 
 
PEEPAEATION OF THE PLAN. 119 
 
 which it is home a!ong; it partakes of that 
 disorder which has called it forth, and this is 
 what, for the most part, constitutes its power, 
 which is mighty to destroy. It acts after the 
 fashion of a hurricane, which upsets everything 
 in its course hy the hlind fury of the pas- 
 sions which it arouses, of the unreasoning wills 
 which it carries with it, and yields no ray 
 from the light of thought, nor a chann from 
 the heauty of style. This instinctive and not 
 very intelligent kind of eloquence is to that of 
 which we are treating as the force of nature, 
 when let loose in the earthquake or in great 
 floods, is to the ordinary and regular laws of 
 Providence, which produces, developes, and pre- 
 serves whatever exists ; it is the force of the 
 steam which bursts the hoUer, and spreads dis- 
 aster and death wherever it reaches ; whereas, 
 when powerfully compressed within its proper 
 limits, and directed with intelligence, it works 
 regularly under the control of a skilful hand, 
 and toils orderly and in peace for the welfare 
 tff men. 
 
 We have no recommendations, then, to offer 
 to the orators of cabal rooms and riots, nor 
 even to those who may be called on to resist or 
 I i 
 
120 PEEPAEATION OF THE PLAN. 
 
 quell them. It is hard to make any suitable 
 preparation ia such emergencies, and, besides, 
 they are fraught with so much of the unfore- 
 seen, that, in nine cases out of ten, all prepara- 
 tion would be disconcerted. What can be done 
 is what must be done, according to the moment ; 
 and, in general, it is the most passionate, the 
 most Tiolent, and he who shouts the loudest who 
 carries the day. Moreover, there is nearly al- 
 ways a species of fatality which prevails in 
 these situations: the force of things crushes 
 the force of men. ' It is a rock loosened 
 from the mountain-side, and falling headlong, 
 — a torrent swelling as it rushes onward, or 
 the lava of a volcano overflowing: to endea- 
 vour to stay them is madness. All one can 
 do is to protect oneself; the evil will be ex- 
 hausted by its own course, and order will 
 return after the storm. 
 
 But in the normal state of society, — and it 
 is for that state we write,— by the very fact 
 of social organisation, and springing out of its 
 forms, there are constantly cases in which you 
 may be called to speak in public, on account of 
 the position which you fill or the duties which 
 you discharge. Thus, committees will conti- 
 
PEEPAliATION OF THE PLAN. 121 
 
 nually exist, in which are discussed state or 
 municipal interests, and deliberative or board- 
 room resolutions are passed by a majority of 
 votes, whatever may be the constitution or the 
 power of such assemblies, — considerations with 
 which we have no concern here. There will 
 always be a council of state, general and 
 borough councils, legislative assemblies, par- 
 liaments, and committees of a hundred sorts. 
 
 In the second place, there ■wiU always be 
 tribunals where justice is dispensed, and' where 
 the interests of individuals, in collision with 
 those of the public or with one another, have 
 to be contended for before judges whom you 
 must seek to convince or persuade. 
 
 There will always be a system of public 
 teaching to enlighten and train the people, 
 whether by the addresses .of scientific men, 
 who have to instruct the inhabitants in various 
 degrees, and to inform them what is needed for 
 the good guidance of public and of private life 
 in temporal matters, or by the addresses of 
 ■the ministers of religion, who, teaching in the 
 name of the Almighty, must unremittingly 
 remind men of their last end, and of the best 
 means "with which to meet it, making their 
 
122 PEEPABATION OF THE PLAIT. 
 
 earthly and transitory interest subordinate to 
 their celestial and everlasting happiness. 
 
 Here, then, we have four great fields in 
 which men are daily called on to speak in 
 public, in order there to discuss the gravest 
 interests of society, of family, and of indivi- 
 duals, or else to unfold truths more or less 
 lofty, often hard to comprehend or to admit, 
 and the knowledge or conviction of which is of 
 the highest moment to the welfare of society and 
 persons. It is anything but immaterial, then, 
 that men belonging to such callings, destined 
 from day to day to debate public or private 
 concerns, or to demonstrate the fundamental 
 truths of science and religion, should know 
 how to do so with method, clearness, power, 
 and gracefulness, — ^in one word, with all the 
 means of persuasion, — that they may not fail 
 in their mission, and especially that they may 
 disseminate and render triumphant in the minds 
 of men, together with good sense and right 
 reason, that justice, that truth, and those prin- 
 ciples, in the absence of which nothing can be- 
 stable or durable among nations. This alone 
 would show what importance for good or for 
 evil the orator may acquire in society, since to 
 
PEEPAEATION OF THE PLAIT. 123 
 
 • 
 
 his lot it falls to prepare, train, and control 
 almost aU the resolutions of communities or 
 of iadividuals, that can modify their present or 
 decide their fiiture condition. 
 
 Our remarks then will apply to four classes 
 of speakers : — ^the poUtical orator ; the forensic 
 orator, whether magistrate or advocate; the 
 orator of education, or the professor: and the 
 orator of the Christian pulpit, or the preacher. 
 In these four arenas, the political assembly, the 
 sanctuary of justice, the academy, and the 
 Church, extemporaneous speaking is daUy 
 practised, and is capable of the most salutary 
 influence, when fraught with ability life, and 
 power, or, in other words, when performed 
 with eloquence. 
 
124: POLITICAi AND FOEEKSIO SPEAKDia. 
 
 CHAP. vn. 
 
 POLIXICAL AND FOEENSIC SPEAKINS. 
 
 I ■wm. say but little of political and forensio 
 jBpeaking, because I have not been used to 
 either, and my wisli is to be the exponent of 
 my own experience. I leave professional 
 adepts to give their colleagues the best of all 
 advice, that derived from actual practice. 
 This would require details with which nothing 
 but the exercise of public duties, or of the 
 bench and bar themselves, could make us ac- 
 quainted. I will therefore confine myself to a 
 few general remarks derived from the theory of 
 the oratorical art, as applied to the duties of 
 the politician and advocate. 
 
 The political orator may have two sorts of 
 questions to treat — questions, of principle, and 
 questions of fact. 
 
 In thp latter, which is the more ordinary case, 
 at lea^l; «mong well constituted communities, 
 
FOUnOAL AND FOEENSIO SPKAKDfG. 125 
 
 whose legislation and government rest upon 
 remote precedents and are fixed by experience, 
 the plan of a discom-se is easy to construct. 
 "With principles acknowledged by aU parties, 
 the only point is to state the matter with the 
 circumstances which qualify it and the reasons 
 which urge the determination demanded from 
 the voice of the assembly. The law or custom 
 to which appeal is made, constitutes the major 
 premiss (as it is termed in Logic) ; the actual 
 case, brought by the circumstances, within 
 that law or those precedents, constitutes the 
 minor premiss; and the conclusion follows of 
 its own accord. In order to carry away the 
 assent of the majority, you describe the advan- 
 tages of the proposed measure, and the inex- 
 pediency of the opposite course, or of any other 
 hne. 
 
 To treat such subjects properly, there needs 
 no more than good sense, a certain business 
 habit, and a clear conception of what you 
 would say and what you demand. Tou must 
 thoroughly know_ what you ^-ant, and how 
 to express it. In my mind, this is the best 
 political eloquence, that is, business speaking, 
 expounding the business clearly, succinctly 
 
126 POLITICAL AND fOKENSIC SPEAimO. 
 
 with a knowledge of the matter, saying only 
 what is necessary, with tact and temperately, 
 and omitting aR parade of words and big ex- 
 pressions, even those which embody sentiments, 
 save now and then in the exordium and pero- 
 ration, accorduig to the case. It is in this way 
 that they generally speak in the British Par- 
 liament ; and these speeches are of some use ; 
 they come to something, and carry business 
 forward, or end it. Happy the nation which 
 has no other sort of political eloquence! Un- 
 fortunately for us, another sort has pre- 
 vailed in our own parliamentary assemblies. 
 
 Among us, from the day that represent- 
 ative government was established, political dis- 
 courses have almost invariably turned upon 
 questions of principle; no well established 
 and universally respected constitution, — no 
 settled course of legislation confirmed by cus- 
 tom, — no recognised and admitted precedents, 
 ■ — things all of which strengthen the ora- 
 tor's position, because he has already decisions 
 on which to rest, and examples to give him 
 their support. Time has been almost always 
 employed, or rather wasted in laying down 
 
POLrnOAl AND FOEENSIC SPEAKING. 127 
 
 principles, or in trying to enforce what were 
 advanced as principles. The constitution itself 
 and, consequently, the organisation of society 
 and government have always been subjects of 
 dispute ; and aU our assemblies, — ^whatever the 
 name with which they have been adorned, — 
 have been directly or indirectly in the state of 
 a constituent (or pi-imary) body. 
 
 'Now, this is the worst of situations for the 
 orator, for the assemblies themselves, and for 
 the country; and experience has proved it, in 
 spite of some good speeches, and the reputation 
 of several orators of whom France is proud. 
 
 In these cases, in fact, the speaker is greatly 
 at a loss how to treat new and unexampled 
 questions, except by foreign instances which 
 are never exactly applicable to another countiy. 
 His ideas, not being enlightened or supported 
 by experience, remain vague and float in a 
 kind of chaos ; and yet, as demonstration re- 
 quires a basis of some sort, he is obliged 
 to have recourse to philosophic theories, to 
 abstract ideas which may always be disputed, 
 which are often obscure and unintelligible to 
 the majority of the hearers, and are impugned 
 
128 POLITICAL AND FOEENSIO SPEAKING. 
 
 by the votaries of hostile systems. Once 
 launched into the ideas of philosophers the 
 debate knows neither limits nor law. The 
 most irreconcilable opinions meet and clash, 
 and it is not always light which springs from 
 their collision. On the contrary the longer 
 the deliberation continues, the thicker the 
 darkness becomes; Parliament degenerates into 
 an academy of philosophers, an arena of sophists 
 and rhetoricians ; and, as something must be 
 concluded, either because of the pressure of 
 necessity, or in consequence of the wearisome- 
 ness of the speeches and the satiety of debate, 
 the discussion is closed without the question 
 having been settled, and the votes, 'at least 
 those of the majority, are given, not in accord- 
 ance with any convictions newly acquired, but 
 with the signal of each voter's party. 
 
 It is said that such a course is necessary in 
 an assembly, if business is to be transacted; 
 and I believe it, since there would otherwise be 
 no end of the deliberation. But it must be 
 conceded to me withal, that to vote from confi- 
 dence in party leaders, and because these have 
 marked out the path to be pursued, is not a 
 very enlightened way of servmg one's coimtry 
 
poLirrcAL Aim roEEifsic speaking. 129 
 
 and discharging the trust reposed by a con- 
 stituency. 
 
 Unfortunately, decisions thus formed lead to 
 nothing pennanfint, and that is the fatal thing 
 both for the assemblies and for the nation. 
 They found nothing, because they are not held 
 in serious regard by a community, divided like 
 their Parliaments into majorities and mLuorities, 
 which obtain the mastery in torn over each 
 other. It comes to pass that what one govern- 
 ment does the next cancels ; and as the battle 
 is perpetually renewed, and parties competing 
 for power attain it in more or less rapid succes- 
 sion, every form of contradiction, within a brief 
 space, appears and vanishes, each having suffi- 
 ciently prevailed in rotation to destroy its rival. 
 
 Hence a profound discredit in public opinion 
 for laws continually passed and continually 
 needing to be passed again, and thus incapable 
 of taking root either in the minds of the citizens 
 or in their reverence. Legislation becomes a 
 species of chaos in which nothing can be solidly 
 fixed, because it abounds with elements of re- 
 volt which combat and disorganise whatever is 
 produced thei e. 
 
 Moreover, — and this too is a calamity foi 
 K 
 
130 POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPE-AJKHIG. 
 
 the country, — as parties are, for the most part, 
 not unevenly matched, and as the majority 
 depends on a few votes, in order to come to a 
 decision so habitually uncertain, it is necessary, 
 on important occasions, to make a fusion or 
 coalition of parties in one way. or another by 
 the lures of private interest, which can be 
 effected only through mutual concessions; and 
 then, when unanimity appears to have been 
 procured in the mass of stipulations, each per- 
 son, desirous of obtaining his own guarantees, 
 requires that some special provision, on his 
 account, be introduced in some particular to 
 the subversion of the general design. Now, 
 let but three or four parties exist in a na- 
 tional assembly (and it is a blessing if there 
 be no more), and it is easy to see what sort of 
 law it will be which is thus made ; a species of 
 compound, mixed of the most irreconcilable 
 opinions ; a monstrous being, the violently united 
 parts of which wage an intestine war, and 
 which, therefo>"e, after aU the pain Which its 
 production has cost, is incapable of life. Nor 
 can such laws be applied; and after a disas- 
 trous trial, if they are not presently abolished 
 by the party which next obtains the mastery in 
 
POLITICAL ASD FOEENSIC SPEAEIKG. 131 
 
 its torn, they fall into disuse, or operate only 
 by dint of exceptions and makeshifts, remain- 
 ing as a cumber and a clog in the wheels of 
 the political machine, ■which they continually 
 threaten ■with dislocation or an upset. 
 
 Whatever may have been said or done in 
 our own day, there is nothing more deplorable 
 for a people than a constitution-making assem- 
 bly ; for it is a collection, of philosophers or of 
 men who fancy they are such, who do not quite 
 understand themselves, and assuredly do not 
 understand each other. Then are the destinies 
 of a nation, its form of government, its admin- 
 istration, its condition and its fortune, its well- 
 fare and its misery, its glory and its shame, 
 consigned to the hazards and the contradictions 
 of systems and theories. 
 
 Now, only name me a single philosopher who 
 has uttered the truth, and the whole truth, 
 about the principles, metaphysical, moral, and 
 political, which should serve as the basis of the 
 social structure. Have they not in this most 
 serious concern, to even a greater degree than 
 in other matters, justified that remark of Cicero, 
 that there is not an absurdity which has not 
 found some philosopher to tnaintain it P If you 
 c2 
 
132 POLITICAL ^ASD FOEIITSIC SPEAKIHO. 
 
 set several of them together, then, to work out 
 a constitution, how can you hope they will 
 agree ? They cannot agree except in one way, 
 — ^that which we just now described, — ^by mu- 
 tual concessions extorted from interest, not 
 from conviction; and the force of things will 
 oblige them to produce a ridiculous and im- 
 practicable result, repugnant to the good sense 
 and conscience of the nation. 
 
 But how then, it wiU be said, make a na- 
 tion's constitution? To this I answer, a na- 
 tion's constitution is not made, it grows of 
 itself; or rather it is Divine Providence, who 
 assumes the office of making it by the process 
 of centuries, and writes it with His finger in a 
 people's history. It was thus the English con- 
 stitution was formed, and that is why it lasts. 
 
 Or if, unhappily, after a revolution which 
 has destroyed all a country's precedents, which 
 has shaken and uprooted everything in the 
 land, it becomes necessary to constitute it anew, 
 we must then do as the ancients did, who had 
 more sense than we have in this respect; we 
 must entrust the business to one man endowed 
 with an intelligence and an authority adequate 
 to this great feat, and impersonating, for the 
 
POLrnCAL AJTD FOEENSIO SPEAXING. 133 
 
 moment, the entire natioi ; Tve must commit it 
 to a Lycurgns, a Solon, or a Pythagoras; for 
 nothing needs more wisdom, reason, or courage 
 than such an enterprise, and men of genius are 
 not always equal' to it, if circumstances do not 
 assist them. At all events, to this we must 
 come after revolutions, and their various expe- 
 riments of parliamentary constitution. The 
 seven or eight constitutions of the first repuhlic 
 ended in that of the empire which sprang fuU 
 armed from the head of the new Jupiter ; and 
 the Constituent Assembly of 1848, with its new 
 hirth so laboriously produced, but no more 
 capable of life than the others, vanished in a 
 single day before the constitution of the new 
 empire, which is nothing at the root but that 
 of the old. By this road we have come — if not 
 to that Uberty of which they have said so much, 
 but which they never allowed us to behold — 
 to good sense and order, and to the peace of 
 social hfe. 
 
 In one word, then, I will say, to close what 
 relates to political eloquence : if you have to 
 gpeak on a matter in which there af e admitted 
 pi-inciples and authorised precedents, study it 
 well in its connexion with both, that you may 
 k8 
 
134: POLITICAL AlTD FOEENSIO SPEAKING. 
 
 have a foundation and examples. Then examino 
 it in all its actual elements, aU its ramific^iona 
 and consequences. You wUl then easily con- 
 struct your plan, which must be determined by 
 the nature of things, and when you have well 
 conceived and pondered it, you wUl speak 
 easily, simply, and effectively. 
 
 But if you must discuss the origin of society, 
 the rights of men and nations, natural rights 
 and social rights, and other questions of that 
 kind, I have but one advice to give you : begin 
 by reading on these questions all the systems of 
 the philosophers and jurists, and after doing so, 
 you win be so much in tbe dark, and will find 
 such difficulty in arriving at a rational con- 
 viction, that if you are sincere and honest, that 
 is, unwilling to assert or maintain anything 
 except what you know or believe, you will 
 decline speaking, and adopt the plan of keeping 
 silence, in order not to add to darkness or 
 increase the confusion. 
 
 As to the bar, with the exception of the ad- 
 justments of corn prices* and the harangues at 
 
 * In France and some other countries, as in England 
 formerly, government interferes to settle the :iaarket condi- 
 tions of certain staples, such as corn, flour, and bread. 
 
POLITICAL AND FOEENSIO SPEAKING. 135 
 
 the opening of the courts, which are didactic or 
 polftical, and therefore, belong to another class 
 of speaking,* the adiresses or pleadings whether 
 by advocates, or from the floor of the court, are 
 always business speeches; and accordingly the 
 plan of them is easy, because it is pointed out 
 by the facts, and by the development of the 
 matter in litigation. Besides, the speaker, in 
 this description of discourse, has his papers in 
 his hand ; and a man must be truly a blockhead, 
 or else have a very bad cause to sustain, if he 
 do not with ease keep to the line of his subject, 
 to which everything conspires to recall and 
 guide him. It is the easiest sort of speaking, 
 because it demands the least invention, and 
 because by comparing, however superficially 
 the facts of the case with the articles of the 
 law, the reasons for and against occur of them- 
 selves, according to the side you wish to espouse, 
 and the only thing in general to be done is to 
 enumerate them with an explanation of each. 
 
 And yet, in this, as in everything, good 
 speeches are rare, because talent is rare in all 
 things; it is surely easier to be decently suc- 
 cessful in a description of speaking which com- 
 prises a number of details, proceeds entirely 
 • [Not applicable to the United States.] 
 
 El 
 
136 POLITICAL AND FOEENSIO SPEAK11T&. 
 
 upon facts, and is constantly supported by notes 
 and corroborative documents. 
 
 The preparation of the plan in addresses of 
 this nature, costs, therefore, little trouble. The 
 character of the subject bears nearly all the 
 burden, and not much remains for the inven- 
 tion or imagination. We should add that, 
 having never pleaded, we cannot speak in any 
 way from experience, and theory is hardly of 
 any use in such matters. 
 
 'The great difficulty for the forensic orator is 
 not to develope his matter, or to discover what 
 to say, but, on the contrary, to restrict it, to 
 concentrate it, and to say nothing but what is 
 necessary. Advocates ai"e generally prolix and 
 diffuse, and it must be said in their excuse, they 
 are led into this by the nature of their subject, 
 and by the way in which they are compelled 
 to treat it. Having constantly facts to state, 
 documents to intei-pret, contradictory argu- 
 ments to discuss, they easily become lost in 
 details to which they are obliged to attach 
 great importance; and indeed more or less 
 Bubtye discussion on the articles of the law, of 
 facts, and of objections occupies a very large 
 space. It requires and exceedingly cleai- mind 
 
POLinCAIi AND FOKENSIC SPEAKING. 137 
 
 and no ordinary talent, to avoid being carried 
 along by the current of this too easy eloquence, 
 ■which degenerates so readily into mere fluency. 
 Here, more than elsewhere, moderation and 
 sobriety deserve praise, and the aim should be, 
 not to say a great deal, and to avoid saying too 
 much. 
 
138 ON PEEAOHmG AND TEACHING. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 SPEAKING FEOM THE CHRISTIAN PITLPIT, AND IN 
 TEACHING. 
 
 We unite in our enquiry so far as the pre- 
 paring of a plan is concerned, both pulpit and 
 professorial speaking. Although there is a 
 striking difference between these two modes of 
 speaking, on account of the situation of the ora^ 
 tors, and of the subjects which they handle, — a 
 difference which we will indicate in passing, — 
 yet a great analogy subsists between them, espe- 
 cially in what regards the plan ; for they both aim 
 at instructing the hearers as their ultimate end, 
 — that is, they aim at making the hearers under- 
 stand and admit a truth, at impressmg it on 
 their conviction or persuasion, and at showing 
 them the best means of applying it or putting 
 it in practice. 
 
 This resemblance, which may seem paradox- 
 ical at first sight, is nevertheless founded in, 
 nature, if these several kinds of discourses be 
 
ON PEEACHING AND TEACHING. 139 
 
 thoroughly appreciated and considered, as to 
 the end which they have in view, and not merely 
 as to the oratorical form or words. 
 
 What, in fact, is the preacher's grand aim ? 
 Whither must he tend with aU his might? 
 What do the natm-e and the gravity of his 
 ministry make incmnhent upon him? Clearly, 
 the religious and moral instruction of those 
 who listen to him, in order to induce them by a 
 knowledge and conviction of the Divine Word, 
 to observe it in their conduct, and to apply to 
 their actions its precepts, counsels, and in- 
 spirations. Wherefore, whether he expound 
 a dogma, or morals, or what relates to worship 
 and to discipline, he always takes as his starting 
 point and basis some truth doctrinal or prac- 
 tical, which he has to explain, analyse, unfold, 
 maintain, and elucidate. He must shed light 
 by means of and aromid that truth, that it may 
 enter the hearer's mind, and produce therein a 
 clear view, a conviction, and that it may arouse 
 or increase his faith ; and this faitli, this convic- 
 tion, this enlightenment must induce him to 
 attach himself to it, to seize it through his voli- 
 tion, and to realise it in his life. 
 
 However great may be, after that, the oma- 
 
140 
 
 ON PEEACHmO AND TEACHMG. 
 
 nient and pomp of the style, the briUianoy and 
 variety of imagery, the movement and pathos 
 of the phrases, the accent and the action: 
 whether he excite powerfully the imagination, 
 or move the sensibility, awake the passions, or 
 cause the heartstrings to vibrate, all that is 
 well and good, but only as accessory, and be- 
 cause all these means heljJ the end, which is 
 always the transmission of the truth. AU these 
 things lose, without the principal one, their real 
 efficacy ; or, if they produce any effect, it will 
 neither be deep nor lasting, from there being 
 no basis to the speech; and from the orator 
 having laboured much on the outside, and 
 adorned what appears on the exterior, wUl 
 have placed and lefb nothing inside. In one 
 word, there is no idea in those words; only 
 phrases, images and movements. I know 
 well that one can carry away men with these, 
 and inflame them, for the moment ; but it is 
 a blinding influence, that often leads to evil, 
 or at least to an exaggeration that cannot be 
 kept up. It is a passing warmth that soon cools 
 in the midnt of obstacles, and fades easily in the 
 confusion it has caused through imprudence and 
 precipitation. 
 
ON PEEACHma A2JE TEACHTNG. 141 
 
 An idea, or the absence of an idea, teaching 
 earnestly, or speaking only to the imagination, 
 conviacing the miad and persuading volition, 
 or carrying away the heart by the excitation of 
 sensibility, — ^these distinguish sacred orators as 
 well as others. But to instruct and convince 
 ihe listener, one must be instructed and con- 
 vinced. To make truth pass into other minds, 
 one must possess it in one's own ; and this can 
 only be done both for oneself and for others, 
 independently of supernatural feith, which is 
 ihe gift of God, by an earnest meditation of the 
 noly "Word, and the energetic and persevering 
 labour of thought applied to the truth one 
 wishes to expound, and the point of doctrine 
 one has to teach. The same exists in aU kinds 
 of scientific or literary teaching. 
 
 It is evident in philosophy. He who teaches 
 has always a doctiine to expound. Let him 
 treat of faculties of the sonl ; of the operation 
 of thought and its method ; of duties and rights ; 
 of justice ; of what is good ; ' and even of what 
 is beautiful; of the Supreme Being; of beings 
 and their laws; of the finite and the infinite; 
 of contingent and necessary matter; of the 
 relative and the absolute : he has always before 
 
142 OH' PEEACHIN& AND TEACHING. 
 
 him an idea to expose, to deveiope and illustrate ,- 
 and the acquaintance with this idea that he tries 
 to form in his disciples must help to make them 
 better as well as more enlightened, or else 
 philosophy is no more worthy of her name. 
 She would neither he the lover of wisdom nor 
 its pursuit. 
 
 If in the teaching of natural sciences the 
 professor limits himself to practical experiences, 
 to describe facts and phenomena, he will, no 
 doubt, be able to amuse and interest his listen- 
 ers, youth particularly; but then he is only a 
 painter, an experimenter, or an empiric. His 
 is natural philosophy in sport, and his lectures 
 are a kind of show, or recreative sittings. To 
 be really a professor he must teach, and he can 
 only teach through ideas ; that is, by explaining 
 the laws that rule facts, and by connecting them 
 as much as possible with the whole of the admi- 
 rable system of the creation. He must lead his 
 disciples up to the heights that command facts ; 
 down in the depths from whence spring pheno- 
 mena; and there will only be science in his 
 teaching if he limits it to some heads of doc- 
 trine, the connexion of which constitutes 
 precisely the science of which he is the master. 
 
OK PEEACHING AlTD TEACHINQ. 143 
 
 He will then be able to follow them in their 
 consequences, and to confirm their theory by 
 applications to mechanical and industrial arts, 
 or to any other use for humanity. 
 
 The teaching of letters and of arts is in the 
 same condition : it always must be du-ected by 
 the exposition of principles, rules, and methods. 
 It is not sufficient to admire ecstatically great 
 models, and become enthusiastic for master 
 works. It is something without doubt, when 
 the enthusiasm is sincere and the admiration 
 is truly felt; but the teaching must be di- 
 dactic ; he must himself leam while he teaches 
 the secret of the work ; he must indicate the 
 process, and direct the work. He must teach 
 the pupils to acknowledge, to have a taste for 
 what is beautiful, and to reproduce it ; and for 
 that we must be able to say in what the beau- 
 tifiil consists in each art, and how we come to 
 discern it in nature, to preserve or imagine it 
 in our minds while idealising it, and to transfer 
 the ideal into reality by the resources of art. 
 
 Although here facts and examples have more 
 influence, because feeling and imagination play 
 the- chief part in the work, yet ideas are also 
 necessary, and especially in literature, poetry, 
 
14:4 OS PEEACHDfG AMD TEACHING. 
 
 and the arts of language. That which chiefly 
 distinguishes artists and schools from each 
 other is the predominance of the idea, or the 
 predominance of the foi-m. The most beautiful 
 forms in the world, without idea, remaiu super- 
 ficial, cold, and dead. The idea alone gives life 
 to any human production, as the Divine ideas 
 vivify the productions of nature. For in all 
 things the spirit quickeneth; but the letter, 
 when alone, killeth. Therefore, he who teaches 
 literature or art ought to have a method, 
 a certain science of his art, the principles of 
 which he should expound, by rules and pro- 
 cesses, applying them practically, and support- 
 ing them with examples. 
 
 Were we to pass in review all kinds of 
 instruction one after another, we should find 
 the same end and the same conditions as in pul- 
 pit discourse or in religious teaching; namely: 
 the clear exposition of same truth for the 
 instruction of the hearer, with a view to con- 
 vince him and induce him to act according to 
 his conviction. 
 
 Let us see, then, at present in a general 
 way, how we should set about preparing the 
 plan of a discourse, and doing what we have 
 
ON PBEACHING AND TEACHING. 145 
 
 just said, whether as a preacher or as a pro- 
 fessor. We shall here speak from experience^ 
 a circiunstance ■which gives us some confidence, 
 because we are ahout to expound with simpli- 
 city what we have heen accustomed to do for 
 nearly forty years in teaching philosophy, and 
 what we still do, and desire to do while any 
 strength and energy remain, in the pulpit. 
 
146 THE SUBJECT AOT) ITS POINT. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 DHTEEinSTATION OF THE SUBJECT AJSTD C03SCEP" 
 llOm OF THE IDEA OF THE JJISCOUKSE. 
 
 He who wishes to speak in public must, above 
 all, see clearly on what he has to speak, and 
 rightly conceive what he has to say. The pre- 
 cise deteiinination of the subject, and the idea 
 of the discourse, — these are the two first 
 stages of the preparation. 
 
 It is not so easy as it seems to know upon 
 what one is to speak : many orators, at least, 
 seem to be ignorant of it, or to forget it, in the 
 course of their address; for it is sometimes 
 their case to speak of all things , except those 
 which would best relate to the occasion. This 
 exact deteiinination of the subject is stUl 
 more, needful in extemporisation ; for there 
 many more chances of discursiveness exist. 
 The address not being sustained by, the me- 
 mory or by notes, the mind is more exposed to 
 the influences of the moment; and Dothing is 
 
THE STJBJECT AlTD ITS POrSTT. 147 
 
 required but the failure or inexactitude of a 
 ■word, the suggestion of a new thought, a little 
 inattention, to lure it from the subject, and 
 throw it into some crossroad, which takes it 
 far away. Add the necessity of continuing, 
 when once a speech is begun, because to stop is 
 embarrassing ; to withdraw, a disgrace. 
 
 Therefore, in order to lead and sustain the 
 progress of a discourse, one must clearly know 
 whence one starts, and whither one goes, and 
 never lose sight of either the point of departure 
 or the destination. But, to effect this, the road 
 must be measured beforehand, and the principal 
 distance marks must have been placed. There is 
 a risk else of losing one's way, and then, either 
 one arrives at no end, even after much fatigue, 
 productive of interminable discourses leading 
 to nothing, — or if one at last reaches the 
 destination, it is after an infinity of turns and 
 circuits, which have wearied the hearer as well 
 as the speaker, without profit or pleasure for 
 anybody. 
 
 The deteiimnation of the subject ought not 
 to fix merely the point upon which one has to 
 speak, but fui-ther the radiation of this point 
 and the circxunference which it will embrace. 
 
 l2 
 
14:8 THE SUBJECT JlKD ITS POINT. 
 
 The circle clearly may be more or less ex 
 tensive, for all things are connected in the 
 wol'ld of ideas, even more than in that of 
 bodies, and as, in fine, aU is in each, you may 
 speak of everything in connexion with any- 
 thing, and this is what too often befalls those 
 who extemporise. 
 
 Then the discourse leads the mind, not the 
 mind the discourse. It is a ship which falls 
 away for want of a helm, and he who is within, 
 unable to control her, abandons himself to the 
 current of the stream, at the risk of wrecking 
 himself lipon the first breaker, and not knowing 
 where he shall touch the shore. 
 
 It is but -wise, then, not to begin a speech 
 without having at least by a rapid general view, 
 if there be no time to prepare a plan, decided 
 the mam line of the discourse, and sketched in 
 the mind an outline of its most prominent 
 features. In this precepts are not of great 
 use; good sense, tact, and a clear and lively 
 intelligence are requisite to seize exactly the. 
 point in question and to hold to it ; and for this 
 end nothing is better than to foi-mularise it at 
 once by some expression, some proposition, 
 which may serve to reduce the subject to its 
 
THE STIBJECrr AND ITS POINT. 149 
 
 Bimplest shape, and to detemdne its propor- 
 tions. 
 
 A question -well stated is half solved. In 
 like manner a subject TreU fixed, admits of 
 easier treatment, and singularly facilitates the 
 discourse. As to the rest, the occasion, the 
 circumstances, and the nature of the subject, do 
 much in the same direction. There are cases 
 in which the subject determines itself by the 
 necessity of the situation and the force of 
 things. The case is more embarrassing when the 
 speaker is master of circumstances, as in teach- 
 ing, where he may distribute his materials at his 
 pleasure, and design each lesson's part. In any 
 case, and howsoever he sets to work, each dis- 
 course must have its own unity, and constitute 
 a whole, in order that the hearer may embrace 
 in his understanding what has been said to Ih'tHj 
 may conceive it in his own :&shion, and be able 
 to reproduce it at need. 
 
 But the general view of the subject, and 
 the formula which gives it precision, are not 
 enough; the idea of it, the living idea, the 
 parent idea, which is the*source of the life in 
 a discourse, and without which the words will bo 
 bat a dead letter, must be obtained. 
 
 I. 3 
 
160 
 
 THE SUBJECT AlfD ITS POIKT. 
 
 What is this parent idea, and ho-(7 do we obtain 
 it? 
 
 In the physical world, whatever has life 
 comes from a gei-m, and this germ, previously 
 contained in another living ^existence, there 
 takes life itself, and on its own account; by the 
 process of fecundation. Fecundated, it quits 
 its focus ; jpuncttim saliens, it radiates and tends 
 to develope itself by reason of the primordial 
 Hfe which it bears within it, and of the nurture 
 it receives; then by gradual evolution, it ac- 
 quires organic form, constituted existence, in- 
 dividuality, and body. 
 
 It is the same in the intellectual world, and 
 in all the productions of our mind, and by 
 our mind outside of itself through language 
 and discourse. There are in our under- 
 standing germs of mental existences, and 
 when they are evoked by a mind which is 
 of their own nature, they take life, become 
 developed and organised, first in the depth 
 of the understanding which is their brooding 
 receptacle, and finally passing into the outer 
 world by that speech which gives them a 
 body, they become incarnate there, so to speak, 
 and form living productions, instinct with more 
 
THE SUBJECT AITD ITS POINT. 151 
 
 or less of life by reason of their fecundated 
 germ, of the understanding which begets them, 
 and of the mind -which ^-ivifies them. 
 
 In every discourse, if it have life, there is a 
 parent idea or fertile germ, and all the parts of 
 the discourse are like the principal organs and 
 the members of an animated body. The pro- 
 positions, expressions, and words resemble those 
 secondary organs which connect the principal, 
 as the nerves, muscles, vessels, tissues, attaching 
 them to one another and rendering them co- 
 partners in life and death. Then amid this 
 animate and organic rdass there is the spirit of 
 life, which is in the blood, and is everywhere 
 diffused with the blood from the heart, life's 
 centre, to the epidermis. So in eloquence, 
 there is the spirit of the words, the soul of the 
 orator, inspired by the subject, his intelligence 
 illumined with mental light, which circulates 
 through the whole body of the discourse, and 
 
 m 
 
 pours therein brightness, heat, and life. A 
 discourse without a parent idea, is a stream 
 without a fountain, a plant without a root, a 
 body without a soul ; empty phrases, sounds 
 which beat the air, or a tinkling cymbal. 
 Nevertheless, let us not be misapprehended ; 
 l4 
 
152 THE SUBJECT AND ITS PODST. 
 
 if we say that a discourse requires a parent 
 ■ idea, we do not mean that this idea must be a 
 new one, never before conceived or developed 
 by any one. Were this so, no more orators 
 would be possible, since already, from Solomon's 
 day, there has been nothing new under the sun, 
 and the cycle of ages continually biings back 
 the same things under different forms. 
 
 It is not likely, then, that in our day there 
 should be more new ideas than in that of the 
 King of Israel ; but ideas, like all the exist- 
 ences of this world, are renewed in each age, 
 and for each generation. * They are reproduced 
 under varied 'forms and with modifications of 
 circumstances : "'!N"on nova sed nov&," said Vin- 
 cent of Lerins, The same things are differently 
 manifested ; and thus they adapt themselves to 
 the wants of men, which change with time and 
 place. 
 
 For this reason the orator may, and should 
 say, ancient things, in substance; but he will 
 say them in another manner, corresponding 
 with the dispositions of the men of his epoch, 
 and he will add the originality of his individual 
 conception and ejcpression. 
 For this purpose, m all the rigour of the word 
 
THE SITBJECT AlTD ITS POrCtT. 153 
 
 he should conceive his snhject, in order to hare 
 the idea of it ; this idea must he bom iu him, and 
 grow, and be organized in a living manner ; and 
 as there is no conception ivithout fecundation, 
 this mental fecundation must come to him from 
 without, either spontaneously, or, at least, in an 
 invisible manner, as in the inspirations and il- 
 luminations of genius, — or, what oftener hap- 
 pens, by means of the attentive consideration 
 of the subject and meditation upon the thoughts 
 of others. 
 
 In any case, whatever be the fashion of the 
 understanding's fecundation, and fi-om whatever 
 quarter light comes to it, — and light is the life 
 of the mind, — he must absolutely conceive the • 
 idea of what he shall say, if he is to say any- 
 thing fraught with life, and not new but origi- 
 nal, — that is, engendered, born in his mind, and 
 bearing the character of it. TTis thoughts will 
 then be proper to him (his own) by virtue of 
 their production, and despite their resemblance 
 to others, — as children belong to their mother, 
 notwithstanding their likeness to all the mem- 
 bers of the human race. But they all and 
 each possess something new for the femily and 
 generation in which they are to live. It is all 
 
154 THE SUBJECT AKD ITS ponrr. 
 
 we would say when we require of him who haa 
 to speak in public, that he should have, at least, 
 an idea to expound, sprung mentally, if- we 
 may so say, from his loins, and produced alive 
 in the intellectual world hy his words, as in the 
 physical order a child by its mother. This 
 simply means, in the language of common sense, 
 that the orator sould have- a clear conception 
 of what he would say. 
 
COHCEPTION OF THE STTRrEOT. 155 
 
 CHAP. X, 
 
 CONCEPTIOJr OB" THE SUBJECTT. ' — DIEECT 
 
 METHOD. 
 
 How ensure a good conception of your subject ? 
 There are two ways or methods; the one 
 direct, wMcIi is always the best when you can 
 take it; the other indirect, longer and less 
 certain, but more accessible to beginners, more 
 within reach of ordinary minds, and serving to 
 form them. You may indeed use both ways; 
 either coming back the second way, when you 
 have gone out by the first, or beginning with 
 the easiest, in order to arrive at the most 
 trduous. 
 
 The main way, or that which by preeminence 
 leserves the designation, consists in placing 
 yourself immediately in relation with the object 
 about which you have to Bpeak, so as to con- 
 sider it fece to fece, looking, clean through it with 
 the mind's eye, while yon are yourself irradiated 
 with the light which the object gives forth. 
 
156 CONOEPTIOS OF THE StTBJECT. 
 
 In this crossing of rays, and hj means of 
 their interpeneti'ation, a conception, represent- 
 ing that object which begets it, is produced in 
 the understanding, and partakes of the nature 
 of that in which it is formed, and which con- 
 tains it. * 
 
 In this case a fecundation of the mind, or 
 subject, is affected by the object, and the result 
 is the idea of the object, begotten and brought 
 into a living state in the understanding by its 
 own force. This idea is always In the ratio of 
 the two factors or causes which combine to call 
 it forth, of their relation to each other, and of 
 the succesSjWith which the union is effected. 
 
 K the mind be simple, vmwarped, pure, 
 greedy of knowledge, and eager after truth, — 
 when it places itself before the object fully, 
 considers it generally, at the same time that it 
 opens itself unreservedly to its light with a wish 
 to be penetrated by it, and to penetrate it, to 
 become united to it with all its strength and 
 capacity; and if, further, it have the energy 
 and persistency ta maintain itself in this atti- 
 tude of attention without distraction, and col- 
 lecting all its faculties, concentrating all its 
 lights, it makes them converge upon this single 
 
CONCEPTIOK OF THE SUBJECT. 157 
 
 point, and becomes "vrhoUy absorbed in the union 
 which thus ensures intellectual fecundity, the 
 conception then takes place after a normal and 
 a plenary fashion. The very life of the object, 
 or thing contemplated, passes Tvith its light 
 iQto the subject or mind contemplating, and 
 from thei life-endowed mental germ springs the 
 IDEA, at first weak and darkling, like whatever 
 is newly-begotten, but growing afterwards by 
 the labor of the mind and by nutrition. It 
 will become gradually organised, fiiU-grown, 
 and complete ; as soon as its constitution is 
 strong enough to emerge from the imderstand- 
 ing, it will seek the birth of words, in order to 
 unfold to the world the treasures of truth and 
 life which it contains within it. 
 
 But if it be only examined obliquely, under 
 an incidental or restricted aspect, the result 
 win be a conception analogous to the connex- 
 ion which produces it, and consequently an 
 idea of the object, possessing perhaps some 
 truth and some life, but representing the object 
 only in one phase, only in part, and thus 
 leading to a narrow and inadequate knowledge. 
 
 It is clear that as it is in the physical, so in 
 the moral world. Knowledge is formed by the 
 
158 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 
 
 same laws as existence, the knowledge of 
 metaphysical like that of sensible things, al- 
 though these diflfer essentially in their nature 
 and in their limits. The laws by which life is 
 transmitted, are those by which thought is 
 transmitted, which is, after its own fashion, 
 conceived and generated; a fact arising from 
 the application to the production of all living 
 beings of the eternal law of the Divine generar 
 tion, by which the Being of beings, the Prin- 
 ciple of life. Who is life itself, engenders in 
 Himself His image or His "Word, by the know- 
 ledge which he has eternally of Himself, and 
 by the love of His own perfection which he 
 contemplates. 
 
 Thus with the human. mind, which is made 
 in the image of God, and which reproduces a 
 likeness of it in aU its operations; the know- 
 ledge of a human mind is also a sort of genera- 
 tion. It has no knowledge of sensible things, 
 except through the images which they produce 
 in the understanding, and that such images 
 should arise, it is requisite that the under- 
 standing be penetrated by the impressions of 
 objects, through the senses and their organs. 
 Hence appearances, images, ideas, or to speaJs 
 
CONCEPnON OF THE SUBJECT. 159 
 
 more philosophically, conceptions of exterior 
 things, which are not only the raw material of 
 knowledge,' but the principles more or less 
 pregnant of the sciences of nature, according as 
 they may have been formed in the mind. This 
 accounts in part for the power of first impres- 
 sions, the virtue of the first aspect, or of the 
 primary meeting of the " subject " and object. 
 
 Ifow we have intelligible and spiritual, as 
 well as material and sensible existences aroxmd 
 OS. We live by our mind and by its inter- 
 course with that of our fellow creatures in a 
 moral world, which is realised and perpetuated 
 by speech and in language, as physical existences 
 are fixed in the soil, and fi-om the soil developed. 
 The language spoken by a human community, 
 and constituting the depository, the magazine 
 of the thoughts, ideas, and knowledge of that 
 community, forms a true world of minds, a 
 sphere of intellectual existences, having its own 
 life, light, and laws. -— 
 
 Now it is with these subtile and, as it were, 
 ethereal existences, which are condensed in 
 words, like vapour in clouds, — it is with these 
 metaphysical realities that our mind must 
 come into, contact, in order by them to be 
 
160 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 
 
 fecundated, without other medium than the 
 signs which express them, and in order to 
 conceive the ideas which science has to develope 
 by analysis, and which the speaker will unfold 
 in his discourse, so as to bring home their 
 truth to those who are ignorant of it. Any- 
 body must feel how difficult it is to hold 
 communion by the sight of the mind with things 
 so delicate, so evanescent, things which cannot 
 be seized except by their nebulous and ever 
 shifting dress of language ; and how much more 
 difficult it is to persist long in this contempla- 
 tion, and how soon the intelligence gets fatigued 
 of pursuing objects so scarcely tangible, objects 
 escaping its grasp on aU sides. In truth it is 
 only a jery rare and choice class of minds which 
 know how to look directly, fixedly, and perse- 
 veringly at objects of pure intelligibility. For 
 the same reason these have greater fecundity, 
 because entering into a close union with 
 the objects of theii* thought, and becoming 
 thoroughly penetrated by them, they take in 
 the very nature and vitality of things, with the 
 light which they emit. 
 
 These are the minds, moreover, that con 
 ceive ideas and think for the rest of mankind. 
 
CONCEPTIOir OF THE SUBJECT. 161 
 
 whose torches and guides they are in the intel- 
 lectual world ; and "as their -words, the vehicle 
 of their conceptions and thoughts, are employed 
 during instruction in reproducing, that iSj_ in 
 engendering within the minds of their fellow- 
 creatures the ideas which the light of the things 
 themselves has produced in their own, they are 
 caUed men of genius, that is, generators by 
 intelligence, or transmitters by means of lan- 
 guage, of the light and life of the mind. 
 
 This consideration brings us to the Seconc 
 way or method by which feebler intellects, oi 
 such as have talent without having genius, 
 may also succeed in conceiving the idea of tha 
 subject upoei which they aft about to speak. 
 
 a 
 
162 coNCErnoir of the subject. 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 I.jSrCKPTION OP THE SUBJECT. — INDIEECT 
 METHOD. 
 
 Those who have to treat a subject which has 
 not been treated before, are obliged to draw 
 from a consideration of the subject, and from 
 their own resources, all they have to say. 
 Then, according to their genius and their pe- 
 netration, and in pAportion to the manner in 
 which they put themselves in presence of the 
 things, will their discourse evince more or less 
 truth, exactitude, and depth. They are sure to 
 be original, since they are the first comers, — 
 and, in general, the first view, which is not in- 
 fluenced by any prejudice or bias, but which 
 arises from the natural impression of the object 
 upon the soul, produces clear and profound 
 ideas, which remain in the kingdom of science 
 or of art as common property, and a sort of 
 patrimony for those who come later. After- 
 
CONCEPTION OF THE STTBJECT. 163 
 
 wards, when the way is opened, and many 
 have trodden it, leaving their traces behind 
 them, when a suhject has heen discussed at 
 various times and among several circles, it is 
 hard to he original, in the strict sense, upon 
 that topic; that is, to have new thoughts — 
 thoughts not expressed hefore. But it is 
 both possible and incumbent to have that 
 other species of origiuality, which consists in 
 putting forth no ideas except such as one has 
 made one's own by a conception of one's own, 
 and are thus quickened with the life of one's 
 own mind. This is called talcing possession in 
 the finder's name; and Molifere, when he imi- 
 tated Plautus and Terence ; La Fontaine, when 
 he borrowed from jEsop and Phaedras, were 
 not ashamed of the practice. This condition 
 is indispensable, if life is to be imparted to the 
 discourse; and it is this which distinguishes 
 the orator, who draws on his own interior re- 
 sources even when he borrows, from the actor 
 who impersonates, or the reader who recites the 
 productions of another. 
 
 In such a case the problem stands there- 
 fore thus: — When you have to speak on a 
 subject already treated by several authors, 
 
164 COITCEPTIOliT OF THE SITBJECT. 
 
 you must carefully cull their justest and. most 
 striking thoughts, analyse and sift these with 
 critical discernment and penetration, then fuse 
 them in your own alembic by a powerful syn- 
 thetic operation, which, rejecting whatever is 
 heterogeneous, collects and kneads whatever 
 is homogeneous or amalgamable, and fashions 
 forth a complex idea that shall assume consis- 
 tency, unity, and colour in the understanding by 
 the very heat of the mind's labour. 
 
 If we may compare things spiritual with 
 things material, — and we always may, since 
 they are governed by the same laws, and hence 
 their analogy, — we would say that, in the 
 formation of an idea by this method, some- 
 thing occurs similar to what is observed in the 
 production of the ceramic or modeller's artj 
 composed of various elements, earths, salts, 
 metals, alkalies, acids, and the rest, which, 
 when suitably separated, sifted, purified, are 
 first united into one compoimd, then kneaded, 
 shaped, moulded, or turned, and finally sub-- 
 jected to the action of the fire which combines 
 them in unity, and gives to the whole solidity 
 and splendour. 
 
 Thus, the orator who speaks after many 
 
COIfCEPTIQN OF THE SUBJECT. 165 
 
 others, and must treat the same topic, ought 
 first to endeavour to make himself acquainted 
 with all that has been •written on the subject, 
 in order to extract from the mass the thoughts 
 which best serve his end; he ought then to 
 collect and fuse within his own thought the 
 lights emitted by Mher minds, gather and con- 
 verge upon a single point the rays of those 
 various luminaries. 
 
 He cannot shirk this labour, if he would 
 treat his subject with fulness and profimdity; 
 in a word, if he is in earnest with his business, 
 which is to seek truth, and to make it known, 
 like every true artist, he has an intuition of 
 the ideal, and to that ideal he is impelled by 
 the divine instinct of his intelligence to lift his 
 conceptions and his thoughts, in order to pro- 
 duce, first in himself and then upon others, by 
 speaking or by whatever is his vehicle of ex- 
 pression, something which shall for ever tend 
 towards it, without ever attaining it. ^or 
 ideas, properly so called, being the very con- 
 ceptions of the Supreme Mind, the eternal 
 archetypes after which aH created things have 
 been modelled with all their powers, the human 
 mind, made after the image of the Creator, 
 Ha 
 
166 CONCEPTIOK OF THE . STTBJECT. 
 
 yet always finite, wliatever its force or its 
 light, can catch hut glimpses of them here 
 below, and will always be incapable of conceiv- 
 ing and of reproducing them in their immensity 
 and infinitude. 
 
 • However, care must be taken here not to 
 allow oneself to be carried away by too soaring 
 a train of considerations, or into too vast a 
 field ; aU is linked with all, and in things of a 
 higher world this is more especially the case, 
 for there you are in the realm of sovereign 
 unity, and universality. A philosopher, medi- 
 tating and writing, may give wings to his con- 
 templation, and his flight wUl never be too 
 lofty nor too vigorous, provided his intelli- 
 gence be illumined with the true light, and 
 guided in the right path; but the speaker ge- 
 nerally stands before an audience who are not 
 on his own level, and whom he must take at 
 theirs. Again, he speaks in a given state of 
 things, with a view to some immediate effect, 
 some definite end. His topic is restricted by 
 these conditions, and his manner of treating it 
 must be subordinated to them, his discourse 
 adapted to them. It is no business of his to 
 say all that might be said, but merely what ia 
 
CONCEPTION OF THE SITBJECT. 167 
 
 necessary or useftd in the actual case, in order 
 to enlighten his hearers, and to persuade them. 
 He must, therefore, circumscrihe his matter 
 withia the limits of his purpose ; and his dis- 
 course must have just that extent, that eleva- 
 tion, and discretion ■which the special circum- 
 stances demand. 
 
 It is with this aim that the orator ought to 
 prepare his materials, and lay in, as it 'were, 
 the provisions for his discourse. 
 
 First, as we have said, he must collect the 
 ingredients of his compost. Then he will do 
 what the hee does, -which rifles the flowers — 
 exactly what the hee does ; for, hy an admir- 
 ahle instinct which never misleads it, it ex- 
 tracts from the cup of the flowers only what 
 serves to form the wax and the honey, the 
 aromatic and the oleaginous particles. But, he 
 it well observed, the hee first nourishes itself 
 with these extracts, digests them, transmutes 
 them, and turns them into wax and honey 
 solely by an operation of absorption and assimi- 
 lation. 
 
 Just so should the speaker do. Before him 
 lie the fields of science and of literature, rich 
 ja each description of flower and fi-nit, — every 
 u4 
 
168 CONCEPTIOM' OF THE SUBJEOT- 
 
 hue, every flavor. In these fields he will seek 
 his booty, but ■with discernment ; and choosing 
 only what suits his work, he ■will extract from 
 it, by thoughtful reading and by the process of 
 mental tasting (his thoughts all absorbed in his 
 topic, and darting at once upon whatever re- 
 lates to it), everything which can mmister nutri- 
 ment to his intelUgence, or fill it, or even 
 perfume it; in a word, the substantial or aro- 
 matic elements of his honey, or idea, but ever 
 so as to take in and to digest, like the bee, in 
 order that there may be a real transformation 
 and appropriation, and consequently a produc- 
 tion fraught with life, and to live. 
 
 The way in which he should set to work, 
 or at least the way in which we have ourselves 
 proceeded under similar drcumstances, and 
 with good results, is this. , 
 
 [We hope we shall be forgiven for these 
 details - of the interior, these private manage- 
 ments of an orator : we think them more useful 
 to show how to contrive than the didactics of 
 teaching would be; they are the contrivances 
 of the craft, secrets of the workshop. Be- 
 sides, we are not writing for adepts, but for 
 novices ; and these will be better helped by 
 
CONgEPTIOir OF THE SUBJECT. 169 
 
 practical advice, and by the results of positive 
 experience, than hy general rules or by specu- 
 lations.] 
 
 Above all, then, you must decide with the 
 utmost clearness what it is you are going to 
 speak upon. Many orators are too vague in 
 this; and it is an original vice which makes 
 itself felt in their whole labour, and, later, in 
 their audience. ITothing is worse than vague- 
 ness in a discourse ; it produces obscurity, dif- 
 fuseness, rigmarole, and wearisomeness. The 
 hearer does not cling to a speaker who talks 
 without knowing what he would say, and who, 
 undertaking to guide him, seems to be ignorant 
 whither he is going. 
 
 The topic once well settled, the point to be 
 treated once well defined, you know where to 
 go for help. Tou ask for the most approved 
 writers on that point; you get together their 
 works, and begin to read them with attention, 
 pausing, ahovi all, upor the chapters and pas- 
 sages which specially concern the matter in 
 qnestion. 
 
 Always read pen or pencil in hand. Mark 
 the parts which most strike you, those in 
 which you perceive the germ of an idea or of 
 
170 COKCEFnON OF THE SUBJECT. 
 
 anything new to you; then, when you have 
 finished your reading, make a note, let it 
 be a substantial note, not a mere transcrip- 
 tion or extract — a note embodying the very 
 thought which you have apprehended, and 
 which you have already made your own by 
 digestion and assimilation. 
 
 Above all, let these notes be short and lucid ; 
 put them down one under the other, so that 
 you -may afterwards be able to run over them 
 at a single view. 
 
 Mistrust long readings from which you carry 
 nothing away. Our mind is naturally so lazy,"" 
 the labour of thought is so irksome to it, that 
 it gladly yields to the pleasure of reading other 
 people's thoughts, in order to avoid the trouble 
 of forming any itself; and then time passes in 
 endless readings, the pretext of which is some 
 hunt after materials, and which comes to no- 
 thing. The mind ruins its own sap, and gets 
 burdened with trash : it is as though overladen 
 with undigested food, which gives it neither 
 force nor light. 
 
 Quit not a book until you have wrested from 
 it whatever relates the most closely to your 
 subject. Not till then go on to another, and 
 
CONCEPnON OF THE STJBJECT. 171 
 
 get the cream off, if I may so express myself 
 in the same manner. 
 
 Repeat this labour with several, mitil you find 
 that the same things are beginning to return, 
 or nearly so, and that there is nothing to gain 
 in the plunder; or suppose that you feel your 
 understanding to be sufficiently furnished, and 
 that your mind now requires to digest the nu- 
 triment Tvhich it has taken. 
 
 Rest awhile, in order to let the intellectual 
 digestion operate. Then, when these various 
 aliments begin to be transformed, interpene- 
 trated, comes the labour of the desk, which wiU 
 extract from the mass of nourishment its very 
 juices, distribute them everywhere, and wiU 
 contribute to form, from diversity of products, 
 unity of life. 
 
 It is with the mind as with the body; after 
 nourishment and repose, it requires to act and 
 to transmit. When it has repaired its strength, 
 it must exert it; when it has received it, it must 
 give; after having concentrated itself, it needs 
 dilation; it must yield back what it has ab- 
 sorbed ; fulness unrelieved is as painful to it as 
 inanition. These are the two vital moTements, 
 — attractioa and ezpiamoxL 
 
172 CONCEPTION CF THE SUBJECT. 
 
 The moment this ftdness is felt, the moment 
 of acting or thinking for yourself has arrived. 
 
 You take up your notes and you carefully 
 ■ re-read them face to face with the topic to be 
 treated. You hlot out such as diverge from 
 it too much, or are not sufficiently substantial, 
 and by this elimination you gradually concen- 
 trate and compress the thoughts -which have the 
 greatest reciprocal bearing. You work these a 
 longer or a shorter time in your understanding, 
 as in a crucible, by the inner fire of reflection, 
 and, in nine cases out of ten, they end by 
 amalgamating and fusing into one another, 
 until they form a homogeneous mass, which is 
 reduced, like the metallic particles in iacandes- 
 cence, by the persistent hammering of thought, 
 mto a dense and solid oneness. 
 
 As soon as you become conscious of this 
 unity, you obtain a glimpse, of the essential 
 idea of the composition, and in that essential 
 idea, the leading ideas which will distribute 
 your topic, and which already appear like the 
 first organic lineaments of the discourse. 
 
 In the case supposed, the idea forms itself 
 synthetically; or by a sort of intellectual coa- 
 gulation, which is fraught with life; because 
 
coNCEPnoir of the sbbjectt. 173 
 
 there is really a crossing or iaterpenetmtioii of 
 various thougMs in one single miad, which has 
 assimilated thejn to one another only by first 
 assimilating them, to itselE They take life in 
 its life which nnifies them, and although the 
 idea be thus compounded of a multiplicity of 
 elements, nevertheless as these elements" have 
 been transformed into that one mind's own 
 thought, they become harmonised therein, and 
 constitute a new production endowed by the 
 understandLag in which it is called forth, with 
 something individualising and originaL 
 
 However, a different result sometimes occurs, 
 and this happens particularly in the most stirring 
 and fertile intellects. The perusal of other 
 men's thoughts, and the meditation thus excited, 
 becomes for them not the efficient cause, but 
 the occasion, of the requisite idea, which springs 
 iuto birth by a sudden iQumination, in the 
 midst of their mental labour over other people's 
 ideas, as the spark darts from the flint when 
 stricken by steeL 
 
 It is a mixed method between the direct, 
 which is that of nature, and the indimct which 
 we have been describing. It partakes of the 
 former, because there is in it a kind of genera- 
 
174 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 
 
 tion of the idea which is instantaneously eflfeoted; 
 but it is a generation less instinct with life, and, 
 as it were, at second hand ; for it is not formed 
 in the mind by the action of the thing itself, 
 but by its image or reflection in a human ex- 
 pression. It partakes of the second method, 
 because the birth of the idea is brought about 
 by reading and meditation. 
 
 The idea which is its offspring, though infe- 
 rior to that engendered by the object itself, is 
 more natural, and, therefore, more living than 
 that produced by synthesis ; simpler, more one, 
 more original ; it is more racy of the mind, 
 which has conceived it at one effort, and from 
 which it springs full of life, as Minerva in the 
 fable sprang fuU-armed from the head of Jupiter 
 cleft by Vulcan's hatchet. Thus it is with' 
 the orator's understanding, which is suddenly 
 opened by a thought that strikes it, and from 
 which arises completely organised the idea of 
 his topic to hecome the Minerva or wisdom of 
 his discourse. In this case the plan of his com- 
 position arranges itself spontaneously. The 
 parent id|a takes the place of sovereignty at 
 once, by right of birth, and aH the others 
 gronp themselves around her, and to her subor- 
 
CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 175 
 
 dinate themselves naturally, in order to co- 
 operate in better displaying her and doing her 
 honour, as hees around the queen bee to work 
 under her direction at the common task, or as, 
 in revolutions and the emergencies •which end 
 them, nations instinctively rally about the man 
 of Providence, raised up by the Almighty to 
 re-estabiish order, equity, at d peace. 
 
176 
 
 FOEMATION OF IDEAS. 
 
 CHAP. xn. 
 
 THE FOEMATIOK AUD THE AERAlirGEMENT 
 OF IDEAS. 
 
 The idea is formed either through the fecun- 
 dation of the understanding ^by the object 
 which there engenders its image and deposits 
 its life, or by the bringing together of various 
 elements transformed and made one by the ab- 
 sorbing and reflecting operations of the mind ; 
 or else by a mixed process which partakes of 
 both these, and which we just now described. 
 
 In aU three cases, however, at the first 
 moment of conception, there is as yet only a 
 shapeless and vague product which floats, so to 
 say, upon the waters of the undorstanding, and 
 over which broods the spirit of life which has 
 indeed animated it, but Tyhich has still to 
 develope and to ci^aoi&s it, to pstablisli it in a 
 definite state oi' exxstetice, and to give K t» 
 
FOEMATION OF IDEAS. 177 
 
 IncLivicluality * by means of ■words and in the 
 discourse. 
 
 It is the gei-m fecundated in the parent soil, 
 but "which cannot yet spring forth mthout 
 danger, for want of the necessary organisation 
 to live and take its place iu the world to which 
 it is destined to belong. Therefore, a period of 
 incubation and organogenesis is indispensable to 
 it under pain of its abortion, and the loss of 
 its life. 
 
 This is precisely the speaker's case ; he has 
 conceived his idea, and he bears it within the 
 entrails of his understanding. He must not 
 commit it to the day imtU it is able to appear 
 with the conditions of vitality, that is to say 
 before it is organised in all its parts, in order 
 that it may properly perform its functions in 
 the world which it is to enter; — neglect this, 
 and you wiU have an abortive discourse, words 
 without life, 
 
 * " .4 local habitation and a naim.'" There is throughont 
 the whole of these passages a striking analogy between the 
 thoughts of Shakspeare, as they are hinted in his brief 
 picture of the poet, and those which M. Baut^, applying 
 them to the orator, more philosophically analyses and mora 
 fully developes. 
 
 N 
 
178 FOBMATION OF IDEAS. 
 
 Sometimes the idea thus conceived, is de- 
 veloped and formed rapidly, and then the plan 
 of the discourse arranges itself on a sudden, 
 and you throw it upon paper ■warm ynth the 
 fervour of the conception which has just taken 
 place, as the metal in a state of fusion is poured 
 into the mould, and fills at a single turn aU its 
 lineaments. It is the case most favourable to 
 eloquence, — ^that is, if the idea has been well 
 conceived, and if it he fraught with Ught. 
 
 But in general, one must not be in a hurry 
 to form one's plan. In nature, life always 
 needs a definite time for self-organization, — 
 and it is only ephemeral beings which are 
 quickly formed, for they quickly pass away. 
 Everything destined to be durable is of slow 
 growth, and both the solidity and the strength, 
 of existing things bear a dii-ect ratio to the 
 length of their increase and the matureness of 
 their production. 
 
 When, therefore, you have conceived an 
 idea, unless it be perfectly clear to you at the 
 first glance, be in no haste to- throw it into 
 shape. Carry it for a time in your mind, as 
 the mother carries her ofi«prmg, and during 
 
FOBMATIOK OF IDEAS. 179 
 
 this period of gestation (or bearing), by the 
 very feet tLat the germ lives in your under- 
 standing, and lives with its life, it wiU of itself 
 tend towards development and completion. By 
 means of the spiritual, the mental incubation 
 of meditation, it "w'lU. pass from the egg to the 
 embryo, and when sufficiently mature to be 
 trusted to the light of day, it will spontaneously 
 strive to break from confinement, and to issue 
 forth to view; — ^then comes the moment for 
 writing. 
 
 The organic generation of ideas is as impos- 
 sible to explain fuUy as that of bodies. Nature's 
 work is mysterious in the one respect as in the 
 other ; only there being a part for fi-eewiU and 
 conscience to play in the intellectual sphere, 
 we see a little more clearly in this than in the 
 other, and co-operate a little more directly. 
 
 The understanding, in feet, is a spiritual soil 
 which has feeliag, consciousness, and up to a 
 certain point, a knowledge of whatever is 
 taking place in it. We cannot conceive an 
 idea without being conscious of it ; for the very 
 property of a mental conception is the for- 
 mation within us of a new knowledge; and 
 5 2 
 
,180 FORMATION OF IDEAS. 
 
 thus -we are not left, iu this respect, as in tlia 
 physical order, to the operation of the blind 
 force of nature. The mother of the Maccabees 
 said to her children — " I know not how yon 
 were formed, . . . nor how the life you have re- 
 ceived was created;" now, the understanding, 
 which is the mother of the ideas engendered 
 by it and living in it, has the privilege not 
 only of feeling but of seeing their fonnation; 
 otherwise it would not be understanding. It 
 assists at the development of its ide,as, and co- 
 operates therein, actively and intelligently, by 
 the' functions of thought and reflection, by 
 meditation and mental toil. Such is the dif- 
 ference between physical and^ moral nature, 
 between the life of the body and that of the 
 mind, between the action of animate matter 
 and that of intelligence. 
 
 The thoughts apply themselves to a frequent 
 consideration of the idea conceived ; they turn 
 it and re-turn it in every direction, look at it in 
 all its aspects, place it in all manner of relations ; 
 then they penetrate it with their light, scrutinise 
 its foundation, and examine its principal parts 
 in succession; these begin to come out, to 
 
FOEMATION OF IDEAS. 181 
 
 separate liiemselves from each other, to assume 
 sharp outlines, just as ia the bud the first 
 rudimentary traces of the flower are discernible ; 
 then the other organic lines, appearing one 
 after the other, instinct with life, or like thp 
 confused, first animate form, which little by 
 little, declares itself in all the finish of its pro- 
 portions. In like manner, the idea, in the 
 successive stages of its formation, shows itseli 
 each day in fuller development to the mind 
 which bears it, and which acquires assurance oi 
 its progress by perseveiing meditation. 
 
 There are frequently good ideas wTuch 
 perish in a man's understanding, abortively, 
 whether for want of nourishment, or from the 
 debility of the mind which, through levity, in^ 
 dolence, or giddiness, fails to devote a sufficient 
 amount of reflection to what it has conceived. 
 It is even observable that those who conceive 
 with the greatest quickness and facility, bring 
 forth, generally, both in thoughts and in Ian" 
 guage, the weakest and the least durable produc- 
 tions ; whether it be that they do not take time 
 enough to mature what they have conceived, — 
 hurried into precocious display by the vivacity 
 us 
 
182 FORMATION OF IDEAS. 
 
 of their feelings and imagination, — or on account 
 of the impressionability and activity of their 
 minds, which, ever yielding to fresh emotions, 
 exhausting themselves m too rapid an alternation 
 of revulsions, have not the strength for patient 
 meditations, and allow the half-formed idea or 
 the crude thought, bom without life, to escape 
 from the understanding. Much, then, ' is in 
 our own power towards the ripening and perfect- 
 ing of our ideas. 
 
 Nevertheless, we must acknowledge and 
 with humility confess, — even while conceding 
 their full share in the result to reason and our 
 own voluntary efforts, — a share as undeni- 
 able in this case, and perhaps more undeni- 
 able, than in any other — that there is a great 
 deal which is not within our power in the 
 whole of this operation, and that a man's own 
 proper part, or merit, in the matter, is of, 
 very slight account, compared to the immense 
 and gratuitous gifts on which he must rely. 
 Who can give to genius, or even to talent, that 
 marvellous understanding by which things are 
 promptly and lucidly conceived, — that fertile 
 and sensitive mirror of ideas which responds to 
 
FOEMATION OF IDEAS. 183 
 
 the slightest objective impression, and so as- 
 tonishingly reproduces all its types ? 
 
 Who can give them that powerful mteUigence, 
 whose piercing, glance seizes every relation, 
 discerns every shade, traverses the whole extent 
 of ideas? That glowing imagination which 
 invests each conception with brilliant colom-Lng, 
 ■ — that unfailing and tenacious memory which 
 preserves unimpaired all the features of it, and 
 reproduces them at wiU, either separately or 
 together, to assist the labour of thought and 
 meditation ? 
 
 Who can give them that vigorous attention, 
 that strong grasp of the mind, which seizes 
 with energy and holds with perseverance before 
 the eye of the intelligence, the object to be 
 considered and sounded; who gives thern that 
 patience of observation, which is itself a species 
 of genius, especially in the study of Nature ? 
 
 AU these rich endowments may, indeed, be 
 developed by exercise and perfected by art; 
 but neither exercise nor art can acquire them. 
 And since in the order of intelligence, and of 
 science, as in the physical woi'ld, we see 
 nothing without the light which illumines 
 
 84 
 
184: FOBMATION OF IDEAS. 
 
 objects, whence do these select minds get that 
 intellectual and immaterial light, which shines 
 upon them more ahund^tly than on others 
 and enables them to discern in things and in the 
 ideas of things what others see not ? So that, 
 according to the magnificent expression of the 
 Royal Prophet they see the light in the light. 
 Whence the lofty inspirations, the sudden 
 flashings of genius, producing in it great and 
 new ideas, so deeply and so mightily conceived, 
 that they become by their radiation so many 
 centres of light, so many torches of the human 
 race ? How is it that, in the presence of nature 
 or of society, they experience such emotions and 
 such impressions, that they see and understand 
 what to others is all darkness and void ? 
 
 We might as well ask why one soil is more 
 firuitful than another, why the sun in a given 
 climate is brighter, and his light more pure. 
 The Almighty dispenses His treasures and His 
 favours as He deems best, and this in the 
 moral, no less than in the physical world. In 
 this dispensation to nations or to individuals, 
 He always has ia view the manifestation of 
 His truth, His power, and His mercy; and 
 
FOEirATIOir OF IDEAS. 185 
 
 wherever he kindles a larger share than usual 
 of light and fire, -wherever the magnitude of 
 His gifts is specially remarkable, there has he 
 chosen organs of His ynR, ■witnesses of His 
 truth, heralds of His science, representatives of 
 His glory, and hene&ctors of mankind. 
 
 In this is the true secret of those wonders of 
 power, of virtue, and of genius, who appear 
 from tun#to time on earth. It is the Almighty 
 who would make Himself known by TTis 
 envoys, or would act by His lEistruments ; and 
 the real glory and happiness of both the last, 
 where they are intelligent and free beings, are 
 to co-operate with their whole strength and 
 their whole wiU towards the great coming of 
 God's kingdom upon earth, and towards the 
 fullest possible realisation of TTis eternal ideas. 
 
 In this respect, the same thing is true of the 
 works of man's mind in science, which is true 
 of the acts of his wiU in the practice of bene- 
 ficence. He cannot do a good action without 
 wishing it, and he cannot wish it without the 
 exercise of his liberty ; but the inspiration of 
 good, which induces him to choose it, and gives 
 him the strength to accomplish it, comes not 
 
186 FOEMATIOK OF IDEAS. 
 
 fi'oni himself. It is a gratuitous gift from the 
 sole Giver of all that is good. It is for this 
 reason we are told that, of ourselves, we cannot 
 form a good resolution, nor think a good 
 thought, nor certainly perform a good action; 
 and, nevertheless, we wiU, we choose,* we act 
 freely, — for we are responsible. In like 
 manner, we can effect nothing of ourselves in 
 the conception and expression of ^r ideas. 
 We stand in need of the life of our imderstand- 
 ing being perpetually renewed ; of the life or the 
 impression of objects, penetrating it more or less 
 deeply ; of the light, which fertilises, engenders, 
 fosters; in fine, of the life which surrounds 
 minds and spirits, as weU as bodies, — that 
 moral atmosphere which calls forth, feeds, and 
 developes whatever has motion therein. And 
 amid all this, and along with it, is required the 
 energetic co-operation of the spirit or mind itself, 
 which feels, conceives, thinks, and without 
 which nothing human can be accomplished. 
 
 Thus, then, in the order of speculation and 
 for our mental productioijs, as in the moral 
 order, and for the accomplishment of our ac- 
 tions, while maintaining our freewill, while 
 
FOEMATIOX OF IDEAS. 187 
 
 exercising to the full, the activity of our intelli- 
 gences, which have their own rights, lot, and 
 part, let us lean ahove all upon Him. who has 
 in Him life itself, who enlightens minds and 
 fertilises or enriches them, just as he impresses 
 and guides hearts, and Whose virtue, is im- 
 parting itself to men, becomes the source of 
 perfect gifts, of luminous conceptions, of great 
 ideas, as well as of good inspirations, holy 
 resolves, and vii'tuous actions. 
 
188 AKEAITGEMENT 01 PLAIT. 
 
 CHAP. xm. 
 
 AEEAHGEMEHT OF THE PLAIT. 
 
 EvEEYTHiNG in nature comes in its own tune 
 and at the predetermined instant. The fruit 
 drops its seed when it is ripe and fit for 
 reproduction, and the child is born when the 
 hour has arrived, and when the new being is 
 sufficiently organised to Uve. 
 
 It is thus with the mental production which 
 the orator bears in his understanding. There 
 is a moment when the idea tends to issue forth 
 from its obscure retreat, in order to alight in 
 the world of day, appear in the face of the sun, 
 and there imfold itself. 
 
 Only this much difiference there is, that the 
 latter production, being intellectual, depends to 
 a certain degree upon the freedom of the 
 mind ; that, consequently, the moment of birth 
 is not, in it, predestinary or necessary, as in 
 
AKEAIfGESIENT OF PLAlir. 189 
 
 the physical order, and thus the will of the 
 author may hasten or delay it often to the injury 
 of the production and of its development. Pre- 
 mature expression (that is, when you seek to 
 reduce to plan an idea -which is not ripe, and 
 the organisation of which is stiU vague) may 
 lead to a MLure, or at least to a disappointing 
 off-shoot, incapable of life, or capable of only a 
 sickly life — a fete which often heMa youthftil 
 authors too eager to produce. 
 
 But, on the other side, too much delay in the 
 composition of the plan, when the idea is ready 
 and demands expression, is equally prejudicial 
 to the work, which may wither, perish, and be 
 even stifled in the understanding, for want of 
 that air and light which have become indispens- 
 able to its hfe, and which it can derive only 
 from being set in the open day. 
 
 There are men who experience the greatest 
 difficulty imaginable in bringing forth their 
 thoughts, either from a deficiency of the need- 
 fiil vigour to put them forward and invest them 
 with a snitable form, or from a natural indo- 
 lence which is incapable of continued efforts ; 
 like those plants which will never pierce the 
 soil by their own un^ded energy, and for 
 
190 AEBANGEMENT OF PLAN, 
 
 which the spade must ha used at the risk of 
 destroying their tender shoots. This sluggish- 
 ness, or rather incapability of producing when 
 the time is come, is a sign of mental feebleness, 
 of a species of impotency. It invariably be- 
 tokens some signal defect in the intellectual 
 constitution, and those who are afficted with it 
 will write little, will write that little with 
 difficulty, and wiU never be able to_ speak ex- 
 temporaneously in public; they wiU never be 
 orators. 
 
 Nevertheless, even in him who is capable of 
 becoming one, there is sometimes a certain 
 inertness and laziness. We have naturally a 
 horror of labour, and of all kinds the labour of 
 thought is the hatdest and the most trouble- 
 some ; so that frequently, for no other reason 
 than to avoid the pain which must be under- 
 gone, a person long keeps in his own head an 
 idea, already perfectly ripe and requiring only 
 to be put forth. He cannot bring himself to 
 take up the pen and put his plan into shape ; he 
 procrastinates, day after day, under the futile 
 pretext of not having read enough, not having 
 reflected enough, and that the moment is not 
 yet come, and that the work will gain by more 
 
AEEANGEMENT OF PLAK. 191 
 
 prolonged studies. Then, by this unseasonable 
 delay, the fruit languishes in the understanding 
 from want of nourishment ; falls by degrees 
 into atrophy, loses its vital force, and dies 
 before it is yet bom. Many an excellent idea 
 thus perishes in the germ, or is stifled in its 
 development by the laziness or the debility of 
 the minds which have conceived them, and 
 which have been impotent to give them forth. 
 
 The Almighty's gift is lost through man's 
 fault. This happens to men otherwise distin- 
 guished and gifted with rare qualities, but who 
 dread the responsibilities of duty and the pres- 
 sure of the circumstances in which they may 
 become involved. Under pretext of preserving 
 their freedom, but really in order to indulge 
 their indolence, they shun the necessity of 
 labour, with its demands and its fatigues, and 
 thus deprive themselves of the most active 
 stimulus of intellectual life. Given up to 
 themselves, and fearing every external influence 
 as a bondage, they pass their lives in conceiving 
 without ever p/roducing, — in reading without 
 contributing anything of their own, — in re- 
 flecting, or rather in ruminating, without ever 
 either writing or speaking jmblicly. It would 
 
192 ABEANGEMENT OF PLAIT. 
 
 have been happy for such men to have been 
 obliged to •work for a living ; for, in the spur of 
 want their mind would have found a spring 
 which it has missed, and the necessity of sub- 
 sisting by labour, or positive hunger, would 
 have effected in them what the love of truth or 
 of glory was not able to accomphsh. 
 
 The very best thing . for him who has received 
 the gift of eloquence, and who could make an 
 orator, is, therefore, that he should be compelled 
 to become one. The labour of eloquence, and 
 the labour of thinking which it presupposes, 
 cost so much trouble and are so difficult, that 
 save some choice characters, impelled by their 
 genius or by ambition, nothing short of some 
 downright necessity, physical or moral, is re- 
 quisite to drive men to imdertake them. 
 
 But if a man is a professor, and must deliver 
 his lecture or instructions on some fixed day, 
 and at an appointed hour, — or a clergyman, 
 and is obliged to mount the pulpit at such or 
 such a moment; or a barrister, who has to 
 address the court at the time fixed by the 
 judges ; or member of some council or delibera- 
 tive assembly, under an engagement to speak 
 in a certain business, then, indeed, a man must 
 
AEEANGEMENT OF PLAK. 193 
 
 be ready, on pain of failing in his duty, or of 
 compromising his position, his reputation. On 
 such occasions, an eflTort is made, laziness is 
 shaken off, and a man strives in earnest either 
 to fathom the question (and this is never done 
 so ■well as when it is necessary to write or to 
 speak thereon), or else to form a clearer notion of 
 it, or, in short, to prepare the best exposition of 
 it, with a view to producing conviction and 
 persuasion. In this respect, we may say in the 
 words of the Gospel, '■''Blessed are the poor.'''' 
 Penury or want is the keenest spur of the 
 mind and of the will. Tou are forced to bestir 
 yourself and to draw on your inventive re- 
 sources, and in youth especially, which is the 
 most favourable time for securing instruction 
 and acquirements, it is a great happiness to be 
 plucked away by necessity from the enticement 
 of pleasure, the dissipations of the world, the inac- 
 tivity of supineness. There needs nothing short 
 of this kind of compulsion, and of the fear which 
 it inspires, to recal to reflection, meditation, and 
 the persevering exercise of thought, a soul drawn 
 outward by aU thesenses, athirst for enjoyment, 
 and carried away by the superabundance of 
 life (which at that age is overflowing) into the 
 
 
194 AEEANGEMENT OF PLAH. 
 
 external ■world, there to seek for that nourish' 
 ment and happiness which it will not there find. 
 Our own entire youth was passed in that violent 
 state, that unqeasing conflict hetween the ia- 
 stincf of nature and the duty of toU. For this 
 we know what it costs to achieve the triumph, 
 and what most tends to ensure it. 
 
 How ought your plan to be arranged? 
 
 In order to produce or arrange it well, you 
 must take your pen in hand. Writing is a 
 whetstone, or flattening engine, which wonder- 
 fully stretches ideas, and brings out all their 
 malleableness and ductility. 
 
 On some unforeseen occasion you may, with- 
 out doubt, after a few moments of reflection, 
 array suddenly the plan of your discourse, and 
 speak appropriately and eloquently. This pre- 
 supposes, in other respects, that you are well 
 versed ia your subject, and that you have in your 
 imderstanding chains of thought formed by pre- 
 vious meditations; for it is impossible to ex- 
 temporise the thoughts, at least during the whole 
 of a discourse. 
 
 But if you have time for ' preparation, never 
 undertake to speak without having put on paper 
 the frame of what jo'i have to say, the links 
 
AEEAIfGEMHNT OF PLAN. 1&5 
 
 of your ideas ; and this for two reasons : — ^tlie 
 first and weiglitiest is, that you thus possess 
 your subject better, and accordingly you speak 
 more closely and with less risk of digressions. 
 The second is, that when you write down a 
 thought you analyse it. The division of the 
 subject becomes clear, becomes determinate, 
 and a crowd of things which were not before 
 perceived present themselves under the pen. 
 
 Speaking is thinking aloud, but it is more; 
 it is thinking with method and more distinctly, 
 so that in uttering your idea you not only make 
 others understand it, but you understand it 
 better yourself while spreading it out before 
 your own eyes and imfolding it by words. 
 
 Writing adds more stiE to speech, giving it 
 more precision, more fixity, more strictness, and 
 by being forced more closely to examine what 
 you wish to write down you extract hidden 
 relations, you reach greater depths, wherein 
 may be disclosed rich veins or abundant lodes* 
 
 We are able to declare that one is never fuUy 
 conscious of all that is in one's own thought, 
 except after having written it out. So long aa 
 it remains shut up in the inside of the mind, it 
 preserves a certain haziness; one does not see 
 o2 
 
J&6 AEEAKGEMENT OF PLAN. 
 
 it completely unfolded; and me cannot con- 
 sider it on aU sides, in each of its facets, ia 
 each of its hearings. 
 
 Again, while it merely flies through the air 
 in words, it retains something vague, mohile, 
 and indefinite. Its outlines are loosely drawn, 
 its shape is uncertain, the expression of it is more 
 or less precarious, and there is always some- 
 thing to be added or withdrawn. It is never 
 more than a sketch. Style only gives to thought 
 its just expression, its finished form, and perfect 
 manifestation. 
 
 Nevertheless, beware of introducing style 
 into the arrangement of your plan ; it ought to 
 be like an artist's draught, the sketch, which, 
 by a few lines unintelligible to everybody save 
 him who has traced them, decides what is to 
 enter into the composition of the picture, 
 and each object's jplace. Light and shadow, 
 colouring and expression wiU come later. Or, 
 to take another image, the plan is a skeleton, 
 the dry bone-frame of the body, repulsive to all 
 except the adept in anatomy, but full of 
 interest, of meaning, and of significance for 
 him who has studied it and who has practised 
 dissection; for there is not a cartilage, a pro- 
 
ABEAITGEMENT OF FI^AS. 197 
 
 tuberance, or a hollow, which does not mark 
 what that structure ought to sustain, — ■ and 
 therefore you hare here the whole body iu 
 epitome, the entire organisation in miniature. 
 
 Hence, the moment you ^el that your idea 
 is mature, and that you are master of it ia its 
 centre and in its radiations, its maiu or trunk 
 lines, take the pen and throw upon paper what 
 you see, what you conceive in your mind. If 
 you are young or a novice, allow the pen to 
 have its way and the current of thought to flow 
 on. There is always Ufe iu this first rush, and 
 care should be taken not to check its impetus 
 or cool its ardour. Let the volcanic lava run ; it 
 will become fixed and crystalline of itself. 
 
 Make your plan at the first heat, if you be 
 impelled to do so, and ft)Uow your inspu-ation 
 to the end; after which let things alone for a 
 few days, or at least for several hours. Then 
 re-read attentively what you have written, and 
 give a new fbrm to your plan ; that is, re-write 
 it fi-om one end to the other, leaving only what 
 is necessary, what is essential. Eliminate in- 
 exorably whatever is accessory or superfluous, 
 and trace, engrave with care the leading cha- 
 racteristics which determine the configuration 
 08 
 
198 AEEAUGEMENT OK PLAIT. 
 
 of the discourse, and contain within their de- 
 marcations the parts which are to compass it. 
 Only take pains to have the principal features 
 well marked, vividly brought out, and strongly 
 connected together, in order that the division 
 of the discourse may be clear and the links 
 firmly welded. 
 
CHAEACTEE OF THE PLAN. 199 
 
 CHAP. XIV, 
 
 CHAEACTEE OF THE PIiAN. 
 
 The essential properties of the plan are deriv- 
 able from its very nature. As it is tlie design 
 of the oratorical buUding, it ought to he drawn 
 with neatness, distributed suitably into its com- 
 partments, in right proportions, so that at one 
 glance, the architect or any sensible person 
 versed in this kind of work, shordd perceive 
 the aim of the construction or the idea to be 
 realised, as well as the means for attaiaing it. 
 The plan is a failure if it does not suggest to the 
 understanding observer these things. 
 
 First. — ^The drawing depends on the mind, 
 which conceives and thinks, and on the hand, 
 which ■wields the pencil. A design will always 
 bear a sure ratio to the manner of feeling, con- 
 ceiving, and reproducing what is seen in nature 
 or what is imagined, and whatever may be the 
 dexterity of the hand, if the soul animate it not, 
 04 
 
20O CHAEAOTEE OF THE PLAIT. 
 
 if the underst&ndiBg guide it not, it will com- 
 pose nothing but images without life, and copies, 
 exact possihly, yet void of expression. By the 
 simplest touch, by one stroke of the brush, the 
 whole soul may be revealed ; witness that great 
 painter who recognised his equal from a single 
 line traced by him. 
 
 "Now what advice can we give on this head ? 
 All the precepts in the world wiU never teach 
 feeling or conception. We have said pretty 
 nearly aU that can be said, when speaking of 
 the conception and foi-mation of ideas. But 
 what may indeed be recommended to the inex- 
 perienced orator is to confine himself in con- 
 structing Ms plan to the salient features of his 
 subject, to lay down boldly the trunk lines of 
 the discourse, omitting aU filling up ; to draw 
 broadly, with hatchet-strokes, so to say, and not 
 to set about punctuating, not to get lost in 
 minutiae, when the business is to mark out the 
 main ways. 
 
 Another advice which may be given is, to 
 leave nothing obscure, doubtful, or vague in 
 these outlines, and to admit no feature into his 
 sketch which does not indicate something of 
 importance. By practice and the directiivns of 
 
OHAEACTEE OF THE PLAN. 201 
 
 a skilful master, he wiU learn to deal in those 
 potent penoillings which express so rmich in so 
 small a space ; and this it is which makes ex- 
 temporisation so easy and so copious, because 
 each point of the plan becomes instinct "with 
 life, and by pressing upon it as you pass along 
 your discourse makes it a spring gushing -with 
 •luminous ideas and inexhaustible expressions. 
 
 The first etchings of the great masters are 
 sometimes more precious in the artist's eye 
 than their finished pictures, because they dis- 
 close the author's thoughts more unveiled, and 
 the means he has adopted for conveying them. 
 And in like manner the young writer will 
 profitably study the plans of great speakers, in 
 order to learn how to model as they did; and 
 what will be still more improving, he wiU con- 
 struct those plans himself from their discourses, 
 and by a deep meditation of their masterpieces 
 and the intellectual labour which the construc- 
 tion just hinted demands, he will get further 
 into their innermost thoughts, and wUl better 
 appreciate the relation between those thoughts 
 and the magnificent embodiment of them. 
 
 Secondly. — ^The right distribution of your 
 plan depends also on your manner r f conceiving 
 
202 CHAEAOTKE OF THE PLAN. 
 
 your subject and the end you have in view in 
 your discourse ; nor hare general rules much 
 practical range even here. What is required 
 are, good sense, sagacity and tact; good sense 
 to see things as they are, in their true light, or 
 in their most favourable aspect, so as not to eay 
 what wiU not befit the occasion; sagacity, to 
 turn the subject over, penetrate it through,, 
 analyse it, anatomise it, and exhibit it, first on 
 paper, then in speating; tact, to speak appro- 
 priately, leave in the shade whatever cannot 
 appear without disadvantage, and bring out into 
 'strong light whatever is most in your favour; 
 to put everything in its own place, and to do all 
 this quickly, with neatness, clearness, simplicity, 
 so that in the very knot of the statement of the 
 case may be discerned all the folds and coils of 
 the main idea about to be untied and laid forth 
 by the discourse. 
 
 An ill-conceived, an ill-divided plan, which 
 does not at once land the hearer right in 
 the middle of the subject and in full posses- 
 sion of the matter, is rather an encumbrance 
 than a help. It is a rickety scaflfoldmg which 
 will bear nothing. It but loads and disfigures 
 the building instead of serving te raise :t. 
 
CHAKACTEE OF THE PLAN. 203 
 
 ITdrdly. — ^Proportion and harmony in its 
 parts contribute to the beauty of a discourse. 
 In all things beauty is the result of variety in 
 anity and of unity in variety. It is the neces- 
 sity of oneness which assigns to each part its 
 rank, place, and dimensions. 
 
 Frequently the exordium is too long, and 
 the peroration interminable. There is little or 
 nothing left for the middle; and you get a 
 monster with an enormous head, a measureless 
 tail, and a diminutive body. At other times 
 it is some limb of the discourse which is 
 lengthened until the body of the work is out 
 of sight, the result being a shocking deformity, 
 as when a man has long arms or legs with a 
 dwarf's body. The main idea ought to come 
 out ia each part; the hearer ought to be 
 always led back to it by the development of 
 the accessory thoughts, however numerous, 
 these having no regular vitality save by the 
 sustained circidation through them of the 
 former. Should they grow and dilate too 
 much, it can only be at the cost of the parent, 
 idea; and they must produce deformity and a 
 sort of disease in the discourse, Uke those mon- 
 strous excrescences which devour the animal as 
 
204 CHAEACTEE OF THE PLAIT. 
 
 when there is any irregular or excessive growth 
 of one organ, through the ahnormal congestion 
 of the blood, thus withdrawn from the rest of 
 the organisation. 
 
 It is chiefly when you hare to extemporise 
 that you must take the most care of your di- 
 vision, and of the nice allotment of all the 
 parts of your plan ; one of the disadvantages 
 of extemporisation, and perhaps the greatest 
 disadvantage being, diffuseness, slowness, and 
 digressiveness, when you trust to the inspiration 
 of the moment, excitement of speaking, — foi 
 you canAot always command the result amidst 
 the mass of words and the distractions of the 
 imagination. 
 
 Tou will _obiviate this danger, as far as may 
 he, by strongly determining beforehand the 
 proportion of the various parts; and this so 
 clearly and so strikingly as never to lose sight 
 of it while speaking, and thus to be constantly 
 recalled to it, and to recall the hearer athwart 
 the digressions, episodes, or sudden develop- 
 ments which may present themselves, and which 
 are not always to be excluded ; nay, sometimes 
 amidst the emotions of sensibility or the trans- 
 
CHAEACTEE OF TETE PLAU^. 205 
 
 ports of passion, into which by the torrent of 
 extemporisation the orator may be hurried. 
 
 Let the plan of the speech, then, be traced 
 with a firm hand, distributed ynth. exactitude, 
 and rightly proportioned ia aU its members, 
 and then it "wiU be an immense help to the 
 speaker •whom the suddenness and adventn- 
 rousness of extemporisation invariably agitates 
 more or less. He wiU then abandon himself 
 •with greater confidence to his inspirations and 
 to the tide of ■words, when he feels a solid 
 ground well kno'wn to him beneath his feet; 
 and is aware of aU its advantages and incon- 
 veniences, if he rcraain always mindful of the 
 end he has in view and of the way which leads 
 to it. 
 
20t> PEEPAEATION. 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 FIKAl, PEEPAEATIOW BEFOEE SPEAKING. 
 
 The plan of a discourse, however well put 
 together, is still but a barren letter, or, as we 
 have said, a species of skeleton to which flesh 
 and vitality must be given by words. It is the 
 discourse potentially, and has to become such 
 actually. !N'bw before passing from the power 
 of acting to action, and with a view to effecting 
 this passage, which at the very moment of 
 executing it is always difficult, there is a last 
 preparation not without its importance and 
 calculated to conduce largely towards success. 
 Thus the soldier gets ready his weapons and 
 his resolution before the fight ; thus the general 
 makes his concluding arrangements after having 
 fixed on his order of battle, and iu order to 
 carry it well into effect. So it is with the 
 speaker at that supreme instant. After having 
 fixed his ideas upon paper in a clearly defined 
 
PHEPAEATION. 207 
 
 sio^ch ■which, is to him a plan of the campaign, 
 he ought, a little while before entering the lists 
 or battle field, to recollect himself once more 
 ia order to gather up all his energies, call forth 
 aU the powers of his soul, miiid, and body for 
 the work which he has undertaken, and hold 
 them in the spring and direction whither 
 they have to rush. This is the culminating 
 point of the preparation, a critical moment 
 which is very agitating and very painful to 
 whoever is about to speak. "We shall proceed 
 to depict it, and to show what may then be 
 done towards the success of a discourse, by the 
 use of the speaker's entire means, that is, of all 
 his intellectual, moral, and physical faculties. 
 For the true orator speaks with Ms entire per- 
 sonality, with all the powers of his being, and 
 for that reason, at the moment just preceding 
 his address, he should summon, and marshal, 
 and concentrate all his instruments. 
 
208 FINAl PEEPAEATIOW. 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 PINAL INTBLLECnTAi PEEPAEATIOIT. 
 
 The plan is "written do'wn, but it is outside the 
 miad, it is on paper ; and although it has issued 
 from the mind, still the linHng of ideas is a 
 thing so subtile that it easily escapes, and es- 
 pecially in the midst of the turmoil in which 
 the speaker must take his stand, and which is 
 liable to present a thousand distracting contin- 
 gencies. An hour, therefore, or half an hour, 
 or a quarter of an hour before speaking, he 
 ought at the last moment to go over his plan 
 again silently, review all its parts with their 
 connexion, settle, in the most definite manner 
 the main ideas and the order in which they 
 occur; in a word, deeply inscribe or engrave 
 in his imagination what is written on the paper, 
 BO as to be able to read within himself, in his 
 own understanding, and this with certainty and 
 without eflfort, the signs of what he has to say. 
 
UNAL PEEPAEATION. 209 
 
 Tbis is, as it were, the internal proof-copy of 
 the external manuscript, in order that, without 
 the help of notes, he may find the whole array 
 of his ideas upon the living tablets of his ima- 
 gination. For this pm-pose, he sums up that 
 array once again, and epitomises it in a few words 
 which perform the office at once of colours and 
 of sign-posts — colours around which are mus- 
 tered fragmentary or incidental thoughts, like 
 soldiers around then* officer, and sign-posts 
 indicating the road to be followed in order to 
 reach the destination without fail. Finally, by 
 one supreme exertion of thought, he connects 
 aU these signs together in order -to take in them 
 all at a single glance in their respective places 
 and their mutual bearings, with a view to the 
 end which the discourse is intended to attain ; 
 just as a general acts, who, as the fight begins, 
 looks from some height upon the ordering of 
 his army and sees each division and regiment 
 where he had appointed them to be. Then, 
 after having possessed himself of the whole by 
 means of this glance, he holds it as it were in 
 his grasp and can hurl it into action according 
 to the plan which he has conceived. It is easy 
 to understand that in order to be able to do 
 P 
 
210 FINAL PEEPAEATION. 
 
 this, the plan must net only haye been well 
 conceived and well ordered, but clearly written 
 out on paper, so that, at a moment of such 
 pressure, a single glance may suffice to review 
 both as a whole and in its parts. 
 
 In general, the shortest are the best plans, 
 if they be well fiUed and loaded with ideas; 
 and whenever it is practicable to reduce all the 
 ideas to one, the various consequences of which 
 are thus derivatively commanded, nothing can 
 be so convenient or so sure. 
 
 This accounts for the fact that one may 
 sometimes speak wonderfully well without so 
 much preparation, and produce a very great 
 effect. AU that is required is one idea, of which 
 the speaker is deeply convinced and the conse- 
 quences and applications of which he clearly 
 discerns, or else some lively and heart-stirring 
 sentiment ; and then the light of the idea or 
 the emotion of the feeling bursts forth into words 
 like the pent-up torrent of a reservoir through 
 a fissure in the dam ; but the water-shed must 
 have been full, and the plenteousness of the 
 inundation supposes protracted toil for the 
 previous collection. It is thus with the most 
 prompt and copious extemporisations ; they are 
 
FINAL PKEPAEATION. 211 
 
 invariably the reservoir of ideas and feeliags, 
 prepared and accumulated ■with time, and rush- 
 ing fbrth in a discourse. 
 
 In all cases, what is of the first importance 
 is to see aU the ideas in a single idea, in order 
 to keep up the unity of the subject, amidst 
 variety of exposition and the multiplicity of 
 representations; for in this consists the fine 
 ordering of a speech. Once sure of the leading 
 idea, the divisions and sub-divisions must be 
 rapidly inspected. You must proceed from 
 one to the other refiectively in order to test 
 what they will be worth at the decisive instant, 
 and to penetrate them by a last glance of the 
 mind, — a glance which is never more vigorous 
 or more piercing than at that important moment. 
 Ton must act like the general who passes among 
 the ranks before the signal is given, and who 
 assures himself by the mien of his troops that 
 they win behave well, while he excites their 
 courage by words of fire, and pours fresh spirit 
 and boldness into their hearts. He too has his 
 picked troops on whom he relies more than on 
 the rest, and these picked troops are to ^ct at 
 the crisis of the fight. He keeps them in re- 
 serve to decide the victory, and he is aware 
 p2 
 
212 FINAL PEEPABATIOK. 
 
 befbretand of all the power -witli which they 
 furnish him. 
 
 So, among the various thoughts which make 
 up a discourse; and in their array, there are 
 some better calculated than the others to strike 
 the imagination and to move the soul: some 
 stirring picture, some unusually interesting 
 narrative, some convincing proof, some motive 
 which wiU carry away the hearer's decision; 
 and the like. The orator, during, his final 
 preparation, distinguishes and places in reserve 
 these resources. He arranges them appropri- 
 ately- so as to hring them in at such a part of 
 his discourse; and without fully fathoming 
 them before it is time, he keeps them under his 
 eye, weU knowing that here are wells of living 
 water which shall gush forth when he desires 
 it, at a touch of the sounding rod. Upon such 
 means the success of a speech generally turns, 
 as the winning of a battle upon a charge 
 opportunely made. 
 
 Only care must be taken not to confound 
 these reserves of idea, these well husbanded 
 resources, with what are-called hits of eloquence 
 or eflfective phrases. These last devices which 
 Bometimes fling a brilliant radiance over a speech 
 
FINAL PEEPAEATION. 213 
 
 by a semblance of originality, by eccentric 
 perceptions, by far-fetcbed approximations, and 
 above aU. by strangeness of expression, run the 
 risk almost invariably of sacrificing sense to 
 sound, substance to fonp and of superseding 
 depth of thought and ■vrarmiii of feeling by sound 
 of words and an exaggerated oratorical delivery. 
 Tou get to aim at effect, that is, at astonishing 
 your hearers and making them admire you; 
 you therefore use every means of dazzling and 
 confounding them, which is nearly always done 
 at the expense of your subject's truthfulness and 
 of your own dignity. Besides, as you cannot 
 extemporise these effective phrases, because the 
 effect depends on a certain combination of 
 words very difficult to arrange and spoilt if a 
 single word be amiss, you have to compose 
 ihese phrases beforehand, learn them by heart 
 md know them literally; and even then you 
 have stUl to get them into your discom-se and to 
 prepare their admission, in order that they may 
 make a brilliant appearance and produce the 
 wished-for effect. The consec[uence is that 
 you convey them ll'om a greater or a smaller dis- 
 tance with more or less artifice and disguise, so 
 that a part of the expcsition is devoted to cieap 
 p 3 
 
214 BTNAL PBEPAEATION. 
 
 ing the way for them, and to marshalling their 
 entry on the hoards — a process which neoes- 
 Barily entails fiUings-up, gaps, and lengthiness 
 of various passages respectively. And, indeed, 
 these brilliant hits which discharge a great 
 amomit of sparks, and a small amount of 
 either light or heat, are for the most part 
 purchased at the price of the truthfulness as 
 well as the interest of the discourse. It is a 
 fire-work display which dazzles and charms for 
 a moment, only to plunge you in thick dark- 
 ness again. 
 
 This is not a genuine nor moving eloquence ; 
 it is the parody of eloquence and a mere parade 
 of words; if I may dare to say so, -a sort of 
 oratorical charlatanry. Woe to the speaker 
 who makes use of such means! He will 
 speedily exhaust himself by the mental efforts 
 to find out new effects, and his addresses, 
 aiming at the sublime and the extraordinary, 
 will become often ludicrous, always impotent. 
 
 Nor must you rely on the notes which you 
 may carry in your hand to help you in the 
 exposition and save you from breaking down. 
 Doubtless, they may have their utility, especi- 
 EJly in business speaking, as at the bar, at . the 
 
finMj peepahation. 215 
 
 council board, or in a deliberative assembly. 
 Sometimes they are even necessary to re- 
 member facts or to state figures. They are 
 the material part, the baggage of the orator, 
 and he should lighten them and disencumber 
 himself of their burden, to the utmost of his 
 power. In truth, on the very occasions when 
 it shoidd seem you would have most need of 
 them, they are totally worthless. In the most 
 fervid moments of extemporaneous speaking, 
 when light teems, and the sacred fire burns, 
 when the mind is hurried along upon the tide 
 of thoughts, and the tongue, obedient, to its im- 
 pulse, accommodates itself in a wonderful man- 
 ner to its operations and lavishes the treasures 
 of expression, everything should proceed from 
 within. The mind's glance is bent inwards, 
 absorbed by the subject and its ideas; you 
 distinguish none of the external objects, and 
 you can no longer even read your notes on the 
 paper. You see the lines without under- 
 standing them, and they become an embarrass- 
 ment ii^tead of a help. Nothing so thoroughly 
 freezes the oratorical flow as to consult those 
 wretched notes. N'othing is so inimical to the 
 prestige of eloquence; it forthwith brings 
 
216 FDIAI, fEEPAEATIOlT. 
 
 down to the common earth both the speaker 
 and his audience. 
 
 Try thenj^ when you have to speak, to carry 
 all things in yourself, like Bias the philosopher, 
 and after having, to the hest of your ahihty, . 
 conscientiously prepared, allow yourself, filled 
 with your subject, to he home along hy the 
 current of your ideas and the tide of words, 
 and above aU by the Spirit from on High who 
 enlightens and inspires. He who cannot speak 
 except with notes, knows not how to speak, 
 and knows not even what speaking is; just as 
 the man of lore who is so only with his books 
 around him, is not so truly, and knows not even 
 what learning is. 
 
 In fine, you must distrust aU methods of 
 mnemonics or artificial memory, intended to 
 localise and to fagot together in your imagina- 
 tion the different parts of your address. Cicero 
 and Quintilian recommend them, I think, in 
 moderation; be it so, but let it be in the 
 strictest possible moderation. For it is putting 
 the mechanism of form in the stead of the or- 
 ganisation of thoughts, — substituting arbitrary 
 and conventional links for the natural associa- 
 tion of ideas; at the very least, it is introducing 
 
FINAL FEEPAEATION. 217 
 
 into the head an apparatus of signs, forms, or 
 images which are to serve as a support to the 
 discourse, and which must needs burden, ob- 
 scure, and hamper the march of it. 
 
 If your address be the expression of an idea 
 fraught with life, it will develope itself natu- 
 rally, as plants germinate, as animals grow, 
 through the sustained action of a vital force, by 
 an incessant organic operation, by the effusion 
 of a Uving principle. It ought to issue from 
 the depths of the soul, as the stream from its 
 spring — ex dbundaniia cordis os loquitur, " out 
 of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh." 
 
 But a heart there must be ; and in that 
 heart a fulness of feeling, manifestuig itself by 
 a plenitude of ideas, which wiU give in its 
 turn plenitude of expression. The mouth 
 speaks with ease when the heart is full; but if 
 it is empty, the head takes its office, and it is 
 the head which has recourse to these artificial 
 means, for want of the inspiration which feils 
 it. It is the resource of rhetorician?. 
 
218 VTSAL FEEPiiEA'nOII. 
 
 CHAP. xvn. 
 
 TINMj MOEAl PKEPAEATION, 
 
 When you at last are in possession of your 
 plan, and have engraved it upon your under- 
 standing, in the manner Tve have just said, you 
 must try to remain cahu and collected. This 
 is not always so easy, on. account of the place 
 where you have to speak, at the bar, for in- 
 stance, or in a public scene, or a deliberative 
 assembly. Tou are not in such cases free to 
 choose your own moment, and you have to be 
 ready for the occasion. You may have to wait 
 long for your turn, and till then there occur un- 
 avoidable distractions, from which you must 
 keep yourself safe. If the will reject them, the 
 mind remains self-possessed, and may even pre- 
 serve its coUectedness amidst the most varied 
 Bcenes, which indeed may touch the senses^ 
 without disturbing the mind. 
 
11N-AI, PBEPAEATIOIT. 219 
 
 But jf you have it in your power to remair. 
 in solitude until the moment for spp.aking, as 
 generally happens to the preacher and the 
 lecturer, it is -well to avoid all external excite- 
 ment which might change the current of the 
 thoughts, and drive your attention into an 
 other channel. You should then take refuge 
 within the depth of yourself as in a sanctuary 
 where the Almighty has designed to manifest 
 Himself since your ohject in speaking is hut 
 to announce the truth, and the Almighty is 
 Truth itself. 
 
 I do not speak here of those men who dis- 
 course solely in the interests of passion or of 
 party, and whose ohject is not the triumph of 
 what is true, but merely the gain of some 
 success, some advantage, conducive to their 
 ambition, their pride, or their avarice. These 
 men will never be orators in the proper sense of 
 the word — vir bonus dicendi peritus / for lan- 
 guage ought not to be used except in the 
 interests of truth — ^to employ it for any other 
 end is to make of it a commodity or a traffic. 
 
 If in the stage which we are depicting, the 
 soul of him who is about to speak be liable to 
 feel variously affected, according to the variety 
 
220 FmAl' PEEPAEATIOK. 
 
 of character, predisposition, and momentary 
 state, sometimes, after the final preparation is 
 over, it perceives that it possesses its subject, 
 that it is master of it, so far as this may be, 
 and it then experiences a certain sense of 
 security vrhich is not "without sweetness. A 
 mind in this state need think no more of any- 
 thing, but may remain passive and repose 
 itself ere proceeding to action. It has some- 
 times happened to myself to' faU asleep while 
 awaiting the summons to the pulpit, to lose 
 consciousness, at least, and to awake refreshed. 
 
 At other times, and indeed more frequently, 
 a man is restless and agitated. The chest is 
 weighted with a heavy burden which checks 
 the breathing, makes the limbs sore, and op- 
 presses aU the faculties of mind and body. 
 This is an extremely painful state, especially 
 if a man has to speak on a grave occasion, on a 
 solemn day, and in the Christian pulpit. One 
 is conscious then that there is a divine duty to 
 be discharged, and there is a fear of proving 
 unfaithful or unequal to it; one feels the fdU 
 weight of responsibility before God. It is a 
 truly agonising sensation, in which several 
 feelings are blended, and which it may not be 
 
ITOAl PEEPAEATIOIT. 221 
 
 useless to analyse, in order to distinguish what 
 it comprises that is legitimate, that is advan- 
 tageous to an orator, and, on the contrary, 
 what is amiss in it and liable to do him harm. 
 
 In the first place, it is to be noted that this 
 fright, experienced by him who is on the point 
 of speaMng, is salutary, at least to a certain 
 extent. It is evident that if it goes to the 
 length of paralysing the orator, or of impairing 
 the use of his means, it is iaconvenient and 
 fatal. But those whom it is able thus to crush, 
 wiU. never be capable of speaking in public, 
 as we have already observed in the case of two 
 celebrated writers, admirable for their style 
 and powerless in harangue. 
 
 "Woe to him who experiences no fear before 
 speaking in public ! It shows biTn to be un- 
 conscious of the importance of the function 
 which he is about to discharge, — that Efe does 
 not understand what truth is, whose apostle he 
 himself should be, or that he little cares, and 
 that he is not animated by that sacred fire 
 which comes down from heaven to bum in the 
 soul. I except altogether the Prophets, the 
 Apostles of Jesus Christ, all who speak under 
 supernatural inspiration, and who have been 
 
222 FIKAL PEEPAEATION. 
 
 told that they must not prepare what they shall 
 say -when they shall stand before the powerful 
 and the arbiters of the world, for that aU they 
 should say shall he given to them at the time 
 itself. 
 
 It is not for men like these that we write. 
 The Almighty, whose instruments they are, 
 and who fills them with His Spirit, makes them 
 act and speak as He pleases, and to them the 
 resources of human experience are entirely un- 
 necessary. They never are afraid, because 
 He who is truth and light is with them, and 
 speaks by them. 'But others are not afraid 
 because their enlightenment is small and their 
 self-assurance great. They are unconscious of 
 the sacredness of their task and of their mia- 
 istry, and they go forward like children who, 
 knowing not what they do, play with some ter- 
 rible treapon, and with danger itself. The 
 most valiant troops' always feel some emotion at 
 the first cannon shot, and I have heard it stated 
 that one of the most celebrated generals of the 
 empire, — who was even called "the bravest of 
 the brave," was always obliged to dismount 
 from his horse at that solemn moment; after 
 which he rushed like a lion into the battle. 
 
FINAL PEEPAEATIOIf. 223 
 
 Braggarta, on the contrary, are full of assur- 
 ance before the engagement, and give way 
 duiing the action. 
 
 So is it -with' those fine talkers, who think 
 themselves competent to undertake any suhject 
 and to face any audience, and who, in the ex- 
 cellent opinion which they entertain of them- 
 selves, do not even think of making any serious 
 preparation. After a few phrases uttered with 
 confidence, they hesitate, they break down, or 
 if they have sufficient audacity to push forward 
 amidst the confusion of their, thoughts and the 
 incoherency of their discourse, they twaddle 
 without understanding their own words, and 
 drench their audience with their inexhaustible 
 volubility. 
 
 It is well then to feel somewhat afraid ere 
 speaking, first in order that you may not lightly 
 expose yourself to the trial, and that you may 
 be spared the mortification ; and, in the second 
 place, still more particularly, if you are obliged 
 to speak, in order that you may maturely con- 
 sider what yoa should say, seriously study your 
 subject, penetrate it, become master of it, and 
 thus be able to speak usefully to a public 
 audience: 
 
224 FINAL PEEPAEATIOIT. 
 
 The fear in question is also useful in makipg 
 the speaker feel his want of help from above, 
 such as shall give him the adequate light, 
 strength, and vividness of life. All men who 
 have experience in puhUo speaking, and who 
 have ever themselves been eloquent, know how 
 much they have owed to the inspiration of the 
 moment, and to that mysterious power which 
 gives it. It is precisely because a man may 
 have sometimes received this efficacy from 
 above, rendering him superior, to himself, that 
 he dreads being reduced to his own strength in 
 that critical situation, and so to prove beneath 
 the task which he has to accomplish. 
 
 This fear which agitates the soul of a person 
 about to speak, has also another and a less 
 noble cause, which unfortunately prevails in 
 the majority of instances; that is, self-love, — 
 vanity, which dreads falling below oneself and 
 below the expectations of men, — a desire of 
 success and of applause. Public speaking is a 
 singularly conspicuous sort of thing, exposing 
 a person to all manner of observations. Doubt- 
 less there is no harm in seeking the esteem of 
 one's fellows, and the love of a good reputation 
 js an honourable motive of action, capable of 
 
FINAL PKEPAEATION. 225 
 
 producing excellent effects. But carried too 
 far, it becomes a love of glory, a passion to 
 make a dazzling appearance, and to cause one- 
 self to become tbe theme of talk, — and then, 
 like aH other passions, it is ready to sacrifice 
 truth, justice, and good to its own gratification 
 or success. 
 
 Nothing can be better than that the orator 
 should endeavour to please and satisfy his 
 audience; that desire ■will impel him to noble 
 exertions and the_ exercise of all his means ; but 
 that, while actually speaking, such an end 
 should engross him above everything else, and 
 that the care of his own glory should agitate 
 him more than any love of the truths which he 
 has to announce, or of the souls of the hearers 
 whom he should enlighten and edify, — this, I 
 say, is a gross abuse, a perversion of the 
 talent and of the ministry intrusted to hiTin by 
 Providence, and sooner or later will bring him 
 to grief. This inordinate attention to himself 
 and his success agitates, disturbs, and makes 
 him unhappy, — too often inciting him to ex- 
 aggerations for the sake of effect. In taking 
 from him simplicity it takes his right sense, his 
 Q 
 
226 FINAL PEEPAEATIOK. 
 
 tact, his good taste, and he becomes displeasing 
 by dint of striving to please. 
 
 Yet far from us be the idea of condemning a 
 love of glory in the orator, and especially in the 
 lay orator. While stiU young a man needs 
 this spur, which sometimes produces prodigies 
 of talent and of labour ; and it may safely be 
 aflSrmed that a very great progress must have 
 been made in wisdom and perfection to dispense 
 with it altogether. Even where it ought to 
 have the least influence, it still too often has 
 sway, and the minister of the holy "Word, who 
 ought to be inspired by the Spirit from on High, 
 and to refer exclusively to God all that he may 
 do, has much difficulty in preserving himself 
 indifferent to the praises of men, seeking these 
 praises only too often, and thus making self, 
 almost unconsciously, the end of his speaking 
 and of his success. In such a case the move- 
 ments of nature and of grace get mingled in 
 nis heart, and it is hard to distinguish and 
 separate theni. This is the reason why so 
 many deceive themselves, and why piety itself 
 Vias its illusions. 
 
 If it is good to entertain some fear before 
 speaking, it would nevertheless be prejudicial 
 
FINAL PKEPAEA.TION. 
 
 227 
 
 to eutertain too nmcli : first, because a great 
 fear disturbs the power of . expression ; and 
 secondly, because if it does not proceed from 
 timidity of character, it often springs from ex- 
 cessive self-love, from too violent an attachment 
 to praise, or from the passion of glory, which 
 overcomes the love of truth. Here is that 
 which one should try to combat and to abate in 
 oneself. The real orator should have bat what 
 is true in view; he should blot himself out in 
 presence of the truth and make it alone appear, 
 — as happens naturally, spontaneously, when- 
 ever he is profoundly impressed by it, and iden- 
 tifies himself with it, heart and mind. Then 
 he grows like it, great, mighty, and dazzling. 
 It is no longer he who lives, it is the truth 
 which in him lives and acts ; his language is 
 truly inspired; the man vanishes in the virtue 
 of the Almighty who manifests himself by His 
 organ, — and this is the speaker's noblest, his 
 true glory. Then are wrought the miracles of 
 eloquence which turn men's wills and change 
 their souls. Such is the end at which J the 
 Christian orator should aim. He should try to 
 dwarf himself to annihilate himself as it were, 
 in his discourse, in order to allow Him whose 
 q2 
 
228 FINAL PEEPAEATION. 
 
 minister he is, to speak and to work, — a result 
 oftenest attained -when the speaker thinks he 
 has done nothing, on account of his too fervent 
 and too natural desire to do a great deal. 
 
 Oh, you who have taken the Lord for your 
 inheritance, and who prefer the light and ser- 
 vice of Heaven to all the honours and all the 
 works of earth, — you, particularly, who are 
 ' called to the Apostleship, and who glow with 
 the desire to announce to men the word of God! 
 remember that here, more than anywhere else, 
 vutue consists in disinterestedness, and power 
 in abnegation of self. Endeavor to see in the 
 triumphs of eloquence, if they he granted you 
 one thing only, — the glory of God. If you 
 have the gift of touching the souls of others, 
 seek one thing only, — to bring them, or bring 
 them back, to God. For this end repress, stifle 
 within your heart, the natural movements of 
 pride, which, since the days of sin, would attri- 
 bute all things to itself, even the most manifest 
 and the most precious gifts ; and each time that 
 you have to coitvey to the people the Word of 
 Heaven,, ask urgently of God the grace to for- 
 get yourself, and to think of Him and of Him 
 only. 
 
BODILT FBEPARATION. 229 
 
 CHAP. xvm. 
 
 BODILT PEEPAEATrOir. 
 
 The body also reqiiires to be prepared in a 
 certain manner before an harangue. It should 
 be subjected to a sort of magnetism, as the 
 phrase runs in these days ; and the orator who 
 knows the difficulties and the resources of his 
 art mil take very good care not to undertake a 
 speech, unless he is compelled by cu-cumstances 
 to do so, •without making his arrangements in 
 this respect too. 
 
 Let it not be forgotten that the body plays 
 its part in aU that we do, even in the most 
 abstract thoughts and the most exquisite feel- 
 ings. We are not angels, and the human soul 
 cannot act here below without the c6-operation 
 of the organisation to which it is united, and 
 which forms an essential part of its personality. 
 The Ego, in truth, is applicable to the functions 
 of the body no less than to those of the mind. 
 A man says: "/walk, I eat, I digest," as ho 
 
 48 
 
230 BODILY PEEPAUATIOir. 
 
 says, "I think, I wish, I love;" and although 
 the organs have an iaferior office in human 
 actions, yet that office is sufficiently consider- 
 able for the organs to promote or to impede those 
 actions in a signal manner. The body then should 
 be well disposed ia order that the intellectual 
 and moral functions may be properly performed, 
 and that they may not experience a hindrance 
 ■where they ought to find an assistance. In the 
 first place, the general state of the health ought 
 to be good, or at least tolerable, in order that 
 the thinking power may enjoy instruments 
 ready to receive its impulses, and the will be 
 able easily to set them in motion. 
 
 A man speaks with difficulty when suffering. 
 Life is then checked, and, so to say, absorbed 
 by the organs, which diverts it from intellectual 
 action, or at least weakens its activity in that 
 respect. One may, doubtless, by an effort of 
 the wUl, excited by circumstances, do violence 
 to the rebellion or inertness of the body, and 
 hurl it into action, — ^b'ut never without great 
 fatigue, an exhaustion of one's strength, and. 
 Later, its indisposition and its decay entail a 
 painful reaction after this unseasonable soaring, 
 BO that the higher the previous elevation, the 
 
BODILY PEEPAEATION. 231 
 
 deeper the snbsequent Ml. 'Now the orator 
 ought to spare a servant so necessary to him, 
 jnst as an accomplished rider treats the generous 
 steed ■whom, he might ruin on a single occasion 
 by over urging him. 
 
 The orator should have a strong constitution ; 
 he should have a sound head, a good digestion, 
 and, above all, a robust chest, for nothing is so 
 fatiguing or so exhausting as declamation when 
 long continued. I speak of oratorical declama- 
 tion, -which brings simultaneously into action 
 the whole person, moral and physical, — ^the head, 
 aU the economy of -which is strained to the 
 uttermost by extemporisation ; the lungs, -which 
 inhale and respire -with violence, frequently 
 -with a shock and a gulp, according to the dis- 
 course ; the larynx -which is expanded and con- 
 tracted precipitately ; the nervous system which 
 is wound up to the highest degree of sensi- 
 bility; the muscular system which is keenly 
 agitated by the oratorical stage-play from the 
 sole of the foot to the tips of the fingers ; and, 
 finally, the blood which warms, boils, makes 
 heart and arteries beat -with quick strokes, and 
 shoots fire through the whole organisation, tiQ 
 the humours of the body evaporate and stream 
 q4 
 
232 BODILY PEEPAEATION. 
 
 in drops of perspiration along the surface of the 
 skin. Judge from this whether, in order to 
 bear such fatigue, health and vigour he required. 
 Nevertheless, there is an illusion against 
 which you must be on your guard ; it is that of 
 thinking yourself ill when you have to speak in 
 public, and to mistake for inability the often 
 very sensible indisposition which you expe- 
 rience when called upon for a discourse, either 
 through the indolence which is deterred by 
 labour and fatigue, or on account of the extreme 
 emotion which is felt at the thought of appear- 
 ing in public, an emotion which produces on the 
 body, and on the bowels especially, an effect 
 reacting aU over you. Your arms and legs 
 hang dead, you can hardly drag yourself along, 
 or even stand upright. There is an oppression 
 of the respiration, a weight on the chest, and a 
 man experiences, in a fashion sometimes very 
 burdensome, what was felt by the bravest of the 
 brave at the first cannon-shot. Many a time 
 do I remember having found myself in this 
 state at the moment for mounting the pulpit 
 and while waiting for my summons. Cotdd I 
 have only fled away without shame, most 
 assuredly I should have made off, and I envied 
 
BODILY PEEPAEATION. 233 
 
 the lot of those poor creatures who think of 
 nothing or of no great matter, and who know 
 not these agonies and lacerations. 
 
 They who have not the strength to overcome 
 these temptations and discouragements wiU 
 never know how to speak. They wiU not even 
 have the courage to expose themselves to such 
 trials, I may as well say it, they amount occa- 
 sionally to such a torture that a man involun- 
 tarily compares himself* to a convict dragged to 
 the gallows. Those who have known this state 
 and triumphed over it are aware that I do not 
 exaggerate. 
 
 Strange ! It proves the contradictions which 
 exist in man as he is, whose original consti- 
 tution has been overthrown by sin which has 
 set in opposition to each other, in one and the 
 same person, the various elements which ought 
 to harmonise ia the unity of a single life. Ton 
 wish and you do not wish simultaneously; 
 body is at war with the mind, and their laws 
 come into collision and into conflict. The soul, 
 enlightened by divine truth, touched by charity, 
 transported by the Spirit of God, or by the love 
 of glory, desu-es to proclaim what it sees, 
 knows, believes, feels, even in the teeth of con- 
 
234 EODiLT Wepaeation. 
 
 tradiction, and at the cost of the greatest 
 fatigue, nay, sometimes bf the sharpest suffer- 
 ings ; hut the hody, like some unbroken beast, 
 refuses to the utmost of its power, and you 
 cannot get it along save with a bloody spur. 
 It resists with all its might, takes every oppor- 
 tunity of evasion, every opportunity to shake 
 off the reins which rule it and control its. move- 
 ments. A man of spirit would afterwards be' 
 inconsolable that he should have shrunk at the 
 moment of appearing in public, if duty obliges 
 him. like a soldier, for having wavered at the 
 beginning of the action ; and yet, in the' former 
 case, I can bear witness, and perhaps in the 
 latter,^! know it not, — a man would, a hun- 
 dred times over, surrender his task ere imder- 
 taking it, — if he dared. 
 
 I know but one effectual remedy for this 
 fear, — the remedy I have already indicated; 
 it is never to mount platform or pulpit, save 
 on the call of conscience alone, — to fulfil a 
 duty, and to put aside whatever is merely 
 personal, — glory, reputation, public opinion, — 
 whatever relates to self. . A man then goes 
 forward as a victim of duty, resigned to the 
 sacrifice, and seeking only the glory of Him 
 
BODILT PEEPAEATIOK. 235 
 
 to whom the sacrifice is offered. Tou never 
 succeed better than under these conditions, 
 and everybody is a gaiaer ; the speaker, ia 
 calmness, dignity, and simplicity, — ^the audience, 
 iQ a loftier and more penetrating address, be- 
 cause it is untainted by selfishness and almost 
 above what is merely human. 
 
 Some persons calculate npon giving them- 
 selves courage by stimulating drinks -or by a 
 generous nourishment. A strange sort of 
 courage that! In war, where physical force 
 predominates, I can conceive such a thing, — 
 and it is a resource not to be disdained before 
 a battle ; but as our business is a battle of elo- 
 quence, that is of the subtUest, most intelligent, 
 and most mental element that can be imagined, 
 there is need of another spirit rather than the 
 spirit of alcohol or of wine to stimulate the 
 faculties and warm the heart. Orators who 
 have recourse to such means in order to become 
 capable of moving their hearers, wiU never get 
 beyond the sphere of the imagination and of 
 the senses,- and if they ever have any eloquence, 
 it wUl be that of the clubs, the taproom, and the 
 crossroads, — an eloquence which has a power of 
 its own, but in the interest of evil passions. 
 
236 BODILT PEEPAEATIOIT. 
 
 Finally, in a physical respect, there are pre- 
 cautions to he taken, relatively to such and such 
 an organ which, from its hahitual weakness, or 
 its irritated state may need repose or strength- 
 ening. In this, each person must manage 
 according to his temperament, constifhition, and 
 habits. Some are unable to speak fasting, and 
 no wonder; for it is indispensable to be ■well 
 supported against a fatigue so great. The 
 voice is weakened, broken by inanition or an 
 empty stomach. 
 
 Others, again, cannot speak after a meal, 
 and this too is intelligible; because the labour 
 of thinking draws the blood to the head, and 
 defrauds the stomach of it, thus stopping diges- 
 tion, — so that the blood throbs violently in the 
 head and produces giddiness. As in all other 
 earthly cases, the right course here is the middle 
 course. You should have had nourishment, but 
 in moderation ; and you should not speak, except 
 before digestion has begun its labour, or else 
 after it has so far proceeded as not to be any 
 longer liable to be arrested. 
 
 Every one must settle his own regimen of 
 health in this matter, and nobody can know 
 ivhat will agree with him so well as the speakei 
 
BODILT PEEPAEATIOJT. 237 
 
 mmselfl He will therefore do as did the 
 athletes of old, who nnderwent a most rigor- 
 ous discipline in order that they might be 
 masters of their whole strength at the moment 
 of conflict ; and if they had this resolution who 
 contend in mere bodily strifes, and for perish- 
 able garlands, what ought not the wrestlers of 
 eloquence to undergo, whom the Almighty 
 calls to the battles of iateUigence, to the pro- 
 clamation and the defence of truth, of justice, 
 of excellence, of the noblest of things of both 
 heaven and earth, and to a share in their death- 
 less glory I 
 
238 PAETS OF THE DISCCTJESE. 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 THE DISCOTJKSE. 
 
 We liave said how the orator should prepare 
 in miad, heart, and even body, for the great 
 work of addressing others ; let ns now foUow 
 him to his field of- action at the moment when 
 he is about to establish truth, or combat error 
 with the sword of eloquence. This is the 
 solemn moment of battle. 
 
 For the sake of greater clearness we wiU 
 divide this consideration into six points, and 
 arrange under that number of heads all that 
 we have to say that may be the most useM. 
 We do not aim in this laying down any in- 
 violable order, but merely at having a frame 
 to unite and connect our remarks, our reflec- 
 tions, and the results of our experience ; for 
 we must here repeat that we have had no in- 
 tention of writing a treatise on the oratorical 
 art ; our object bang merely to give an account 
 
PAETS OF THE DISCOHESE. 239 
 
 to others of what we have done ourselves, and 
 of hoTv we have done it. 
 
 "We shall speak serially: first, of the begin- 
 ning of the discourse, or exordium ; secondly, 
 of the entry upon the subject, or start ; thirdly, 
 of the realization oi the plan, or the exposition 
 and the progression of the ideas; fourthly, of 
 the supreme (all decisive) moment of the dis 
 ccurse ; fifbhlj, of the peroration ; sixthly, 
 of oratorical action. 
 
240 
 
 THE COMMENCEMENT. 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 
 THE BEGmNING OB EXOEDITJM. 
 
 I TEEM the beginning ererytMng which the 
 orator utters from the moment he opens his 
 mouth to the moment when he not merely 
 shows the object of his discourse, but enters 
 into and, developes his subject. " What I know 
 best is my opening," says the confidant in the 
 comedy of the " Plaideurs." This is true of 
 him who recites a written discourse; it is not 
 true of him who extemporises. His opening 
 is that which he knows worst, because he is not 
 yet under weigh and he has to get so. 
 
 I am well aware that it is in one's power to 
 write one's exordium and learn it by heart. 
 It is a useful practice in certain cases, and for 
 persons who have the habit of blending written 
 with extemporary passages, and of stepping 
 alternately from what they have learnt by 
 heart to what they unfold that very instant 
 
THE COMMENCEMENT. 241 
 
 from their minds. There are speakers who go 
 through this process remarkably 'well, and who 
 contrive to produce an effect chiefly by decla- 
 mation prepared beforehand. I do not blame 
 them for it. The art of speaking is so difficult 
 that you must do in each position what you 
 can, and all is well that ends well. Besides, 
 as in every appUed theory, the art must be 
 made to fit the talents of each practitioner. 
 Minds are so various, that what suits one does 
 not suit another, — so that her^ no absolute 
 laws exist. 
 
 Nevertheless I believe I may assert that the 
 true orator, — ^that is, he who does not recite, 
 but who speaks, — ^is not inclined to employ 
 this process, and hardly finds it answer when 
 he has recourse to it. The very most he can 
 do is to prepare his first sentence, and if he tries 
 to learn a whole exordium he generally entan- 
 gles himself gets confused, and feres worse 
 than if he had spoken. Even in his exordium 
 he needs the freedom of his paces ;^the one 
 thing iudispensable is to keep well before his 
 mind the exact enunciation of his subject, and 
 as rigorous and simple a formula as possible of 
 the idea which he has to exhibit. Here should 
 S 
 
242 THE COMMENCEMENT. 
 
 be no vagueness nor oliscurity, bnt a clear in- 
 tuition and an unhesitating expression. It is 
 in this that the majority of would-he extem- 
 porisers failt because, for want of reflection and 
 meditation, they know clearly neither the ob-' 
 ject of their discourse nor the way to treat it. 
 They perceive it in the gross or approxiniately, 
 and thereupon they utter common-places, empty 
 generalities, and turn continually around and 
 about their subject, without ever once going 
 into it. 
 
 Those who speak are in quite a different 
 position at starting from that of persons who 
 recite. They are generally weak and rather 
 obscure in the opening, whereas the others ap- 
 pear strong and brilliant. But it is the same 
 with whatever has life in nature. Life always 
 opens by an obscure point, hardly perceptible, 
 and proceeds from darkness to light. Accord- 
 ing to Genesis, all things were created from 
 night to morning. But life grows and assumes 
 organisation little by little, and finally it blooms 
 into all its magnificence. So with the spoken 
 address, which is a something endued with life, 
 it is bom, it grows, it assumes organisation in 
 the hearer's presence. 
 
THE COMMENCEMENT. 243 
 
 For this reason, the speaker ought to begin 
 softly, modestly, and -without any pompous 
 announcement of what is to foUow. The grain 
 of mustard-seed, which is the smallest of seeds, 
 produces a great tree in which the birds of 
 heaven come and take shelter. 
 
 The exordium of an extemporaneous dis- 
 course ought to be the simplest thing in the 
 world. Its principal use is in laying the subject 
 weU down and in giving a glimpse of the idea 
 which has to be developed. 
 
 Unquestionably, if circumstances require it, 
 you may also introduce certain oratorical pre- 
 cautions, — ^LQsinuations, commendations, and a 
 delicate and supple mind always finds a way to 
 insert these things. But, generally they clog 
 that mild, because they are outside of its idea 
 and may divert it from the idea; and as the 
 expressions are not ready made, the mind runs a 
 risk of being carried away from its subject at the 
 first start, and of missing its plan. 
 
 For the same reason, the speaker's voice wUl 
 be moderate, nay a little weak at first, and it 
 may happen, at least in a vast audience, that 
 his first expressions are not heard, or are heard 
 ilL This is of course an inconvenience, but it 
 b2 
 
244 THE OOMMEKCEMENT. 
 
 cannot be helped, and it is not'Avithout its ad. 
 vantages. 
 
 It cannot be helped, or can scarcely be so, 
 because as he who extemporises carries all his 
 ideas in his brain, and is never quite sure of his 
 language, he always gets iato the pulpit or 
 upon the platform in a state of deep emotion. 
 Now it is out of the question to bawl when in 
 that state, and it is the most one can do to find 
 voice at all ; the mouth is dry, the ' tongue 
 cleaves to the palate, — " vox Juueibus hwret," — 
 and one can hardly articulate. 
 
 Besides, should the orator force his voice in 
 the beginning, it will be presently rendered 
 hoarse, broken, exhausted, and it will faU him 
 before a quarter of an hour. You must speak 
 neither too loudly nor too fast at first; or else 
 the violent and rapid expansions and contrac- 
 tions of the larynx force it and falsify it. Tou 
 must husband your voice at starting in order 
 that it may last and maintain itself to the end. 
 "When you gradually strengthen and animate it, 
 it does not give way, — ^it remains clear, strong, 
 and pleasing to the close of your harangue. 
 Now this is a very important particular for 
 speaker and for hearers ; for the former, because 
 
THE COMMENCEMENT. 245 
 
 he keeps sound and po^werful the instrument 
 without which he can do nothing ; for the latter, 
 because nothing tires them more than hoarse, 
 obstreperous, and ill-articulated sounds. 
 
 The inconvenience in question has the furthei 
 advantage of establishing silence among the 
 audience, especially if it is considerable and 
 diffused over a vast space, as in churches. At 
 the beginning of a sermon, there is always 
 noise ; people taking their places, chairs or 
 benches turning, coughs, pocket-handkerchiefs, 
 murmurs, a hubbub more or less protracted, 
 which is unavoidable in a large assembly of 
 persons settling themselves. But If you speak 
 low, softly, and the audience sees you speak, 
 without hearing you, it wiU make haste to be 
 stUl that it may listen, and aU ears wiU be 
 directed more eagerly towards the pulpit. In 
 general, men esteem only what they have not, 
 or what they dread losing, and the words which 
 they fear they shall not be able to catch, become 
 more valuable. 
 
 For the same reason, again, the bearing of 
 the extemporaneous speaker is modest and even 
 somewhat abashed, as he presents himself in 
 tlie pulpit, or on the platform; for he almost 
 
246 tBe commehcement. 
 
 invariably mounts thither as to the place of 
 torture, so full is he of anguish, so heavy feela 
 the hurden of speaking. Nevertheless, he 
 must he-ware of allomng his agitation to he too 
 apparent, and above all of affecting the victim. 
 For the rest, if he be a true orator, his counte- 
 nance, as ■well as interior feelings, will soon 
 change. . He will hardly have pronounced a 
 few sentences ere all his confusion wUI vanish, 
 the mind will assert its superiority and sway 
 the body. Once face to face, and at grappling 
 point with Ms idea, he will forget everything 
 else. He will no' longer see anything save the 
 thought which he has to manifest, the feehng 
 of his heart which he has to communicate. His 
 voice, which just now was so tremulous and 
 broken, will acquire assurance, authority, bril- 
 liancy; if he is rightly inspired that day, if 
 light from on high beams in his intelligence 
 and warms his soul, his eyes will shoot light- 
 ning, and his voice the thunderbolt; his coun- 
 tenance will shine like thi6 sun, and the weak- 
 ness of humanity will Undergo its transfigur- 
 ation. He wiU stand on the Mount Tabor of 
 eloquence. 
 
EHTEAirCE INTO SUBJECT. 247 
 
 CHAP. XXI. 
 
 ENTEAIfCE INTO THE SUBJECT. 
 
 Afteb the exordium, wHch should clearly 
 and briefly lay down the theme of the disconrse, 
 as well as its division, if there is occasion, the 
 Lusiaess must he entered upon and the develoj)- 
 ment hegunv 
 
 This is perhaps the hardest part of extempo- 
 raneous speaking, and that in which it offers 
 most disadvantages. The point is to get out of 
 harm, and there is but a narrow passage which 
 it is easy to miss. A fevourable wind is neces- 
 sary to waft you into the open sea. Many are 
 wrecked ia this passage, and know not how to 
 get out into the open sea of their subject. 
 
 In writing you have time for reflection, and 
 can arrange at leisure the sequence of your ideas. 
 Nevertheless, everybody knows what trouble 
 this arrangement often costs, and how great the 
 perplexity is in catching the exact thread of 
 b4 
 
248 ENTRANCE INTO SUBJECT. 
 
 unravelment, and in distinguisliing amidst seve- 
 ral ideas that wliieh commands the rest and wiLl 
 open a way for' them, as a principle has its 
 consequences and a cause its effects. Some- 
 times whole hours are consumed in seeking the 
 end of the chain, so as to nnroU it suitahly, and 
 too often, &s when trying to disentangle a skein 
 of thread, you proceed awkwardly and you 
 complicate, instead of unravelling. This is 
 one of the chief annoyances of those who want 
 to write, especially in the period of impatient, 
 fancy-ridden youth, when one readily mistakes 
 whatever glitters or produces effect, for the 
 main point and the thing essential. A rare, 
 sagacity, or else much reflection and matureness 
 are requisite to catch, at the first glance, the 
 true serial connexion of ideas, and to put 
 everything in its right place, without groping 
 and without unsuccessful trials. 
 
 What then, if you must decide on the spot, 
 without hesitation, without being ahle " to try," 
 before an audience, which has its eyes riveted 
 upon you, its ears intent, and its expectation 
 eagerly awaiting the words that are to fall from 
 your lips ? The slightest delay is out of the 
 question, and you must rush into the arena, 
 
ENTEAHOE INTO SUBJECT. 249 
 
 often but half accoutred or ill armed. The 
 moment is come, you must begin to speak, even 
 though you do not exactly know what you 
 are going to say, nor whether what you shall 
 say will lead precisely to the passage which 
 leads into the open sea. There is here a 
 critical instant for the orator, an instant which 
 _ will decide the fate of his discourse. 
 
 No doubt he has prepared the sequence of 
 his thoughts, and he is in possession of his plan. 
 But this plan comprises only the leading ideas 
 stationed widely apart, and in order to reach 
 the first station from the starting point, there is 
 a rush to make and an aim to take, and therein 
 lies the difficulty. The best way is to go with 
 resolution straight to the heart of your subject, 
 the main idea, and to disembowel it, so to 
 speak, in order to get forth its entraUs and 
 lay them out. But a man has not always the 
 courage and the strength; besides which, he 
 is afraid of being deficient in materials if he 
 makes short work with his exposition, and thus 
 of breaking down after a while, without having 
 fiUed up the time assigned or run his due 
 course. This is a common illusion among be- 
 ginners. They ai'e always in dread of wanting 
 
2. ) ENTRANCE INTO SUBJECT. 
 
 Bu £cient materials, and either in their plan, or 
 in their discourse, they heap up all manner of 
 things, and end by being lengthy, diffuse, and 
 confused. A man is never short of materials, 
 when he is in the true line of his development. 
 But he must sta-ike the rock with the rod of 
 Moses, and above all he must strike it as God 
 has commanded in order that the waters may 
 gush from it in an exhaustible stream. When 
 the miner has touched the right lode, wealth 
 abounds. 
 
 Unfortunately, things do not always happen 
 thus. Too often one takes the first path that 
 offers to reach the main idea, and that -path is 
 not always the straightest nor the clearest. 
 Once ia the way, with eyes bent towards the 
 point of destination, a man plies, not indeed 
 the oars, but words, in order to attain the 
 idea, and he attains it only by circuitous and 
 tortuous efforts. The hearer who is following 
 you does not very well see whither you are 
 leading him, and if this position continues for 
 a little longer, the discomfort of the speaker 
 gains upon the Ksteners, and a coldness is dif- 
 fiised with the uneasiness among the assembly. 
 
 Have you at times contemplated from the 
 
BaJTBAlTCE INTO StTBJECT. 251 
 
 shore a white sail striving to leave the road- 
 stead, and by the wind's help to gain the offing ? 
 It tacks in all directions^ to gain its object, and 
 when baoLked, it flutters inwards and oscillates 
 without advancing, untU at last the favourable 
 breeze distends it, and then it* passes swiftly 
 over the waters, enters upon the open sea, and 
 speedily vanishes below the horizon. Thus it 
 is with the orator who masses his right course 
 in the first instance. Eager to set out, because 
 it would be discreditable to stand stiU, he hoists 
 his sail to the first wiad that blows, and pre- 
 sently back it sioks with the deceitful breeze. 
 He tries another course with as poor success, , 
 and runs the risk of either not advancing or of 
 taking a wrong line. He then makes for the 
 first image that presents itself, and it beguiles 
 him far from his subject. He would faia re- 
 turn, but no longer knows his way. He sees 
 his goal afar, eluding him, as Ithaca escaped 
 Ulysses, and like Ulysses he may complete a 
 very long Odyssey ere reaching it. Perhaps he 
 will never get thither, and that is sadder stiU, 
 There are persons who speak for a whole 
 hour, withia sight of their subject, and yet 
 cannot manage to enter it. Sometimes, again. 
 
252 ENTEAUCE INTO SUBJECT. 
 
 they get at it -when they ought to be taking 
 leare of it — that is when their time is exhausted. 
 Hence interminable orations •which tire the 
 hearer -without either instructing or moving 
 him ; the orator wears himself out in uttei 
 futility, and his toil is fruitless. He has 
 plunged into a quagmire ; the more he strug- 
 gles, the deeper he sinks ; he flounders right 
 and left to find his, road and recover solid 
 ground, and if he gains it, it is covered aU over 
 with the mud through which he has waded. 
 
 Horace says — ^''qui bene ccepit, facti dimi- 
 dium haiet," " he who has begun weU, has half 
 » done his work." This is perfectly applicable to 
 ' the orator, who has well got into his matter, 
 and who, after having clearly laid down his 
 subject, attacks it full front, and takes up un- 
 derstandingly the thread of his ideas. He has 
 then nothing to do but to suffer his skiff to 
 float along ; the very current will carry it on 
 to the destination, and the strokes of his oars, 
 and the breeze in his sails, will be so many ac- 
 cessorial means of propulsion. But if he is out 
 of the current, and stUl more, if he is against 
 the current, should the breeze fail him or prove 
 adverse, the more he rows the less he advances. 
 
ENTRAITCE OTTO SUBJECT. 253 
 
 He mil lose time and trouble, and fill with 
 uneasiness or with, pity those who watch Mm 
 from the shore. 
 
 But how begin well ? How find this thread 
 of the deep water, this favourable current, or, 
 to speak without metaphor, the leading idea by 
 which a man should open,' and which will bring 
 after it the others ? Can a precept be given, a 
 method prescribed for this end? No precept, 
 no method, avails anything, except in so far aa 
 one knows how to apply them ; and in order to 
 understand them rightly, and above all, in 
 order to make use of them successfully, what 
 we need is good sense, intelligence, and an un- 
 warped, piercing mind. -• A man should be able 
 to discern rapidly what is to be done in the 
 case which we have just described, — ^he must 
 know how to take advantage of the rising 
 breeze which can help him, and how to extri- 
 cate himself from the embarrassment in which 
 he is involved. There is need, in short, for 
 the orator, as for any other person who has to 
 face a danger or escape from a disadvantage, of 
 both mind and presence of mind; — things not 
 to be taught. 
 
354 
 
 THE DEVELOPMENT. 
 
 CHAP. xxn. 
 
 THE DEVELOPMENT. 
 
 The speaker shoiild have Hs plan well fixed,' 
 uot only on paper, but in his head, so as tft keep 
 ever present before his mind the chain of the 
 thoughts, and so as to proceed successively from 
 one to the other in the prescribed order of the 
 exposition. The discourse, then, is mounted, 
 as it were, in a frame from -which it ought not 
 to slip, under pain of digressing and diverting, 
 by its deviations, the attention of the hearers 
 from the subject, as a river which overflows its 
 bed sweeps away whatever it meets, and spreads 
 dearth and ruin where it ought to have dif- 
 fused refreshment and fertUity. 
 
 Or to speak more properly, the discourse 
 which thus overflows carries nothing at all with 
 it except those wordy waves which beat upon 
 the ears without leaving behind them a single 
 
THE DEVELOPMENT. 255 
 
 idea or moving a single feeling. Many of those 
 ■who are anxious to speak extemporaneously, and 
 who do not understand it, for want of talent or 
 of preparation, are lost in this manner. The 
 current of their discourse, which is not kept 
 within its banks, gets every moment divided 
 and loses itself in emptiness, like those rivers 
 with a multiphcity of mouths, which are ab- 
 sorbed by the sands. 
 
 ■^'It is a highly important matter, then, to know 
 how to confine oneself to one's plan, — although 
 one must not be such a slave to it, as to leave 
 no room for the new thoughts which may occur 
 at the moment. That would be to deprive one- 
 self of one of the chief advantages of extem- 
 porisation, — ^the inspiration of the moment and 
 the life it gives to the discourse. 
 
 A man who is accustomed to speak in public 
 even foresees to a certain extent, — or rather he 
 has a presentiment in the matter not indeed of 
 the instant at which he will have this inspira^ 
 tion, but of the ideas which may ofier themselves 
 in certain stages of the development ; he catches 
 sight of what is involved in an idea which he 
 has yet only indicated. It is like a plunge of 
 the sounding rod, dropped beforehand into a 
 
256 THE DETllLOI'MEin'. 
 
 spring, and he carefully recloses it imtil he shall 
 require to uncover it and make it gush forth. 
 He 'would weaken, and perhaps exhaust .it, "were 
 he to pierce it during the preparatory portion ; 
 he reserves it for the favourable moment, sure to 
 find there a plentiftil well when he pleases. 
 
 But every advantage has its drawback. In 
 the -warmth of exposition a man is not always 
 master of his own words, and when new thoughts 
 arise, they may lead a long way from the sub- 
 ject, to which there is sometimes a difficulty ia 
 Returning. Hence digressions, prolixities, ap- 
 pendages, which cause the main object to be 
 lost to view, and wear out or render languid the 
 attention of the audience. 
 
 All who extemporise have had this misfor- 
 tune some time or other. If you do not ac- 
 custom yourself to hold with a firm hand the 
 thread of your thoughts, so that you can always, 
 amidst the labyrinth of the discourse and the 
 many mazes into which you may be drawn, re- 
 cover your way, you will never come to speak 
 in an endurable manner ; and even though you 
 should have fine passages, the hearer will grow 
 weary of your devious style, and when aU is 
 said he will be neither instructed nor impressed. 
 
THE DEVELOPMENT. 257 
 
 Tou may dazzle him by the pomp of language, 
 Burprise him by ideas more or less ingenious, 
 nay amuse him, for a m^oment, by the wit and 
 sparkle of your expressions; but you •wall not 
 suggest one idea to his mind nor instil a single 
 feeling into his ear, because there wiU be neither 
 order nor unity, and therefore no life in your 
 discourse. 
 
 It is farther essential to beware of the dis- 
 tractions which may break the thread of the 
 exposition, and abruptly send the mind into a 
 totally different and an unprepared channel. 
 This is another of the dangers attending extem- 
 porisation, which imperatively demands that 
 you should give yourself whoUy to your sub- 
 ject, and thus exclude from your mind every 
 extraneous image and thought; — no easy task, 
 when a man stands fece to face with a nimie- 
 rous assembly, whose eyes from aU directions 
 are centred upon nim, tempting him to look at 
 people, were it only because people are aU 
 lookiag at him. 
 
 On this account it is necessary that the orator 
 
 before speaking should be collected, — ^he should 
 
 be whoUy absorbed in his ideas, and proof against 
 
 the interruptions and impressions which sur- 
 
 S 
 
258 THE DEVELOPMENT. 
 
 round him. The slightest distraction to wliich 
 he yields may break the chain of his thoughts, 
 mar his plan, and even sponge out of his mind 
 the very remembrance of his subject itself. 
 This appears incredible, and I would not be- 
 lieve it myself had I not experienced it. 
 
 One day, I had to preach in one of the prin- 
 cipal churches of Paris. It was a solemn fes- 
 tival, and there was an immense audience, in- 
 cluding part of the Court then reigning. As I 
 was ascending the pulpit I perceived a person 
 whom I had supposed absent, and my mind was 
 carried away suddenly by a train of recollec- 
 tions. I reached the pulpit-landing, knelt 
 down as usual, and when I should have risen 
 to speak, I had forgotten not only my text, 
 but even the subject of my sermon. I lite- 
 rally knew no longer what I had come to speak 
 upon, and, despite of all my efforts to re- 
 member, it, I could see nothing but one com- 
 plete blank. My embarrassment and anguish 
 may be conceived. I remained on my knees a 
 little longer than was customary, not knowing 
 what to do. Nevertheless, not losing head or 
 heart, I looked full at my danger without being 
 scared by it, yet without seeing how I was to 
 
THE DEVELOPMENT, 259 
 
 get out of it either. At last, unable to recover 
 anything hy my own proper strength, — ^neither 
 subject nor text, — I had recourse to God, and 
 I said to Him, from the very bottom of my 
 heart and with aU the fervotxr of my anxiety, — 
 " Lord if it be Thy wiU that I preach, give me 
 back my plan;" and at that instant, my test 
 came back into my mind, and with my text 
 the subject. I think that never in my life 
 have I experienced anything more astonishing, 
 nor a more lively emotion of gratitude. 
 
 At other times, and this often happens, you 
 lose while speaking the thread of your dis- 
 coiu-se, especially when some new idea crosses, 
 or if you allow yourself to begin looking about 
 among the audience. Tou generally become 
 aware of it ere the sentence you are utter- 
 ing is finished ; for when you extemporise, you 
 always see the next idea before you have done 
 with its predecessor, and in order to advance 
 .with certainty you must look somewhat for- 
 ward, in order to discern where you are going 
 to plant your foot presently. Suddenly, you 
 can see nothing before you, and you are come 
 to the closing member of your period. If you 
 then become agitated, you are lost ; for anxiety. 
 
260 THE DEVELOPMENT. 
 
 far from enabling you to recover your ideas, 
 confuses them still more, and the more disturbed 
 you get, the less capable are you of retrieving 
 your plan and re-entering the road. In these 
 cases, you must calmly, under another form, 
 ■with other phrases, resume the same thought 
 you have just expressed, and nearly always it 
 recalls that which was lost ; it gently excites 
 the remembrance of it, by virtue of the associa- 
 tioii of ideas and of the previous elaboration of 
 the plan. But while yet speaking, you must 
 look inwards with the whole sight of your mind, 
 in order to discern what this species of con- 
 juration shall evoke, »and at the slightest sign 
 to grasp your idea once more. AU this is not 
 effected without perplexity or without interior 
 tribulation. 
 
 There are imtoward days, when one is 
 scarcely master of one's attention, and in spite 
 of the most laborious preparation the plan re- 
 fuses to fix itself in the head, or to stay there, 
 escaping on one side or on other, as in 
 a sieve ; or else something comes across which 
 throws you out of your way. It is often 
 the effect of some physical cause; — a nervous 
 or a feverish state, arising from atmospheric 
 
THE DEVELOPMENT. 261 
 
 influences, from the body's or a sing.e bodily 
 organs, indisposition, and above all from anx- 
 ieties of beart or of mind. 
 
 In such cases tbere is mucb difficnlty in 
 entering npon one's plan or in keeping to it. 
 Sometimes, indeed, one does not enter into it 
 at all, and one speaks at the side of it, so to 
 say, trying to catch it, and unable to overtake it 
 so as to settle oneself therein, like a man who 
 runs after the conveyance^which was to have 
 carried him, and who reaches the door without 
 being able to open it and take his seat. This 
 is one of the most fetiguing situations with 
 which I am acquainted. It exhausts alike the 
 win, the mind, and the body; — the will, which 
 makes vain endeavours to recapture a subject 
 perpetually evading it; the mind, which strug- 
 gles in a desperate wrestle with its own 
 thoughts; and the body, which travails and 
 sweats, as if to compensate by exterior agi- 
 tation for the interior activity which is de- 
 ficient. 
 
 For the greatest possible avoidance of dis- 
 tractions, I wiU recommend a thing which I 
 have al'v^^ys found successful — ^that is, not to 
 contemplate the individuals who compose the 
 s s 
 
262 THE DEVELOPMENT.. 
 
 audience, and thus not to establish a special 
 understandiag with any . one of them. The 
 short-sighted have no need of my recommen- 
 dation, but it -will be useful to those who see 
 far, and who may be disturbed by some sudden 
 impression or some movement of curiosity. As 
 for myself I carefully avoid aU ocular contact 
 with no matter whom, and I restrict myself to 
 a contemplation of the audience as a whole, — 
 keeping my looks above the level of the heads. 
 Thus I see all, and distinguish nobody, so that 
 the entire attention of my mind remains fas- 
 tened upon my plan and my ideas. 
 
 I do not, however, advise an imitation of 
 Bourdaloue, who closed his eyes while de- 
 livering his sermon, lest his memory should 
 fail, or some distraction sweep away part of his 
 discourse. It is a great disadvantage to shut 
 the eyes while speaking; for the look and its 
 play are among the most effectual means of 
 oratorical action. It darts fire and light, it 
 radiates the most vital energy, and people un- 
 derstand the orator by looking at him and 
 following the play of his ,eyes almost as well as 
 by listening to his voice and words. 
 
OBISIB OF THE DIBCOUESB. 2<?S 
 
 CHAP. xxni. 
 
 THE CKISIS OF THE DISCOTTESE. 
 
 I GIVE this name to the moment -when the speech 
 produces its highest effect, by piercing and 
 mastering ihe hearer's soul either with the 
 light which it imparts, or the feelings which it 
 arouses. The listener is at that solemn instant 
 won, and remains passive under the influence 
 which touches and vivifies. But in order to 
 understand this state, it is necessary to con- 
 sider closely, and in their respective relations, the 
 two poles which speaking instantaneously xmites 
 for the achievement of its end. 
 
 Eloquence has this peculiarity which distin- 
 guishes it from other arts, that it is always 
 through the intelligence it reaches the heart, — 
 that is, it is by means of the idea which it en- 
 genders or gives birth to; and this is what 
 makes it the most excellent, the most profound 
 
 84 
 
264 CEISIS OF THE DISCOUESE. 
 
 of arts, because it takes possession of the whole 
 man and can neither charm, nor move, nor hear 
 him along, except by enlightening him and 
 causing him to think. It is not a matter of 
 mere sensibility, imagination, or passion, as in 
 music and painting, which may produce great 
 effects without thought having a predomiuant 
 share in them, although those arts themselves 
 have a loftier and a wider range in proportion 
 as the intelligence plays a greater part, and 
 ideas exercise a higher sway in their operations. 
 
 Yet in music and in the plastic arts, ideas are 
 so blended with form and so controlled by it, 
 that it is very difficult to abstract them from 
 it, with a view of testing their value and anar 
 lysing them; they flow with the form which is 
 their vehicle, and »you could scarcely translate 
 them into any intelligible or precise language. 
 Hence the vagueness of these arts, and particu- 
 larly of music ; a fact which does not prevent 
 it from exercising a powerful effect at the very 
 moment of the impression, which, however, 
 is transient, and leaves little behind it. It 
 vanishes almost as soon as the sounds which 
 have produced it cease. 
 
 In eloquence, on the contrary, the form is 
 
OBISIS OF THE DISC0UE8E. 265 
 
 subordinate to the idea. In itself it possesses 
 little to dazzle or to charm, — it is articulate 
 language, which certainly is fkr less agreeable 
 than language sung, or melody. However 
 sonorous the voice of the speaker, it will never 
 charm the ear like a musical passage, and even 
 the most graceful or the most energetic orato- 
 rical action can never have the elegance, har- 
 mony, or finish which the painter or the 
 sculptor is able to give to the bodies of the 
 characters whom he represents. JSTotwith- 
 standing which the tones and action of the 
 speaker often produce astonishing effects on 
 those who hear him, which are lost in reading 
 (vhat he has said, or in his written discourse. 
 
 It follows that eloquence has its own artistic 
 or {Esthetical side, besides that idea which it 
 is its business to convey. But it relies much 
 more dn the idea than do the other arts, so that 
 the absence or the feebleness of the idea is 
 much more felt in it, and it is impossible to be 
 a great orator, without possessing a lofty intel- 
 ligence and great power of thought; whereas 
 a man may be a distinguished musician, painter, 
 or sculptor without any brilliant shai-e of these 
 endowments; which amounts to this, that elo- 
 
266 CEISIS OF THE DIS0OUE8E. 
 
 quence is the most intelleotual of the arts, and 
 whose exercise requires the mightiest faculties 
 of the mind. 
 
 • Whence, again, it follows, — and it is to this 
 we would come, — that eloquence is the pro- 
 Youndest and the most difficult of arts, on 
 account of the end at which it aims, which is 
 not merely to charm, please, or amuse, tran- 
 siently, but to penetrate into the soul, that it 
 may move and change the will, may excite or 
 may prevent its action by means of the ideas 
 which it engenders, or, as it is expressed in 
 rhetorical treatises, by convincing and per- 
 suading. The true end of the orator is to make 
 himSelf master of souls, guiding them by his 
 mind, causing them to think as he thinks, and 
 thus imparting to their wills the movements and 
 direction of his own. 
 
 I well know that the multitude may be 
 stirred and carried away by fine phrases, by 
 brilliant images, and above all by bursts of 
 voice and a vehement action, without any great 
 amount of ideas at the root. The orator, in 
 this instance, acts after the manner of music, 
 which produces feelings and sometimes deeds, 
 without thoughts. But what is sufficient in 
 
CEI8I8 OF THE DISCOTTESE. ^67 
 
 music is at the very utmost but half of what 
 eloquence requires, and although it may indeed 
 produce some effect in this way, it remains be- 
 neath itself, and loses iu dignity. It is sonorous 
 but empty ; it is a sounding cymbal, or, if the 
 comparison be liked better, it is a scenic deco- 
 ration, which produces a momentary illusion, 
 and leaves little behind it. 
 
 Eloquence is not worthy of its name, and 
 fulfils not its high vocation, except ia so far as 
 •it sways, the human will by intelligence, deter- 
 mioing its resolutions ia a manner suitable to 
 a rational and free being, not by mere sensible 
 impressions, or by sallies of passion, but above 
 all, by the aspect of truth, by convictions 
 of what is just and right, that is, by the idea 
 of them which it gives, or rather, which it 
 ought to engender, develope, and bring to life 
 ia the sonL « 
 
 In a word, everything in the discourse is 
 reducible to this point — that the hearer should 
 be made to conceive what the orator under- 
 stands, and as he understands it, in order that 
 he may feel what the orator feels and will what 
 he wills ; in other words, that an idea should be 
 engendered in the understanding of the hearer 
 
268 CEISIS OF THE DISCOTJESE. 
 
 similar to th e idea of tlie speaker, ia order that 
 their hearts as well as their minds may be in 
 Tinison. There lies the difficulty, and they 
 ■who can overcome it are indeed eloquent. 
 
 But there are many things required for this, 
 — or, to put it in another way, there are, in 
 the operation which the orator has no effect, 
 several stages or degrees which are known to 
 all who speak in public, or of which at least 
 they have had experience, even if they have 
 not categorically explained them to themselves. 
 
 The first stage is that in which the audience is 
 won, — the speaker commands it. 
 
 The second is that in which his address 
 enters the hearer's soul, and makes him con- 
 ceive the idea. 
 
 The third is like the organisation of this 
 conception. 
 
 The hearer who "has conceived the idea makes 
 one with the orator in mind and wiU — there is 
 but one soul between them, — it is the com- 
 pletion of the work by which the speaker takes 
 possession of him whom he has moved and con- 
 vinced. 
 
 Let us consider these three stages. 
 
 To win the hearer is to seize his attentirai, 
 
CEISIS OF THE DISCOUESE. 269 
 
 and so to fix it that he shall listen without 
 effort, and even with pleasure to what is said, 
 opening his mind for its reception and ahsorp- 
 tion, to the exclusion of aU other thought, 
 image, or sensation which may arise. "Now 
 this capture of mind by a discourse is no easy 
 matter, and it sometimes requires a considerable 
 time and sustained exertions to obtain it. At 
 other times, it is effected at once, at the first 
 words, whether on account of the confidence 
 inspired by the speaker, or of the lively interest 
 of the subject and the curiosity which it ex- 
 cites, or for whatever reason else. It is hard to 
 give a recommendation in this respect, seeing the 
 great diversity of circumstances which may in 
 this case exercise a favourable or an adverse in- 
 fluence ; but this we may safely assert, that you 
 must attain this point in order to produce any 
 impression by your speech. * 
 
 There are few who know how to listen; it 
 presupposes a great desire for instruction, and 
 therefore a consciousness of one's ignorance, 
 and a certain mistrust of one's sel^ which 
 springs from modesty or humility, — ^the rarest 
 of virtues. Besides, listening donands a certain 
 strength of wiU, which makes a person capable 
 
270 CEI6IS OF THE DISC0UE8E. 
 
 of directing the iflind to one point and there 
 keeping it despite of every distraction. Even 
 when you are alone with a serious book, what 
 trouble you have in concentrating your atten- 
 tion so as to comprehend what you are reading. 
 And if the perusal be protracted, what a num- 
 ber of things escape and have to be read over 
 again ! What will it not be, then, in the midst 
 of a crowd in which you are assailed on all 
 hands by a variety of impressions ? 
 
 Besides, each individual comes with a dif, 
 ferent disposition, with different anxieties or 
 with prejudices in proportion to age, condition, 
 and antecedents. Imagine several hundreds, 
 several thousands, of persons in an audience, 
 and you have as many opinions as there are 
 heads, as many passions as there are interests 
 and situations, and in aU this great crowd few 
 agree in thoughts, 'feelings, and desires. Each 
 muses on this matter or on that, desires one 
 thing or another, hafe such or such preposses- 
 sions ; when lo ! in the midst of all these diver- 
 gences, of aU these contrarieties, I rise, a 
 man, mount pulpit or platform, and have to 
 make all attend in order to make all think, feel, 
 and will, just as I do. Truly it is a stupen- 
 
CEISI3 CF THE DISCOTJESE. 271 
 
 dou3 task, and one which cannot be achieved 
 except by a power ahuost above humanity. 
 
 Rhetoricians say that the exordium should 
 be devoted to this purpose. It is at the outset 
 that you should endeavour to captivate the 
 mind and to attach it to the subject, either by 
 forcibly striking it by surprise, as in the exor- 
 dium ex abrupto, or in dexterously winning 
 good wUl, as in the exordium " of insinuation." 
 All this is true, but the precept is not easy 
 to reduce to practice. It is tantamount to 
 saying that in order to make a good begin- 
 ning a great power, or a great adroitness, 
 ia speaking is required. Who shall give us 
 this? 
 
 The first moments of the discourse are gene- 
 rally very difficult to the orator, not only on 
 account of the trouble he experience^, in setting 
 out, in laying down and developing his subject, 
 as we just now showed, but also on account of 
 the necessity of making his audience set out; ■ 
 and here he meets at starting, either the re- 
 sistance of inertness, the indolence loth to take 
 the pains of listening, or else the levity which 
 flies off each instant, or else the latent or the 
 express opposition of some adverse prejudice. 
 
272 CKISIS OF THE DISCOTIESE. 
 
 or interest. He has, therefore, to wrestle ■with 
 his hearer in order to overcome him, and in 
 this he is not always successful. 
 
 Until everybody has taken his place and 
 settled himself well ia it, and then has coughed, 
 cleared his throat, hlown his nose, and made a 
 stir as long as he decently can in his situation, 
 the poor orator speaks more or less in the midst 
 of noise, or at least of a half-repressed disturb- 
 ance, which hinders his wofds, _at first, from 
 ha^dng any effect upon the mind. They pene- 
 trate nowhere, they return to him, and "he is 
 tempted to give way to discouragement, es- 
 pecially in large assemblies where there are all 
 sorts of people, as at a sermon. If he waver, 
 he is undone, he will never become master of 
 his hearers, and his discourse will be powerless. 
 
 What will sustain him is, first of all, a lively 
 sense of the mission intrusted to , him, of the 
 duty he has to fulfil, — and, in the next place, 
 that something which is peculiar to the strong 
 man, and by which he derives excitement from 
 opposition or difficulty, and enthusiasm from the 
 strife. The more resistance they meet, the 
 more they endeavour to prevail, the more they 
 desire victory; — it is one of valour's spurs in 
 
CEiai3 OF THE DISOOTTBSE. 273 
 
 the conflict. Again, what is very useful to him 
 in this emergency is the authority of speech 
 which soon asserts a kind of ascendency over 
 the hearer, — a sympathetic something in the 
 voice which pleases the ear and reaches the 
 heart, or else a certain pungency of pronuncia- 
 tion and accent which wins the attention. 
 
 By these means, and those of which we be- 
 fore spoke, and above aU by help from on high, 
 you succeed m^ore or less quickly in seizing 
 upon your audience, in commanding it, in win- 
 ning it, in chaining it, so to say, to your dis- 
 course, so that aU minds, rallying in a common 
 attention, converge towards a single point, and 
 appear to hang on the speaker's lips, while all 
 eyes are fixed upon him. Then is established 
 that solemn stillness upon which the life of 
 speaking is conditional. IsTo more fidgetings 
 on chair or bench; no more nose-blowing, no 
 more throat-clearing; even colds are cured as 
 if by magic, and in the absence of all noisy 
 sounds, there is nothing to be heard save the 
 respiration of the audience, and the voice of the 
 orator, as it arises, prevails, and diffuses itself. 
 The assembly is won — it listens. 
 
 /Secondly. — Now alone can be achieved the 
 T 
 
274 OEIBIS OF THE DISC0TJB8E. 
 
 task of eloquence, which is to engender in the 
 hearer the requisite idea, so as to make him 
 conceive and feel what it enunciates. 
 
 Here, as in all conceptions, there are two 
 poles, the one active, which transmits life, the 
 other passive, which conceives by admitting it ; 
 and conception is effected by their interpene- 
 tration. Such is the operation when all looks 
 are bent, strained, towards the orator, every 
 mind is open to welcome and absorb his words 
 with all its powers, and those words sink into 
 and fertilise it by their virtue. It is thus that 
 ideas are produced by instruction, which is a 
 real fertilisation and a nourishment of the in- 
 telligence; for '■'■man lives not hy bread alone, 
 hut hy every word of truth.'''' 
 
 This is the most momentous period of the 
 discourse, what we term the crisis, or supreme 
 effort of speaking; it is truth itself, it is He 
 who calls Himself " the way, the truth, and the 
 life," who, by the mouth of his minist'^r, or of 
 8ome man of his choice, acts upon the soul, 
 pierces it, and makes a settlement therein, that 
 it may become as a throne where He loves to 
 Bit, as a sanctuary which He is pleased to in 
 habit, as a mirror in which He reflects Himself 
 
CEISIS or THE DISCOTJESE. 275 
 
 with predilection, as a torch hy which He 
 desires to shine and to diffuse his light. 
 
 In the physical world wherever there is the 
 conmiunioation and reproduction of life, it is 
 also the Living God who acts; whereas the 
 men, the animals, and the plants which are 
 employed in this great operation, are merely - 
 organs and implements ia the work. This is 
 why the gospel declares that there is hut one 
 Father, He from whom all paternity is derived 
 in heaven and on earth ; as Ho alone is good, 
 because He is the source of every good, and 
 He alone is Master and Lord, because He is 
 truth. 
 
 It is just the same, and for still greater 
 reason, in the moral world, or in the communi- 
 cation of intellectual hfe. It is an operation 
 performed according to the same laws, — and 
 on this account, he who instructs or effects a 
 mental genesis (the true meaning of the word 
 "instruct"), — ^that person also is a father in- 
 tellectually, and it is the noblest and most pro- 
 lific species of paternity. 
 
 Such is the sublime mission of the orator, 
 such the high function which he discharges. 
 When he circulates a living wor^, it is a trans- 
 
Jilb CEISIS OF THE BISCOTIESE. 
 
 mission of life, it is a reproduction and multi- 
 plication of truth in the souls of others whom 
 he intellectually vivifies, as a father his off- 
 spring according to the flesh. As He whose 
 image and instrument he is, diffuses His light, 
 warmth, and life over aU creatures, so the 
 .orator, filled with inspiration, instils upon the 
 spot into thousands of hearers the light of his 
 word, the wsirmth of his heart, and the life of 
 his soul. He fertilises aU these intelligences 
 at once ; and this is why, as soon as the rays 
 of his discourse have entered them and im- 
 parted to them the new conception, they make 
 but one soul with him, and he is master of that 
 soul, and pours into it virtue from on high. 
 
 They all live in unison at that important 
 moment, identified by the words which have 
 mastered them. 
 
 This critical instant of the discourse, when 
 the supreme effort of eloquence is achieved, is 
 accordingly marked by the profoundest emotion 
 of which men are susceptible, that which always 
 attends the communication of life, and in this 
 case by so much the more replete with happi- 
 ness as the life of the intellect is more pure, 
 and less remote from Him who is its source. 
 
CEISI8 OF TEDS DISCOTJESE. 277 
 
 Hence that exquisite feeUng, to which no other 
 is to be compared, which the orator experiences 
 when his words enter into and vivify the minds 
 of his audience ; and hence also the sweet im- 
 pressions of which these last are conscious 
 when they receive the spirit of the word and 
 by it are nourished. 
 
 Thirdly. — ^When the orator has thus pene- 
 trated into the hearer's soul by the radiation of his 
 speech, animating that soul with its life, he be- 
 comes master of it, impresses, moves, and turns it 
 at will, without effort, in the simplest manner, by 
 a word, a gesture, an exclamation, nay silence 
 itsel£ The feet is, he possesses the hearer's 
 heart ; it is open to him, and there is between 
 them an intimate communication which has 
 scarcely any further need of exterior means. 
 Thus it is with two persons who love each 
 other dearly, and who have confidence in each 
 other; they understand each other, without 
 speaking, and the feeling which animates and 
 unites them is so intimate and so sweet that 
 language is powerless to express it, and they 
 need it no longer to make themselves mutually 
 nnderstood. 
 Everything, then, is in the orator's powe* 
 t3 
 
278 CEISIS OF THE DISCOtJBSK 
 
 when he has thus won his audience, and he 
 ought to take adrantage of this power which is 
 given to him temporarily, to complete his work, 
 and to develope and organise in the minds of the 
 listeners the idea to which he has given hirth ; 
 this is the third stage of his undertaking. 
 
 Strike the iron while it is hot, says the pro- 
 verb. In the present instance there is something 
 more than iron and better than iron to forge 
 and fashion ; there is the young life which elo- 
 quence has called forth to develope, in order 
 that the conceived idea may take shape in the 
 understanding, and influence the will — partly 
 through the emotion which it has produced, and 
 partly through the intellectual views which 
 furnish the will with motives, as feeling and 
 passion supply it with incentives. Eloquence 
 would miss its aim, if it failed to lead the hearer 
 to some act by which the idea is to be realised. 
 
 It is in this last stage, then, that the prac- 
 tical part of thp discourse should be placed 
 along with the application of deductions. In 
 these must the speaker reap the fruits of his 
 labour. After having imparted his feelings 
 and thotights to the listener, he must also» make 
 them partakers of his will. He must imprint 
 
CEISIS OF THE DISCOUESE. 279 
 
 his personality upon them, fashion them in his 
 resemblance, so that they shall feel, think, and 
 "will as he does, in the interest of that truth 
 and excellence of which he has brought home 
 to them the manifestation. He must not take 
 leave of his audience tiU he has touched, con- 
 vinced, and carried it away. It is in the pero- 
 ration, as we are about to see, that the seal 
 must be set to the work, and that it must receive 
 its plenary completeness. 
 
aso 
 
 THE CONCLTTSIOW. 
 
 CHAP. xxrv. 
 
 IHE CLOSE OP THE DISCOTJESE, OB 
 PEEOEATION. 
 
 Ii' it is difficult to begin, wlieii one extemporises, 
 it is still more difficult to finish — ^ttat is, to 
 finish well. Most orators spoil their speeches 
 by" lengthiness, and prolixity is the principal 
 disadvantage of extemporaneous speaking. In 
 it, more than in any other, one wants time to be 
 brief, and there ia a perpetual risk of being 
 carried away by the movement of the thoughts 
 or the expressions. 
 
 It sometimes happens, unfortunately, that you 
 are barely into your subject when you should 
 end; and then, with a confused feeling of all 
 that you have omitted, and a sense of what you 
 might still say, you are anxious to recover lost 
 ground in some degree, and you begin some 
 new development when you ought to be con- 
 
THE COKCLITSION. 281 
 
 eluding. This tardy, and unseasonable, yet 
 crude after-growtli lias tte very -worst effect 
 upon tlie audience ■which, already fatigued, be- 
 comes impatient and listens no longer. The 
 speaker loses his words and his trouble, and 
 evjerything which he adds by way of elucidat- 
 ing or corroborating what he has said, spoils 
 what has gone before, destroying the impres- 
 sion of it. He repeats himself unconsciously, 
 and those who stUl listen to liim foUow him 
 with uneasiaess, as men watch from shore a 
 bark which seeks to make port and cannot. It 
 is a less evil to turn short round and finish ab- 
 ruptly than thus to tack incessantly without 
 advancing. For the greatest of a speaker's mis- 
 fortunes is that he should bore."^ 
 
 The bored hearer becomes almost an enemy. 
 He can no longer attend, and yet, at that mo- 
 ment, he is imable to think of anything else. 
 His mind is like an overladen stomach which 
 requires rest, and into which additional aliment 
 is thrust despite of its distaste and repugnance ; 
 it needs not much to make it rise, rebel, and 
 disgorge the whole of what it has received. An 
 unseasonable or awkward speaker inflicts a 
 
282 THE CONCLUSION-. 
 
 do-wnriglit torture on those who are compelled 
 to Lear lira, a torture that may amount to sick' 
 ness or a nervous paroxysm. Such is the state 
 into which a too lengthy discourse, and, ahove 
 all, a never-ending peroration, plunge the au- 
 dience. It is easy to calculate the dispositions 
 which it inspires and the fruit it produces. 
 
 ■Sometimes — and I humhly confess that I here 
 speak from experience — ^the orator is still more 
 unfortunate, if that were possible. He wants 
 to finish, and no longer knows how, like a man 
 who seeks to quit a house in danger, and finds 
 all the doors shut; he runs right and left to 
 discover an escape, and strikes against dead 
 walls. Meanwhile time presses, and the im- 
 patience of the public betrays itself by a re- 
 pressed disturbance, some rising to go away, 
 some moving on their seats to relieve themselves, 
 while a confiised hum ascends towards the 
 speaker, — a too certain token that he is no 
 longer attended ±o, and that he is speaking to 
 the air, which fact only increases his agitation 
 and perplexity. At last, as everything has an 
 end in this world, he reaches his conclusion 
 rfier some fashion or other, and war-weary. 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 283 
 
 either hj catching hold of' the common-place 
 wind-up ahout eternal life, should he he preach- 
 ing, or, under other circumstances, hj some 
 panting period which has the air of expressing 
 a feeling or a thought, and which in nine cases 
 out of ten, fills the ear with sonorous and empty 
 words. And thus the poor orator who could do 
 bettei', and who is conscious that he has done 
 ill, retires, with lowly mien, much confused, and 
 vowing, though rather late, that they shall not 
 catch him in that way any more. 
 
 Alas ! yet again, perhaps shall they so catch 
 him, even after the most lahorious preparation ; 
 for there is nothing so fitful as eloquence. It 
 needs hut an omission, a distraction to break the 
 thread of the ideas and launch you into void or 
 darkness, and then you grope in a forest, or 
 rather struggle amid a chaos. It is a true ora- 
 torical discomfiture and rout; and I have re- 
 marked that it happens most when one is most 
 sure of oneself and hopes to produce the greatest 
 effect. These are lessons which He, who 
 exalts the humble and abases the proud, is 
 pleased occasionaEy to give public speakers, 
 so prone to be elated by success and to ascribe 
 
284: THE COlfCLUBION. 
 
 to themselves its credit and its glory. Happy 
 are they if they profit hy them. 
 
 There is a way of concluding which is the 
 most simple, the most rational, and the least 
 adopted. True, it gives little trouble and af- 
 fords no room for pompous sentences, and that 
 is why so many despise it, and do not even 
 give it a thought. It consists merely of wind- 
 ing up by a rapid recapitulation of the whole 
 discourse, presenting in sum what has been de- 
 veloped ia the various parts, so as to emmciate 
 only the leading ideas with their connec- 
 tion; — a process which gives the opportunity 
 of a nervous and lively summary, foreshort- 
 ening all that has been stated, and making the 
 remembrance and profitable application of it 
 easy. 
 
 And since you have spoken to gain some 
 point, to convince and persuade your hearer, 
 and thus influence his will by impressions and 
 considerations, and finally by some paramount 
 feeling which must give the finishing stroke 
 and determine him to action, the epitome of 
 the ideas must be itself strengthened, and, as it 
 were, rendered living by a few touchiag words, 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 285 
 
 wMch inspint the feeling in question at the 
 last moment, so that the conyinced and af- 
 fected auditor shall be ready to do "what he 
 is required. 
 
 Such, in my mind, is the best peroration, 
 because it is alike the most natural and the 
 most efficacious. It is the straight mm of the 
 discourse, and as it issues from the very bowels 
 of the subject and from the direct intention of 
 the speaker, it goes right 'to the soul of the 
 listener and places the two in unison at the 
 close. 
 
 I am aware that you may, and with success, 
 adopt a different method of concluding, either 
 by some pungent things which you reserve for 
 your peroration, and which tend to maintain to 
 the last and even to reawaken the attention of 
 the audience; or else by well-tumed periods 
 which flatter the ear and excite all sorts of 
 feelings, more or less analogous to the subject, — 
 or in fine, by any other way. Undoubtedly 
 there are circumstances in which these orato- 
 rical artifices are in keeping, and may prove 
 advantageous or agreeable; I do not reject 
 them, for in war all means, not condemned by 
 
286 THE COUCLTTSION. 
 
 humanity and honour, and capable of procuring 
 victory, are aUoTvahle, — and public speaking is 
 a real conflict; I merely depose that the sim- 
 plest method is also the best, and that tha 
 others, belonging more to art than to nature, 
 are rather in the province of rhetoric than of 
 true eloquence. 
 
THE DISCOURSE ESDI!!). ?87 
 
 CHAP. XXV. 
 
 AS'TEB THE DISCOUBSE. 
 
 Ii: slionld seem as if all had been said, once the 
 discourse is concluded ; and yet we ■wiU add a 
 few words in the physical and moral iuterest of 
 the speaker, we wiE point out to him various 
 precautions which may appear fiitUe to certain 
 persons, and may prove serviceable to others; 
 at least we have always found our own account 
 in having adopted them. 
 
 On quitting the pulpit, the platform, or any 
 other place where you have been speaking for 
 a considerable time and with animation, you 
 should try to remain quiet for a while iu order 
 to recompose yourself gradually, and to allow 
 the species of fever which has excited and con- 
 sumed you to subside. The head particularly 
 needs rest, — ^for nothing is so fiitiguiag to it as 
 extemporaneous speaking, which brings into 
 
388 THE DISCOTJESB ENDED. 
 
 play all the faculties of the mind, strains them 
 to the uttermost, and thus causes a powerful 
 determination of Wood to the brain. More- 
 over, the nervous system, -which is ancUlary to 
 it, is strongly agitated, — ^it requires tranquil- 
 Using, — and the whole hody, -violently exerted 
 as it has been by the oratorical delivery, re- 
 quires refreshment and repose; and these, a 
 slight doze, if it is possible to obtain one in a 
 case of the sort, will afford better than any 
 other means. 
 
 The vocal organs which have just been ex- 
 ercised to excess, ought to be kept unem- 
 ployed; and therefore great care should be 
 taken, — ^if indeed the inconvenience can be 
 avoided, — ^not to receive visits or hold conver- 
 sations. In the fatigue of the moment, any 
 new effort, however small, is prejudicial, and 
 takes away more strength than the most vio- 
 lent exertions at another time. The first thing 
 to do in this state is to return thanks to G-od 
 for the danger escaped, and for the help re- 
 ceived,- even when you fancy that you have 
 not achieved the success which you desire. 
 Public speaking is so hazardous a thing, that one 
 never knows what -will be the issue of it, and 
 
THE DISCOTTKSE ENDED. 2S9 
 
 m nothing is assistance from above so really 
 necessary. 
 
 He who feels the importance and the danger 
 of speaking, who has any notion of what the 
 orator ought to he, any notion of all that he 
 needs to accomplish his task, the obstacles he 
 must surmount, the difficulties he must over- 
 come, and, on the other hand, how slight a matter 
 suffices to overthrow or paralyse him, — he who 
 understands all this can well conceive also that 
 ke requires to he breathed upon from on high 
 m order to receive the inspiration, the light, 
 fire, which shall make his discourse living and 
 efficacious. For all life comes from Him who 
 is life itself life infinite, life eternal, inex- 
 haustible, and the life of minds more stUl than 
 of bodies, since God is spirit. It is but just, 
 therefore, to pay Him homage for what He has 
 vouchsafed to give us, and to refer to Him at 
 the earliest moment the fruit or glory of what 
 Ave have received. This is the more fitting, 
 because there is nothing more intoxicating than 
 the successes of eloquence; and in the elation 
 which its power gives, owing to a consciousness 
 of strength, and the visible influence which one 
 ia exercising over one's feUow-creatures, one is 
 U 
 
290 THE DISOOUESE ENDED. 
 
 naturally prone to exalt oneself in one's own 
 conceit, and to ascribe to oneself, directly or 
 indirectly, wliolly or partially, the effect pro- 
 duced. One should beware of these tempta- 
 tions of pride, these illusions of vanity, which 
 are invariably fatal to true talent. 
 
 "Within that measure, it is allowable to rejoice 
 to a certain extent at what one has achieved, 
 in the very great relief which is experienced 
 after speaking. I know nothing equal to this 
 sense of relief, especially when one thinks that 
 the task has not been unworthily performed, — 
 except the anguish felt before beginning a 
 speech. The one is the consequence of the 
 other; for the greatest joys of this world are 
 always produced by the cessation of the greatest 
 troubles. 
 
 Fu'st, there is a sort of infantine joy at being 
 delivered from a difficult task, or disencumbered 
 of a heavy burden. Labour weighs hard upon 
 all the children of Adam, even on those who 
 the most feel its necessity, and we instinctively 
 shun it to the utmost. Besides which, rest 
 after sharp fatigue is delicious, and particularly 
 after the labours of the mind. Socrates, son 
 of a midwife, used to say that he continued the 
 
THE DISCOUESE ENIXED. 291 
 
 occapa,tioii of his mother; but it was in the 
 mental order, by means of his interrogatories 
 and dialectics, and hence the eristic method. 
 One may say, then, with the wisest of the 
 Greeks, that the delivery of a discourse in 
 public is the production of an intellectual off- 
 spring ; and very fortunate it is when that off- 
 spring is not dead or unlikely to live. To 
 conceive an idea, to organise it in a plan vigo- 
 rously meditated, and to carry this mental 
 progeny for more or less time in the under- 
 standing, and then when matured to give it to 
 the light amidst 4;he dangers and the throes of 
 public speaking, this is an exertion which pro. 
 duces immense relief and a very great satis- 
 &ction when it succeeds. And truly, how light 
 one feels after a speech, and how comfortable 
 the relaxation of mind and body after the ex- 
 treme tension which has wrung aU the springs 
 and exhausted all the exertions of one's vital 
 power ! ITone can know it, save bim who has 
 experienced it. 
 
 After this comes a feeling at once higher and 
 deeper, that of duty accomplished, of a task 
 honourably fulfilled, one of the sweetest joys 
 of conscience. Finally, another feeling, raises 
 
 02 
 
292 THE DISCOUIISE ENDED. 
 
 US in our own estimation even while inspirirg 
 us with, humility, that of heing an instrument 
 of truth to make it known to men as far as our 
 weakness allows, and of having given testimony 
 to it at the cost of some sacrifices, or at least 
 of our toil and sweat. You are never morQ 
 closely united with Truth than when you are 
 announcing it with conviction and devotedness. 
 When you are called to proclaim it solemnly, 
 it reveals itself or makes itself felt in a manner 
 quite peculiar, and, as Bossuet says, with sudden 
 illuminations. He who instructs others ia hearty 
 and living language derives more profit than 
 even those whom he teaches, and receives more 
 light than he imparts. This is why teaching is 
 the hest method of learning. 
 
 From these mingled sentiments results a 
 state fuU of sweetness, especially if you believe ' 
 that you have succeeded, and in general your 
 own feeling does not deceive you in this 
 respect. Still, illusion is possible, whether 
 for good or iU, because the true orator, who 
 always needs inspiration, never has a very 
 clear consciousness of what he has doae, or 
 rather of what has been done by him. God 
 alone, who inspires him, illumiaes the minds 
 
THE DISCOUESE ENDED. 293 
 
 of the hearers by His light, and changes their 
 hearts by his grace. Now God frequently 
 employs the weakest instruments, apparently, 
 to touch the soul, as He has renewed the fiice 
 of the world by what, in. the eyes of human 
 wisdom, were the meanest and most foolish of 
 mankind. 
 
 Thus, a discourse with which a speaker is 
 dissatisfied, because it has feUen short of his 
 ideal'and of his plan, has produced a profound 
 impression and has subjugated every listener; 
 whereas another, with which he was delighted 
 and which he thought highly effective, has 
 produced nothing save his own fruitless exulta- 
 tion, and too often an augmentation of his 
 vain-glory. Here, as in everything, the Al- 
 mighty is absolute : — He sports with the desires, 
 efforts, and opinions of men, and makes them 
 instrumental, according to His good pleasure, 
 in the manifestation of truth, and the promo- 
 tion of the designs of His justice or Hi'r mercy. 
 
 Let no speaker, then, too much disquiet 
 himself as to the effect he may have produced 
 and the results of his discourse ; let liim leave 
 all this in the hands of God, whose organ he 
 is, and let him beseech Him to make some. 
 
294 THE DISCOTJESE ENDED. 
 
 thing accrue from it to His glory, if success 
 has been achieved; or if he has had the mis- 
 fortune to fail, to make good out of this evil 
 come, as it belongs to the Divine Power to do, 
 and to that power alone. 
 
 Above all, let him not canvass this person 
 and that inquisitively concerning what their 
 feeliags were in hearing him, and their opinion 
 of his discourse and his manner. All such 
 questions seek a motive for self-love, rather 
 than any useful hints; they are an indirect 
 way of going in quest of praise and admiration, 
 and may be carried to a very abject extent, in 
 order to get oneself consideration, criticising 
 one's one performance merely to elicit a con- 
 trary verdict — ^tricks and subterfuges of vanity, 
 which begs its bread ia the meanest quarters, 
 and which in its excessive craving for flattery, 
 challenges applause and extorts eulogy. This 
 wretched propensity is so inborn in human 
 nature, "since original sin, that frequently the 
 greatest orators are not proof against this 
 littleness, which abuses them in the eyes of 
 God and man. Besides, it is a way of exposing 
 oneself to cruel disappointments. 
 
 At length when the speaker is sufficiently 
 
THE DISCOCESE EI<fDED. 295 
 
 rested, and has become more calm, next day 
 for instance, let Mm review his plan while hit 
 recollections are stiU new, in order to correct 
 and . perfect it by the side of what he has 
 actually said, either rectifying the snccession 
 of the ideas, if necessary, or adding those 
 which have occurred to him while speaking. 
 It will be so much gained for some future 
 speech on the same plan. 
 
 If the discourse has been really successful, 
 and he feels inclined, let him write according 
 to his plan as he has spoken, and thus he will 
 compose a finished, after having delivered an 
 extemporaneous, .production. Great orators 
 have in this manner writen several of their 
 orations subsequently, — Cicero, Bossuet, and 
 others. In this case, the surest method is 
 to have a short-hand writer who shall supply 
 you with the whole of what you have said, and 
 whose reports you can rewrite, yet so rewrite 
 as to preserve whatever vivid or striking things 
 the spoken words possessed- 
 
 This is a labour which we have oilen exe- 
 cuted, always with advantage, and never with- 
 out a feeling of humility. For unless you 
 have verified it, you can hardly form an idea 
 
THE DISCOUESE ENDED. 
 
 how wretched upon paper looks the most easyj 
 the most elegant extemporaneous address, even 
 that which produced the greatest effect at the 
 moment itself; and how very much it admits of 
 improvement in point of style and readableness. 
 That is why orators of mark, and even of the 
 highest order, whose quivering and action- 
 heated eloquence moves and overcomes any 
 assembly, vanish, as it were, on being perused; 
 so that on seeing the reckoning of their extem- 
 poraneous harangues, divested of the accents 
 of their voice, the play of their physiognomy, 
 and their gestures, you ask yourself with 
 amazement how such a discjjjirse could have 
 produced an effect so wondrous. It is that 
 speaking and writing are not the same thing; 
 people do not write as they speak, and fre- 
 quently he who speaks the best knows nothing 
 about writing, just as the ablest writer is not 
 always capable of speaking. 
 
 Our modest task is over; for we had, we 
 repeat, no pretension of compassing a treatise 
 on the art of speaking; our single object was 
 to transfer the results of our experience to 
 those whose calling it is to speak in public. 
 These very simple counsels, we hope, may 
 
CONCLUSION. 297 
 
 prove useful to some, either by sparing them 
 trials "which are always painful, even when 
 they are productive of fruit,- or by showing 
 them a more easy process than their own. 
 or a surer way. 
 
 However this miay be, We warn them at 
 parting that those alone can derive any benefit 
 from our remarks, who shall have received from 
 nature the gift of eloquence, and whom God, 
 who is the "Word by pre-eminence, shall assist 
 by His grace in the management of this for- 
 midable weapon, this two-edged sword, for the 
 manifestation of truth, the fdlfilment of His 
 designs among Sien, and the renewal of the 
 world. 
 
CHAP, XXVI. 
 
 THE LOGIC OP THE OEATOE. 
 
 If the reader fancy that we are about to assemble 
 before him a formidable body of scholastic rules, 
 and to enter the labyrinth of the Aristotelian 
 JLogic, we beg him to dismiss the apprehension. 
 Our purpose is far simpler, and is limited to set- 
 ting forth in an unpretending way those turns 
 and connections of reasoning which, consciously 
 or imconsciously, the public speaker is called 
 upon to employ. Something of this detailed and 
 exemplified character seems requisite to the 
 American student, as an append to the sugges- 
 tive and eloquent work of Monsieur Bautain. 
 We shall be Btnctly practical in both plan and 
 execution, and when we adopt authorities the 
 reader may rely upon it that good ones are fol- 
 lowed, whether cited or not, in their own lan- 
 guage. 
 
LOGIC OF THE OBATOE. 299 
 
 We confine ourselves to Logic so far as it con- 
 cerns the orator, and we go no step further. 
 The examples chosen shall be from spoken, argu- 
 mentative productions, and the nomenclature 
 that which has the sanction of past and present 
 use. All beyond this, lies outside of our plan. 
 Tet so connected are all cognate subjects of 
 thought and investigation that a familiarity with 
 the principles of reasoning as here stated and ap- 
 plied, will not feil to introduce the reader, if the 
 study be new or obscure to him, to the science 
 at large. With this advantage, that the direct 
 and positive examples he will meet with,^taken 
 from actual occasions and relating to immediate 
 interests, wiE have infused a vitality which is not 
 found in the Tree of Porphyry, and which is want- 
 ing to the mere verbalities of scholasticism, No- 
 thing of the kind here attempted, has yet fallen 
 in our way, and believing that a desideratum 
 exists which ought to be supplied, we now pro- 
 ceed in the attempt to supply it. 
 
 The object of aU pubUc speaking, where logic 
 prevails, is to carry some point or other: to 
 establish some proposition, either opposed, or 
 not. All evidence — and consequently aU^oq/^— 
 is built upon the idea of a connection between 
 
300 LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 
 
 that •which, is asserted and that which ought to 
 be conceded; to wit, the point to he carried. 
 What this connection is, and whether it e:)^ists or 
 not, is a question of special knowledge — there- 
 fore " get knowledge." The orator's logic does 
 not fui nish that ; it does show him how to use it 
 to advantage. 
 
 The Enihyeneme, is the orator's form of argu- 
 ment. It is an elliptical statement of his reason- 
 ing. One of his propositions is held back in his 
 mind — such is the literal meaning of the term — 
 the other two, only, are expressed. For such is 
 the mysterious process (to employ one of Mon- 
 sieur Bautain's similitudes), of mental generation 
 — ^there must be three terms, three propositions, 
 three thoughts in the act of reason. The first 
 two by their union engender the third. 
 
 Take an example : .The philosopher might dis- 
 course thus formally, 
 
 1. We ought to love what renders us more 
 
 perfect. 
 
 2. Now literature renders us more perfect, 
 
 3. Therefore we ought to love literature. 
 
 Deny the first proposition, and the argument 
 fails ; its major premiss is gone,. Deny the sec- 
 
LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 301 
 
 ond, it again fails : its minor premiss has disap- 
 peared. But grant both, and the third, the con- 
 ciusiop,, stands firm. - 
 
 This slow mode of statement suits not, how- 
 ever, the fervid movement of the orator. He 
 exclaims, " Who is it that loves not letters ? 
 They enrich the understanding, and refine the 
 manners ; they polish and adorn hmnanity. Self- 
 love and good sense themselves endear them to 
 US, and engage ns in their cultivation." Zeno 
 said that the philoaophic argument is like the 
 human hand closed, the oratorical like the same 
 hand unfolded. 
 
 When argumentation is linked in a chain, it 
 is called a Sorites. Puhlic discourse, from time 
 to time, makes use of it. A playfiil example is 
 seen vrhen the Thracians let loose a fox on a 
 frozen river to try the ice. Renard put his ear 
 down, and seemed to say, " Whatever makes a 
 noise moves; what moves is not frozen hard; 
 that which is not hard is liquid ; liquid will bend 
 under weight ; therefore, if I perceive, close to 
 my ear, the sound of water, it is not frozen, and 
 the ice is too weak to hear me." The Thracians 
 saw Renard stop, then retreat when he heard the 
 sound of the water. 
 
302 LOGIC OP THE OEATOE. 
 
 The Epichirema is but an involved syllogism, 
 or regular argument. Example : 
 
 1. Whatever destroys trade is ruiac?us to 
 
 Great Britain (because it deprives the 
 laborer of his ordinary means of support, 
 and reduces the source of the revenue). 
 
 2. War destroys trade (for it interrupts the 
 
 exportation of manufactured articles). 
 
 3. Therefore, war is ruinous to Great Britain. 
 
 Cicero calls the Epichirenia ratiocination. 
 You see that it supports the chain of argument 
 by subordinate proofs. It is reducible to the 
 orator's purpose, as follows : 
 
 " War is ruinous to Great Britain because it 
 deprives the laborer," &c., adding all that above 
 which is included in the two parentheses. This 
 gives us, at once, the form of the Enthymeme. 
 
 The Dilemma, divides the adversary's argu- 
 ment into two or more parts, and then opposes 
 to each of them an unanswerable reply. It is no 
 more than several Enthymemes, joined together. 
 
 For instance (regularly in form) : 
 
 1. He who writes on general topics must either 
 support popular prejudices, or oppose 
 them. 
 
LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 303 
 
 2. If he supports them, he "will be condemned 
 
 by the intelligent. 
 
 3. If he opposes them, he will be condemned 
 
 by the ignorant. 
 
 4. Therefore he who writes on general topics, 
 
 ■wiU be condenmed. 
 
 The orator turns the argument into an Enthy- 
 meme somewhat in this way. 
 
 He who writes on general topics will be con- 
 demned, because he must either support popular 
 prejudices, or oppose them. J£ he oppose them, 
 he win be condemned by the ignorant, if he sup- 
 port them, by the intelligent. 
 
 Patrick Henry's femous oration for the war, 
 runs into the form of a diLemma. He argues, 
 "We must resort either to submission or to arms. 
 Therefore there is no need of longer debate. 
 We have tried submission in vain — and the war 
 is abeady begun. There is no peace.' " 
 
 The dilemma is most frequently employed for 
 retort. The best way of replying to it is to show 
 that the adversary has not fully, or fairly, subdi- 
 vided his subject. The well known dispute of 
 the travellers, concerning the chamelion's color 
 is an example. The creature when "produced," 
 
304 LOGIC OP THE OBATOE. 
 
 was of no one of the colors named by the three 
 disputants. 
 
 A dilemma and its retort are seen in the often- 
 quoted case of Protagoras and Enalthus. Pro- 
 tagoras had taught Euafthus the art of pleading 
 under the stipulation that one-half of the reward 
 should he paid in advance, and the other half 
 upon Eualthus' wumiag his first cause. Prota- 
 goras soon sued Eualthus for the rest of his debt, 
 and said to him : If I gain the cause, you must 
 pay me by the Court's decree: if I lose the cause, 
 you must pay me by the terms of Qur agreement. 
 Therefore, whether I gain or lose the cause, y&u 
 m,ust pay me the money. To which dilemma 
 the pupil opposed another : If I gain the cause, 
 I shall not pay you by the decree of the Court. 
 If I lose it, I shall not pay you by the terms of 
 our agreement. Therefore, in neither case shall 
 I pay you the money. Eualthus was right. N"o 
 cause of action had yet arisen. The old plead- 
 er's object was, no doubt, to furnish his young 
 friend a won case, and so receive his money. 
 
 The argument d, priori is, when we appeal to a 
 reasonable, natural expectancy. The magnificent 
 oration of Paul before Agrippa proceeds in the d 
 priori form. He describes his " manner of life 
 
LOGIC OP THE OBATOB. 305 
 
 from his youth," his trainiag after the straitest 
 sect of his feJigion, a Pharisee. The inference d 
 priori mtist-lje that such a one knew well the 
 prophecies of the Jews, and could wisely judge 
 of their £i]jSj!l0nt in the Messiah. Next he re- 
 cites his hitter- prejudices and persecutions of 
 the -helie^ers.- The inference d priori must he 
 that such a man would join himself to them only 
 from OTerwhelming reasons of conviction. 
 
 The argument d posteriori is the direct oppo- 
 site of the former : it looks back, and from effects 
 and consequences infers causes. " If such and 
 such he the effects of this law — th^ 'inevitable 
 and undeniahlo effects, can the law itself be 
 good ? — a good tree is known by its fruits, &c." 
 Webster's fervid burst of declamation over the 
 vision of a broken union — "States dissevered, 
 discordant, belligerent, a land rent with civil 
 feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood" 
 — is an d posteriori argument for a union " now 
 and forever one and inseparable." Curran's aw- 
 fiil denunciation of an Informer, " A wretch that 
 is buried a man till his heart has time to fester 
 and dissolve, and is then dug up a witness," 
 " how the stormy wave of the multitude retired 
 at his approach," &o., argues £-om these hideous 
 V 
 
S06 LOGIC OP THE OEATOE. 
 
 effects that the prosecution of the government 
 against Finnerty, needing and producing such in- 
 struments is unrighteous, and that the jury can- 
 ftot, in conscience, sustain it. 
 
 The last two arguments — ^the d priori and the 
 d posteriori — relate to time, to the future and the 
 past. The argument d fortiori refers, to force 
 and its degrees. It very often takes the form of 
 interrogation — as indeed forcible argumentation 
 in general inclines to do. The ideas of less and 
 greater, then, lie under the d fortiori turn of ar- 
 gument. Says Jefferson, "Sometimes it is said 
 that man cannot be trusted with the government 
 of himself. Can he, then, be trusted with the 
 government of others ? Or have we found an- 
 gels, in the form of kings, to govern him ? Let 
 history answer this question." 
 
 Burke, in defending before the Bristol electors 
 his course on Catholic emancipation, employs a 
 powerful, implied, d fortiori argument to support 
 the justice of the emancipation. ■ The English 
 Catholics were most loyal when most tempted 
 not to be so. "A great terror feU upon this 
 kingdom. On a sudden we saw ourselves threat- 
 ened with an immediate invasion, which we were 
 at that time very ill prepared to resist. You re- 
 
LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 307 
 
 member the cloud which gloomed over us all. 
 In that hour of our dismay, from the bottom of 
 the hiding-places into which the icdiscrimiaate 
 rigor of our statutes had driven them, came out 
 the Roman Catholics. They appeared before the 
 steps of a tottering throne with one of the most 
 sober, measured, steady, and dutiful addresses, 
 that was ever presented to the crown. At such 
 a crisis, nothing but a decided resolution to stand 
 or fall with their country could have dictated 
 such an address, the direct tendency of wliich 
 was to cut off all retreat, and to render them pe- 
 culiarly obnoxious to an invader of their own 
 communion" (France). The conclusion is obvL 
 ous — d fortiori such subjects would be loyal 
 in less extraordinary times and emergencies, 
 and their odious disabilities should have been 
 removed. 
 
 The speech of Anthony, as written by Shak- 
 speare, in the third act of Julius Caesar, is for its 
 length, unequalled, simply as an oratorical pro- 
 duction, by any uninspired creation of ancient 
 or modem times. That sotne speech then and 
 there was delivered, and of power sufficient to 
 transform the fece of the Roman world, history 
 attests; that the actual effort equalled Shak- 
 v2 
 
808 LOQIC OF THE OEATOK. 
 
 speare's matcMess imagery, is, at least, doubtful. 
 The art of the orator plays throughout with a 
 boundless fertility of resources. Argumentation 
 is blended with rhetoric, and the impression is a 
 diamond-lijie unity which is inimitable. The 
 summit of the effect shoots up in the d fortiori 
 form of argument. Anthony has shown the 
 crowd Caesar's mantle — ^his famUiar robe. " Tou 
 aU do know this mantle." He associates it with 
 an occasion of national pride : 
 
 " I remember 
 The first time erer Caesar put it on : 
 'Twag on a summer's evening in liis tent, 
 That day he overcame the NervH." 
 
 The rents of daggers in the robe are shown, 
 — ^the ingratitude of Brutus — the broken heart of 
 Csesar — ^the fatal faU — are pictured, and the sub- 
 dued and weeping multitude are infuriated by 
 this startling transition, d fortiori — 
 
 " What, weep you when you but behold 
 Our CBSsar's vesture wounded ? Lo ! 
 Here is himself — marred, as you see, by tbaitoeb." 
 
 The argument from example, is based upon 
 resemblance, and takes a variety of modes — such 
 as instances, anecdotes, fables, comparisona, An 
 
LOGIC OP THE OEATOE, 309 
 
 apt citation by Menenius of the fable of the belly 
 and the members, is said to have saved Rome 
 from anarchy, and reunited the army and people 
 with the patricians. 
 
 The argmnent from example, -when its cases 
 are multiplied, becomes an inductive argmnent. 
 The orator's proposition is that wicked men must 
 be unhappy. He cites Herod, the slayer of John 
 the Baptist, and shows him devoured before his 
 death by worms : Tiberius yelling with remorse 
 in the caverns of Capreus ; N'ero sinking into the 
 horrors of mental alienation from the visions of 
 vengeance which haunted him. From history he 
 assembles a multitude of fearful examples in sup- 
 port of his proposition, and draws his conclusion, 
 from the induction, that happiness is not for the 
 wicked. 
 
 The inductive argument is sometimes made to 
 produce a reductio ad absurdum, or ad itnpossi- 
 hile, i. e., it proves that the conclusion attempted 
 cannot be that it is absurd, impossible. Erskine, 
 defending the Dean of St. Asaph, for libel against 
 the government, thus employs it. 
 
 " Every sentence contained in this little book, 
 if the interpretation of the words is to be settled 
 not according to fancy, but by the common rules 
 t8 
 
310 LOGIC OP THE OEATOB. 
 
 of language, is to be found in the brightest pages 
 of English literature, and ia the most sacred vol- 
 umes of English law ; if any one sentiment from 
 the beginning to the end of it be seditious oi 
 libellous, the BUI pf Rights was a seditious libel ; 
 the Revolution was a wioked rebellion ; the 
 existing government is a traitorous conspiracy 
 against the hereditary monarchy of England ; 
 and our gracious sovereign is a usurper of the 
 crown of these kingdoms." 
 
 The argumentum ad hominem, is an enthy- 
 meme which overturns the adversary's arguments 
 by his own facts and words. Tuberus brought an 
 accusation • against Ligarius, that he had fought 
 against Cfesar, in Africa. Cicero defended Li- 
 garius, and turned the charge against his accuser. 
 " But, I ask, who says that it was a crime in Li- 
 garius that he was in Africa ? It is a man who 
 himself wished to be there ; a man who com- 
 plains that Ligarius prevented him from going, 
 and one who has assuredly borne arms against 
 Caesar. For, Tuberus, Avherefore that naked 
 sword of yours in the lines of Pharsalia ? Whose 
 breast was its point seeking? What was the 
 meaning of those arms of yours ? Whither 
 looked your purpose? your eyes? your hand? 
 
LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 311 
 
 your fiery courage? What were you craving, 
 what wishing ?" 
 
 This was the passage which so moved Caesai 
 that the act of condemnation of Ligarius drop- 
 ped from his shaking hand, and he pardoned him 
 
 Having thus exhibited the molds in which the 
 chief arguments of the orator are cast, we next 
 take up the subject of refutation. Without 
 logic, rhetoric is a frivolous art, and from the sci- 
 ence of reasoning it derives its strength, and 
 gains admittance into the understanding. Itefu- 
 tation demands the greatest address of reason- 
 ing, since it requires more skill to heal a wound 
 than to cause it. 
 
 In refuting your adversary's arguments you 
 establish, your own, but sometimes it is needful 
 to hegin by disposing of his, when, for instance, 
 you perceive from the impression they have 
 produced, that your own. proofs may be badly 
 received. In doing this you must exhibit the de- 
 fects of his reasoning, which may be several, as 
 
 Ignorance of the subject. — ^Here you correct 
 and rectify his statements of facts.* You may 
 show that if the facts were as he supposes them 
 to be, his conclusion would be just, and accept- 
 able. It is a very forcible way of refuting (and 
 t4 
 
312 LOGIC OF THE OHATOE. 
 
 often unfaii-ly employed), to seize some one capi- 
 tal assertion of the opponent and destroy it com- 
 pletely by an unanswerable citation. The effect 
 IS to throw an air of distrust over all the rest. 
 If this conspicuous assertion had been dwelt 
 upon, and joined with some striking rhetorical 
 figure or illustration, a certain ridicule accom-- 
 panics its prostration, which is then complete. 
 Examples of this are numerous. 
 
 In his Oration for the Crown, Demosthenes, 
 flinging back the argument of jEschines, quotes 
 his exclamations, " O Earth ! O Sun ! O Vir- 
 tue !" &c., in a way that shows he must have 
 mimicked him with a sneering emphasis. The 
 following from Junius (the style of whose letters 
 is admitted to be entirely oratorical) will bi-iefly 
 exemplify the point we are now presenting. 
 To Sir W. Draper : " I could wish that you 
 would pay a greater attention to the truth of 
 your premises before you suffer your genius to 
 hurry you to a conclusion. Lord Ligonier did 
 not deliver the army (which you, ia your classi- 
 cal language, are pleased to call a PAiXADruM) in- 
 to Lord Granby's hands. It was taken from him. 
 much against his inclination, some two or three 
 years before Lord- Granby was commander-in- 
 
LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 313 
 
 chieE" A principal feet is flatly upset, and the 
 unlucky expression seen in the parenthesis, 
 heightens the effect of the retort by the ridicule 
 ■vrhich thus attaches to it. From the same ner- 
 vous ■writer, the following extract presents an -in- 
 ductive argument along with thenjitation of capi- 
 tal facts, the quotation of the adversary's ex- 
 pression, and his conviction of ignorance of the 
 subject. " Ton say, ho (Lord Granby) has ac- 
 quired nothing but honor in the field. Is the 
 Ordnance nothing? Are the Blues nothing? 
 Is the command of the army -ndth all the patron- 
 age annexed to it, nothiug? Where he got 
 these nothings I know not ; but you, at least, 
 ought to have told us when he deserved them." 
 Petitio principii — or begging the question. — 
 This is, probably, the commonest of the fallacies 
 of reasoning. It consists in giving, as proof of 
 itself, the very thing to be proved. One of Mo- 
 ii^re's comedies has a pByful example. " Why 
 does opium produce sleep ? Because it possesses 
 a soporific quality." The power to induce sleep, 
 and the possession of a soporific (or sleep pro- 
 ducing), quality are one and the same thinw. 
 Whatever is provable must be distinct from that 
 which proves it — ^the evidence, from the thing 
 
314 LOGIC OP THE OEATOE. 
 
 evidenced. Where these two separate things 
 are confounded, the petitio occurs, and the ques- 
 tion is not proved but "begged." Any state- 
 ment, which, instead of supporting the ques^on, 
 merely varies its expression, or assigns its inci- 
 dents granting it to be true, is no more than a 
 repetition of the assertion, and is no evidence 
 nor proof. Such is the petitio prineipii, the 
 phases of which are many, and the answer is to 
 distinguish the new statement from proof, and 
 identify it with the original proposition — ^the con- 
 sequence then drawn is that, whether the propo- 
 sition be, or be not true, this does not establish 
 it — as seen above in the sportive instance from 
 Molifere. 
 
 The Vicious Circle is one or more steps fur- 
 ther of the question begged. Tou support A by 
 B, B by C, and then C by A. A is the base after 
 all. Sometimes, however, two propositions may 
 reciprocally support each other, without any de- 
 triment to right reason — in the case, say, of one 
 of them being known, or admitted, by the oppo- 
 site party, of course you may make it the ground 
 of the other. But to prove anything unknown 
 by something as little or less known, or some- 
 thing traoertam by another thing of equal oncex' 
 
LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 315 
 
 teinty, is to fall within the compass of the Vicious 
 Circle. Mr. Fox, on Parliamentary Reform, 
 thus exposes the fallacy; "Gentlemen are fond 
 of arguing in this vicious circle. When we con- 
 tend that ministers have not the confidence of 
 the people, they tell us that the House of Com- 
 mons is the faithful representative of the sense of 
 the countiy. When we assert that the represen- 
 tation is defective, and show that the House does 
 not speak the voice of the people, they turn to 
 the general election, and say, that at this period 
 the people had an opportunity of choosing faith- 
 ful organs of their opinion ; and because very 
 little or no change has taken place in the repre- 
 sentation, the sense of the people must be the 
 same. Sir, it is vain for gentlemen to shelter 
 themselves under this mode of reasoning." 
 
 Tmperfect Enumeration. — ^This is the error of 
 defective Induction. A generalized conclusion 
 is drawn from a given number of examples, but 
 other examples which conflict with the conclu- 
 sion are overlooked, or left out ; as if many lakes 
 of fresh water were named and the conclusion 
 drawn that all sach isolated bodies of water are 
 fresh, — omitting the fact of the Caspians. Or 
 this, "The French arewlute, the English are white, 
 
316 LOGIC O'P THE OEATOB. 
 
 the Italians, Germans, Russians and Americans ai» 
 white ; therefore all men are white." The conclu- 
 Bion is erroneous because the enumeration is im- 
 perfect. There are black men in Guinea. 
 
 Proving too ■much.rr-'ih.e logicians say that 
 that which proves too much, proves nothing. 
 The common way of shaping this argument is to 
 cite an example (if you cite several, the argument 
 becomes inductive) equally in point as the one 
 maintained, and yet evidently untenable, or ab- 
 surd or impossible. Thus we may have here the 
 arguments from example, hy induction, ad homi- 
 nem, and reductio ad absurdum and ad impossi- 
 bile. In a speech in the House of Representa- 
 tives on a Uniform system of Bankruptcy, John 
 Sargent reasoned thus : " I fuUy agree that the 
 principles of sound legislation are opposed to re- 
 trospective laws. But what are retrospective 
 laws ? A retrospective law is a law that impairs 
 or affects the vested rights of individuals. Every 
 man has a vested right ia his property. But has 
 * citizen of this or any other country, a vested 
 I'ight in any particular remedy, so that it can 
 never, as to him, be either taken away or alter- 
 ed? If the creditor has his right, so has the 
 debtor ; and then the absurd consequence would 
 
XOGIC OP THE OEATOE. 317 
 
 follow, that if any part of the property of th« 
 debtor was, by law, exempted from liability, aS; 
 for instance, his land, it could never be subjected 
 to execution. If his person was not by law sub- 
 ject to imprisonment, it could not be made so. 
 The remedy is no part of the contract.^'' An- 
 other example of Inductive reasoning refuting 
 an argument which proves too much, from the 
 same eminent statesman's speech on the Missouri 
 question. "But is it essential to the character 
 of a member of this Union that it should possess 
 aU the powers, or even all the rights, that be- 
 longed to the original States ? It must then be 
 the sovereign of aU the territory within its lim- 
 its. But the unappropriated lands belong to the 
 United States. It must, too, have an unlimited 
 right of taxation — and it must have an independ- 
 ent and absolute power, extending to everything 
 within its limits — ^for all these powers belonged 
 to the original States. Then, sii-, not a single 
 new State (excepting Vermont) has been pro- 
 perly admitted into the Union, and the practice 
 of the government, from its foundation, has been 
 one tissue of error and usurpation." 
 
 Logicians call a mistaking of the question Igno- 
 ratio Ehnchi, it misses the clinch or rivet of the 
 
318 LOGIC OF THE OBATOE. 
 
 discussion. The remedy, and reply, is to re-state 
 the issue. Thus Wehster in his rejoinder to 
 Hayne — ^Foote's resolution being before the 
 Senate — ^begins by calling for the reading of the 
 resolution. A clear way of stating the question 
 is to put it both affirmatively and negatively — 
 laying down what it is, and distinguishing it 
 from, that which has been, or may be, mistaken 
 for it. Mr. Prentiss, in his great argument be- 
 fore the House of Representatives, on the Missis- 
 sippi contested election, a speech which continued 
 for three days, and won the enthusiastic applause 
 of the first men of the country, makes his exor- 
 dium by guarding against an ignoratio elenchi: 
 " The first use I shall make of the privilege 
 accorded to me will be to set the House right as 
 to the attitude of the question, for I perceive that 
 many members labour imder a misapprehension 
 on this point, and I am anxious that the position I 
 occupy in the matter should be distinctly under- 
 stood. I have petitioned this House for nothing ; 
 neither have I memorialised it. I have presented 
 myself here as a Representative from the sove- 
 reign State of Mississippi, to the Congress of the 
 United States, and claim a seat on this floor, not 
 as ft matter oi favw/r, but as a matter ai right " 
 
LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 319 
 
 Analogy. — This argument is never demonstra- 
 tive. It is based, not npon a direct resemblance, 
 but upon a resemblance of ratios. It is in form 
 like a compound proportion ; as a is to B, so is c 
 to D. As a son is to a parent, so is a citizen to his 
 country. To upset tbe fallacious use of the argu- 
 ment we must show that the resemblance does 
 not hold good, or that it is assumed, or imagin- 
 ary. A special "weakness of this form of argu- 
 ment (even "where the analogy is not false, but 
 real), is that it is at best oulj probable, and the 
 employment of it by itself is a tacit admission of 
 the want or absence of true demonstrative argu- 
 ment. It is a trite but important remark that 
 " analogy does not necessarily lead to truth." 
 
 The fallacy of false analogy — derived from 
 the argument found in a true analogy — ^is called 
 non tali pro tali — ^that is, no likeness put for a 
 likeness. We will draw an example both of the 
 argument, and of the refutation of the fallacy, 
 from Alexander Hamilton's speech in the De- 
 bates on the Constitution. 
 
 " In my reasonings on the subject of govern- 
 ment, I rely more on the interests and opinions 
 of men than on any speculative .parchment pro- 
 •Tsions whatever. I have found that constitu- 
 
320 LOGIC OF THE OEATOB. 
 
 lions are more or less exceUetU, as they are more of 
 less agreeable to the natural operation of things. 
 But, say gentlemen, the members of Congress 
 •will be interested not to increase the number [of 
 Representatives], as it will diminish their relative 
 influence. In all their reasoning upon the subj ect, 
 there seems to be this fallacy. They suppose that 
 the Representative wU] have no motive of action, 
 on the one side, but a sense, of duty; or on the 
 other, but corruption. They do not reflect that 
 he is to return to the community," &o., &c. The 
 last part is the refutatioa of an incomplete induc- 
 tion. In the following paragraph, Hamilton 
 replies to the argument of a false analogy. " It 
 is a harsh doctrine, that men grow wicked in 
 proportion as they improve and enlighten their 
 minds. Experience has by no means justified 
 us in the supposition that there is more viitue 
 in one class of men than in another. Look 
 through the rich and the poor of the community, 
 the learned and the ignorant. Where does vir- 
 tue predominate ? The difference indeed con- 
 sists, not in the quality, but kind of vices which 
 are incident to various classes," &c., &c. He de- 
 nies that the asserted ratio is found to exist, and 
 appeals to example, which developed, would 
 
LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 321 
 
 be an induotion of the fects, for proof of his 
 denial,"* 
 
 Fallacy of Inteeeogation. — We have al- 
 ready remarked how conspicuous interrogations 
 frequently hecome, in rapid and imperative ora- 
 torical reasoning; the reader has also seen an 
 example in the extract from an oration of Cice- 
 ro's. The fallacy in the employment of this in- 
 strument consists in varying the queries in such 
 a Tvay as to institute really another inquiry whUe 
 appearing to adhere to the question at issue. 
 This fallacy is plainly referrible to that of irrele- 
 vant conclusion. The remedy is to re-affirm, 
 and return to the question. It may likewise he 
 sometimes overthrown by means of a parallel 
 series of counter-questions. AH depends upon a 
 clear comprehension of the suhject-matter, and a 
 distinct statement of the issxie. 
 
 To the same head may be referred the ambi- 
 guity of terms, where a term is employed in dif- 
 ferent senses. Knowledge of the language and 
 of the special terminology, is the resource against 
 the fallacy — ^which is a fruitful cause not only oi 
 self-deception, but of sophistical argumentation. 
 As Aristotle remarks, all the fallacies may be 
 referred to ignoratio ehnchi, to mistake of the 
 
322 LOaiC OF THE OEATOE. 
 
 proposition, or misappreliension, or ignorance of 
 it. Hence the capital importance of a clear 
 statement of the proposition. As Lord Coke 
 says witli respect to a legal issue in pleading — 
 it should be single, certain, material, and triable. 
 Quitting now the second branch of oratorical 
 logic, that is, refutation, we shall endeavoiu- to 
 elucidate a very valuable device of argumenta- 
 tive reasoning which seems to have been too 
 much overlooked by writers on the science. We 
 shall call it reasoning hy tests. It is a sort of 
 short-hand process of investigating, illustrating 
 and proving, and is allied to the citation of a 
 leading fact, or facts, heretofore mentioned. 
 The orator seizes certain determinating princi- 
 ples, certain Umiting conditions, or depicts some 
 prominent features of the case in point, and 
 makes these representative, or determinative of 
 the whole business. A similar expedient is found 
 in the concise language of the mathematics, 
 where the power of a quantity, its root, &c., are 
 signified by indices. It not only renders the 
 process of exposition simple and more apprehen- 
 sible, but the grasp of the reasoning faculties 
 upon the subject thereby becomes, at one and 
 the same time, more comprehensive and more 
 
LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 323 
 
 firm. Into narrative it infuses life by the rejec- 
 tion of useless details, into the statement of the 
 subject it. distributes light and clearness, and 
 pours energy into the argumentation by the con- 
 centration which attends it. The extreme oppo- 
 site style, of an exhaustive detail of undiscrimi- 
 nated minutiffi, has every fault of the contrary 
 kind. It -was such an exhibition that once caused 
 Chief Justice Marshall at length to inform an 
 uQTvearied pleader that he might " omit some 
 of his points and safely assume that the supreme 
 court of the ITnited States did know something." 
 
 If we were regularly treating the whole sub- 
 ject of logic, it would be proper to poiat out at 
 large the principles which preside in this process 
 of contracting thought and language. But this 
 must be left to a few useful examples — with the 
 general remark that the reader must expect to 
 find the principles in m^dia, and by means of 
 classification, — the former implying extension in 
 his knowledge, the latter its systematic arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 Burke, on the East India Bill — arguing the 
 abuse of powers by the Company, says : 
 
 " The principle of buying cheap and selling 
 dear is the first, the great foundation of mercan- 
 
324 LOGIC OP THE ORATOE. 
 
 tile dealing. Have they ever attended to this 
 principle?" &c., &c. 
 
 " A great deal of strictness in driving bargains 
 for whatever we contract is another principle of 
 mercantile policy. Look at the contracts that 
 ai"e made for them," &c. 
 
 " It is a third property of trading men to see 
 that the clerks do not divert the dealings of the 
 master to their own benefit," ifcc. 
 
 " It is a fourth quality of a merchant to be ex- 
 act in his accounts. "What wiU be thought when 
 you have fully before you the mode of accoimt 
 ing made use of in the treasury of Bengal?' 
 &c., &c. 
 
 "It is a fifth quality of a merchant to calculate 
 his probable profits upon the money he takes up 
 to vest in business," &c., &c. He goes on to ap- 
 ply these tests to the affairs of the East India 
 Company. 
 
 The finest orators abound in examples of the 
 display of this powerful principle, and none more 
 than Demosthenes and Cicero. 1 am tempted 
 to translate an instance from the foi-mer ; it oc- 
 curs in his Oration for the Crown. 
 
 " Wliat should, what could, an Athenian ora- 
 tor do ? I)eteot the ^vil in its birth, make others 
 
LOGIC OF THE 6EAT0K. 325 
 
 see it. I have done so. Guard, as far as possi- 
 ble, against delays, false pretexts, strife of inter- 
 ests, mistakes, errors, obstacles of every land, too 
 common amongst allied and jealous republics. 
 This I did. Attach all difficulties with zeal, and 
 ardor, in the love of duty, of friendship and 
 concord. I did it. On every one of these points, 
 I defy the detection of a fault in my conduct. If 
 it is demanded, How then has Philip triumphed ? 
 'the whole world will answer for me : By his all- 
 conquering arms, by his all-corrupting gold. It 
 was not for me to combat the one or the other. 
 I had no treasures, no soldiers. But with what I 
 did have, I dare to assert that I conquered Phi- 
 lip. How ? By rejecting his bribes, by resist- 
 ing his corruption. When a man lets himself be 
 bought, his buyer may be said to triumph over 
 him ; but he who remains uncorruptible, has tri- 
 umphed over the corrupter. And thus, so far as 
 it depended upon Demosthenes, Athens was vic- 
 torious, Athens was invincible." 
 
 Here we might at once close the subject, hav- 
 ing named, described, and illustrated from living 
 examples, the principles of logic as applicable to 
 argumentative fpeaking. And we believe that 
 the knowledge of what is laid down in this chap 
 
326 LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 
 
 ter will prove of material assistance, not only in tUe 
 business of public speaking, but in that of analys- 
 ing and judging of what is spoken by others. 
 Our purpose does not extend to anything beyond 
 the title of the chapter, and is therefore confined 
 to cormincing, not persuasive oratory, and has 
 naught to do with Rhetoric. As, however. Logic 
 and Rhetoric are intimately connected, and 
 
 " Thin partitions do their walls divide," 
 
 It seems proper enough to say somewhat upon 
 the disposition of discourse, and the order of 
 arguments. It is not enough, says Montesquieu, 
 to exhibit many things to the understanding ; you 
 must exhibit them in order. 
 
 Rhetoricians reckon six parts of a discourse, 
 viz., the exordium, proposition, narration, proof, 
 refutation, peroration. Not that all these neces- 
 sarily enter into it, but that they may dO so. 
 The first and last, are, in general, reserved for 
 uncommon occasions. In business speaking, de- 
 bate, &c., a man rises, perhaps, with a paper in 
 his hand, a resolution, or what not. He may be- 
 gin by citing a remark just made by another 
 speaker, &c., &c. He finishes more or less 
 abrujitly, so soon as he has brought out the state- 
 
LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 827 
 
 ment of his facta, or opinion. Cicero says that 
 one must join to the regular disposition, another 
 sort which avoids the rigor of precepts and ac- 
 commodates itself to circumstances, and that the 
 art itself commands you to renounce,- at times, 
 the precepts of art in the order of your discourse. 
 As to the choice of proofs. It is better to re- 
 ject the light 'and feeble ones, and to insist upon 
 those which are strong and convincing — ^present 
 these latter distioctly, and to do so, separate 
 them ; but feebler ones should be treated in the 
 opposite way, i. e. bound together hke the bun- 
 dle of sticks in the fable. Here is an example 
 from Quintilian. He supposes a man to be ac- 
 cused of killing another whose heir he had hoped 
 to be, and he combines several circumstances to 
 prove the accusation. " Tou hoped to receive 
 an inheritance — a rich inheritance ; you were in 
 great indigence, and actually beset by your cre- 
 ditors. Tou had offended the man whose heir 
 you expected to be, and you knew that he con- 
 templated changing his wiU." No one of these 
 arguments alone, says Qiuntilian, has any great 
 weight, but, taken together, if they strike not 
 like the lightning, yet like hail they come down 
 with repeated blows. 
 
328 LOGIC OF THE OEATOE, 
 
 The order of proofs is of most importance. 
 The natural method, according to the subject 
 treated, is to preserve such a succession, as may, 
 step hy step, open the matter to the miud of the 
 auditor, and link the parts so together that the 
 chain of evidence and argumentation may arrest 
 and envelope the mind which responds to truth 
 and reason. Many Rhetoricians think that the 
 best arrangement of arguments is that which be- 
 gins with the more feeble and rises successively 
 to the most cogent, so that the reasoning gathers 
 strength as it advances — semper au§eatur et cres- 
 cat orator. This is an excellent disposition, un- 
 doubtedly, where the case admits of it. But in 
 general, the best order is that which, at the be- 
 ginning projects some forcible arguments which 
 may open the way to a favourable attention and 
 conviction, reserves some striking and decisive 
 ones for the close, and disposjes the less powerful 
 proofs midway between the first and last. This 
 is called by QuintUian the Homeric order, be- 
 cause such is the order of battle of which we read 
 in Homer. Nestor, arraying his troops, puts in 
 front the Uite of the armed chariots, next the 
 less reliable body of soldiers, and last, in reserve, 
 a brave and numerous infantry. 
 
CHAPTER XXVm. 
 
 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKDTG. 
 
 Lsr treating this brancli of tlie art, we shall be as 
 plain as possible. In the first place, as experi- 
 ment is out of the question, we must endeavour 
 to establish an understanding with the reader by 
 descriptions of the phenomena which will be re- 
 ferred to. 
 
 The kind of voice adapted to the exercise and 
 business of public speaking, is not the voice of 
 ordinary conversation. It is a larger utterance. 
 The sound originates deeper, possesses more 
 swell, is longer drawn out, flies to a greater dis- 
 tance. 
 
 It is not the singing voice. The difference 
 between these two, every ear perceives and ap- 
 preciates. 
 
 Between the speaking and the singing voice is 
 interposed the voice of recitative. 
 
 The speaking voice, either developed or not, ia 
 possessed by aU men in different degrees, but 
 
330" THE VOICE IlSr PUBLIC SPEAKING. 
 
 not in a high, degree by any who are unpractised 
 in its employment. 
 
 Let the reader imagine himself calling to a 
 person at the distance of seventy or eighty feet 
 from him. Let him answer suddenly and earn- 
 estly, No ! Let him ask the question, How ? 
 Let him give warning — ^Flt! Fiee! If he 
 perform these experiments fairly and justly, he 
 will not fail to employ in them his speaking voice. 
 In doing this, certain observations will occur to 
 him. He will perceive that the mouth and throat 
 are more opened, than in ordinary speech, and 
 that he has dwelt longer on the sounds : the 
 chest will have been inore exhausted of its air, 
 and he will probably have found it needful as a 
 preliminary to draw a quick inspiration, before 
 sending forth the sudden compact volume of 
 sound. The part of the voice thus abruptly call- 
 ed into play, will be the upper part of it. Espe- 
 cially is this the case if the vocal organs be un- 
 trained, for it is only a pretty well exercised hu- 
 man voice that can so exert and display itself on 
 its lower notes. 
 
 The first attainment of vocal power, is quan- 
 tity — ^the ability to continue the sound, to elon- 
 gate the utterance. The reader may consider 
 
THE TOICE IS' PUBLIC SPEAKnTG. 3S1 
 
 that time in utterance, in other words extended 
 quantity, is a condition of being heard. Sound 
 traverses space at a certaia definite rate, and syl- 
 lables grow indistinct to the ear, from the eflfect 
 of distance, as objects do to the eye. Hence, in 
 both cases, they must be eidarged in order to be 
 weU perceived. Syllables, rapidly enunciated, 
 cannot be caught in their due proportions by the 
 ear at a distance, as experiment easily demon- 
 strates. We insist, therefore, rigorously upon 
 this first quality and eminent distinction of the 
 speaking voice — quantity — ^as directly related to 
 both time and space. 
 
 As a first exercise, for breaking in the voice 
 to its function of public and expanded utter- 
 ance, a table of vowel sounds is here furnished. 
 The words adjoined are the sounds to be 
 iised in practice. 
 
 a as in March ! A&r ! 
 
 a as in Halt! Call! 
 
 a as in Hail! A sail! Awake! 
 
 O as in Cold ! No. Unfold. Wo I 
 
 i as in Fire! Rise! Deny. 
 
 00 as in Whoop ! Do. CooL 
 
 ee as in Heed. Weep. Speed 1 
 
332 THE VOICE IN riTBLIC SPEAKING. 
 
 oi as in Boy ! Deploy. Noise, 
 u as in Hew ! Muse. Furies. 
 
 There is no difficulty in separating the vowel 
 sounds on the left out of the words on the right, 
 ahove, but at the beginning it is better to prac- 
 tise the words, and to attach a meaning, and in- 
 fuse an intentional emphasis, into them. Sound 
 and sense should not be divided in speech. The 
 learner may drawl the words, by way of occa- 
 sional experiment, and in order to mark to his 
 ear the significant properties of great, prolonged 
 quantity. A voice quite unused to" this sort of 
 exertion can rarely perform it, at once, in a satis- 
 factory manner. Some time, and some repeti- 
 tion, are necessary to give the instrument of vo- 
 cality the requisite degree of expansion. The 
 want of this expansion, and of the flexibility 
 which attends it, is no doubt the cause, together 
 with a hurried execution, of so many injured, 
 and indeed, ruined voices among public speakers. 
 I think Roger Ascham it is who asserts that of 
 aU human functions that of the voice is the most 
 improvable. And as to the influence of its judi- 
 cious exercise upon the health. Dr. Rush attri- 
 butes the comparative freedom of the Germans 
 
THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 333 
 
 from pnlmonary affections, to their much use of 
 the Toice ia vocal music. Let the practice of 
 elocution, therefore, be moderate always at first, 
 and nev&v forced, at any time. Ease and pleas- 
 antness, is a pretty good criterion of correctness 
 in the execution of exercises. Is the perform- 
 ance of any normal function, unaccompanied 
 with pleasure ? 
 
 Following the tenor of these injunctions, the 
 learner will soon discover a growing improve- 
 ment. Let him, then, fix his attention, if the op- 
 portunity offers, upon any public speaker, and 
 the extreme probability is that he will observe 
 something of this sort. The speaker's voice, in 
 • the course of its flight, will exercise a manifest 
 choice among the vowel sounds which are ranged 
 in the foregoing table. This wUl be carried so fer 
 as, at times, to interffere with the due emphasis. 
 
 The sounds of ee and oo are the most trying to 
 the voice, those of a (in fer) and o (in bold) are 
 in general the easiest. The former of these is 
 that which the infant makes his deblit upon. The 
 cause of aU this is an organic one, existing in the- 
 formation of the throat. There are comparatively 
 few voices which can emphasize at wiH, and with 
 equal indifference, uU these long vowel soimds. 
 
384 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING, 
 
 It is worth while to examine a certf-in con> 
 nexion which subsists amongst the foregoing 
 sounds. Ee and oo, you will find, in prolonging 
 them, are pure, unmixed vowels ; they begin and 
 terminate in the one sound. Not so with tho 
 others. The first two a's (those in far and in 
 hall) end on a faint sound of u — as in burr. AU 
 the rest vanish either inee or in oo. Ee and oo, 
 are in efiect the media between vowel and con- 
 sonant sounds. Ee is y and oo is w, when they 
 are abbreviated. Ee-ou and you, oo-ave and wave, 
 can the ear detect any real difference ? The two 
 difficult sounds, viz., ee and oo are the shibboleth 
 of public speakers, few of whom do not, at times, 
 throw a wrong emphasis, in order to let the voice* 
 light on some other vowel which it can play upon 
 with better effect. I advise the young speaker 
 to devote his continual attention to these two 
 sounds, dwelling on them long, swelling them, 
 forming sentences to practice, out of words 
 which embody them, &c. The purpose is not 
 alone the obtaining of a control over these two 
 themselves, but he wUl be certain to find that he 
 has along with that, acquired an expansion of the 
 voice which- wUl be perceived decidedly on all 
 the other easier vowel sounds. 
 
THE VOICE m PtTBLIC SPEAKING. 335 
 
 The usual division of the pitch of the voice is 
 into upper, middle and lower, and this -will an- 
 swer our present purpose. Everjiody knows 
 that usually, in asking a question, the voice runs 
 from low to high, and in answering, it turns its 
 course, running downward. !N'ow exaggerate 
 this phenomenon, in order to examine it weU. 
 One calls to another, at some distance; to leam 
 what he wants, " The 5a/Z.?" " No I the skate !» 
 These contrary movements of the voice, found 
 universally, would here present themselves. The 
 more intensified the inquiry and reply, the fur- 
 ther up and down would the vocal slide proceed. 
 Elocutionists of very different schools (as Smart, 
 and Rush) recommend the practice of these 
 sUdes. Tou take the vowels in the foregoing ta- 
 ble, and begmning low down in pitch slowly and 
 continually glide upward to the vanishing point 
 — a mewing sort of sound wiU result — ^reverse the 
 direction of the voice, letting it descend as low 
 as convenient. Apply the same movements to 
 the words also. 
 
 We must now form a second table of vowel 
 sounds, which will consist of the ahort vowels of 
 our tongue, as follows: 
 
336 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKIKG. 
 
 i as in ill, pit, wit. 
 
 e as in let, dwell, men. 
 
 o as in bog, hollow, not, 
 
 a as in hag, lambent, clan, 
 
 u as in hurl, cur, burden, 
 
 i as in sir, mirth, hers, err. 
 
 o as in book, push, fuU. 
 
 u as in cut, flutter, cull. 
 
 On these sounds the voice can glide readily up 
 and down, as on the long ones, but in general it 
 strikes them more rapidly, and emphasises them 
 with less quantity. An exercise on these vowel 
 sounds similar to that prescribed for the former 
 ones, is recommended. And, let it be noticed 
 that those others are susceptible of a brief, firm, 
 stress, as well as these. That is, these can be 
 prolonged, and those contracted in their utter- 
 ance. 
 
 We must finish the exposition of the alphabet 
 in regard to its spoken qualities, before furnish- 
 ing some fuller examples for practice. The state- 
 ment is an old one, and is still repeated in the 
 elementary books — ^that a consonant cannot he 
 Bounded "by itself. If it really could not be 
 sounded alone, it certainly never could be in 
 combination — ^for what would the combination bs 
 
THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKETG. 337 
 
 composed of? Let us try an experiment, on the 
 child's lesson in syllables. Says the young spel- 
 ler — a — ^b, ab. Now take away the a, and what 
 can then be enunciated is the sound of h. All — 
 take the a, from the syllable and the remnant of 
 sound is 1, which you may continue as long as 
 you please. The mistake arises from confounding 
 the name with the power of the consonant. 
 
 The reader wiU find not the least difficulty in 
 enunciating all the consonantal sounds, separate- 
 ly. Now some of these can be prolonged, and 
 some, are, by nature, short. Those that can 
 be prolonged are placed below, in the order 
 of their capability of quantity. L, m, n, r, 
 (final) are those usually called liquids. They all 
 take quantity. Z, zh, th, b, d, v, ng, g, j, also 
 admit of prolongation — the rest do not. The 
 former should be run up and down, as in ques- 
 tioning and replying. Try I, for example. You 
 will readily find that you could employ it as a 
 syllable and ask a question, or give an answer 
 upon it alone. Doing this, you have the ready 
 key to the utterance of aU the others. 
 
 Orthoepists agree in enforcing the principle 
 that the consonants must never be prolonged — 
 any of them — before a vowel in the same syllable. 
 
338 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING, 
 
 For instance, you may pronounce swe-U — pro 
 longing the 1 — ^but never 1-ove or low, elongating 
 the initial 1; it is a barbarism. To what use does 
 the voice put this property in the consonants 
 ' of admittiog length of soimd ? A very simple 
 and effective one indeed. The voice makes this 
 property a means of adding to the great resource 
 of quantity in syllables. It distributes a part of 
 the sound over the consonant. 
 
 Let the reader turn to the table of short vow- 
 els, take the first word, and ask a sudden and ex- 
 cited question on it, thus — ill? He wUl find 
 that the sound, quitting the vowel, rises on the 
 continued enunciation of the I. Hence the need 
 of being able to prolong those of the consonant 
 elements which admit of prolongation. The ef 
 feet, as respects syllables, is to add to the number 
 of long ones, in speech, varying thus the resour- 
 ces of quantity. We here complete that indis- 
 pensable basis of the subject, the alphabet of 
 speech. It is seen that there is a wide difference 
 between the elements as spoken and as spelled — 
 for example meat and meet, sea and see, contain 
 all the same spoken vowel, or vowel sound. 
 
 We proceed to describe some exercises of the 
 Tocal organs which ten^ directly to fit them for 
 
THE VOICE rST PUBLIC SPEAKING. 339 
 
 the severe exertion of public speaMng. Several 
 of these have not before appeared in print, but 
 the learner may safely rely upon them, and trial 
 ■win. furnish a sufficient evidence of their utility. 
 
 In all ordinary cases, what the voice requires 
 is expansion — a setting it free from the narrow 
 modes of action of conversation and busiaess. 
 We do not now refer to depth proper, which re- 
 lates to the scale, and is expressed by up and 
 down, high and low/ but the meaning is, that 
 whether the pitch be high or low, a fuller, broad- 
 er sound — more volume — is, generally, the re- 
 quirement of the unexercised voice, breadth is 
 precisely the property we refer to as that which 
 is usually wanting, and to its attainment the first 
 efforts should be addressed. "Were there space, 
 we might explain how this quality of speech and 
 utterance Ls connected with vocal function, but 
 at present it suffices to describe it and indicate 
 the modes of attaining it — the practitioner's own 
 observation and experience will carry him further 
 afterward. 
 
 breath being the raw material out of which 
 vocality is shaped, the first alteration of breath- 
 ing into voice may be said to be the whisper, 
 ocd that is the last form in whidi the human 
 
340 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 
 
 voice manifests itself — the sigh, of death is atter. 
 Bnce without articulation. Aspiration is the in- 
 termediary between resonant sound and breath- 
 ing, and in that sort of passionate ^exertion in 
 which voice is, as it were, choked by excess of 
 feeling, it descends into whisper and aspiration. 
 The letter A, as a sound, will thus be seen to be 
 intimately connected with the radical functions 
 of speech. Dr. Rush, in his " Philosophy of the 
 Voice," fully recognizes this fact. 
 
 Let us invite notice to the common phenome- 
 non of the sound an engine makes at a railway 
 depot. The slowly-escaping steam sends forth 
 an expiration not unlike the vocal quality of the 
 letter h. If the reader put the aspirate A before 
 each of the long vowels, and draw them out in a 
 low, prolonged effort, in imitation of the sound 
 just indicated, he will hit the idea we are trying 
 to express. The sound meant is not a whisper, 
 not husky, but it is round and full, a not unmusi- 
 cal murmur. The exercise may run from high to 
 low, and the contrary, on aU the vowels. Its 
 effect is to meUow, deepen, soften and expand 
 the .tones of the voice. 
 
 Listening again to the engine about to start 
 away, the steam, dry and clear, bursts foi-th m a 
 
THE VOICE rS PUBLIC SPEAKING. 341 
 
 deafening volume, it has found full voice, the muf- 
 fled expiration is merged into pure resonant 
 Bound, the pitch is so high that it is shriU. Take, 
 now, agaio, the long vowels, and putting A be- 
 fore each of them in turn, throw the voice into 
 its upper keys, as far up the scale as is conveni- 
 ent, and pronounce, someiliiat forcibly, and with 
 reasonable length, the syllables Hee, hoo, hay, 
 hah, haw, ho, how, high, hew, hoi. This is a 
 severe exercise. It wiU tire the muscles of the 
 neck. Pause five or ten minutes when fatigued, 
 and repeat the exercise on the middle of the 
 voice. Finish by applying it with strength on 
 the lower notes. Your ear wiU discover, very 
 early, that the contracted, thin, inefficient quali- 
 ty of the utterance yields to this exercise. The 
 kind of sound produced is true effective vocality, 
 not dissimilar to that heard in the second in- 
 stance, from the locomotive engine. 
 
 There is a mode of exerting the voice in speech 
 which, in importance, rivals that on which we have 
 been dwelling. Quantity is distinguished by 
 time; this other is marked by impulse. The 
 former regards extension, and the latter concen- 
 tration of vocal effort. The two are the great 
 governing articles of speech, however speech may 
 z3 
 
842 THE VOICE IN PUBUC SPEAKING. 
 
 be employed. We now invite tlie reader's atten- 
 tion to the exposition of the second element, 
 which may be called stress. 
 
 Whenever the animal organism is about to 
 make a strenuous momentary effort there is a 
 preparatory movement. Be it to lift, to leap, to 
 strike, the breath is drawn deeply and the orifice 
 of breathing is shut, and from the chest so fiUed 
 and enlarged the act originates, and without this 
 preparative it is impossible. The same holds 
 good in vocal effort, taking place when a sudden, 
 violent outcry is to be made. All experience 
 agrees in this fact, hence the philosophy of it 
 may be here omitted. 
 
 If the pupil will, then, draw a fuU breath, — as 
 if about to lift a heavy Tveight — shutting the 
 epiglottis for one instant, and at the next impel 
 with a decisive effort, any one of the long vow- 
 els — a(h) for example — ^he will have " exploded" 
 the vowel. This needs not be done violently. A 
 little practice wiU enable the ear to discover that 
 the sound is a pure apd abstracted form of that 
 which plays a conspicuous part in oral language. 
 At first, the short vowels are the easier to mani- 
 fest the quality of stress, but the practice should 
 extend to all the vowel sounds, and, afterward, 
 
THE VOICE IN PtTBLIC SPEAKING. 343 
 
 Bhoold include ■words. Judiciously performed, 
 this exercise strengthens the voice, and renders 
 it, in a high degree, audible — ^butthe excess of it 
 is not to be recommended — ^as it involves a cer- 
 tain harshness of character. In general, the ex- 
 tended sound of the long vowels, together with 
 the abrupt utterance of the short ones, in the un- 
 accented syllables, makes up the agreeable diver- 
 sity of human speech. The learner is recommend- 
 ed to attain the power of leaning and continu- 
 ing his voice with great deKberateness on all the 
 vowels, and likewise that of striking them all with 
 a prompt, free, and tripping utterance. These two 
 lessons accomplished, and another, of varying the 
 pitch, that is, going in turn, easily into the diflferent 
 elevations of the voice, wiU. be a good deal gained 
 for the purposes of effective speaking or reading. 
 As to the scale, a part of what we have already 
 prescribed will assist in regard to it. An addi- 
 tional exercise is to select some lines, and begin- 
 ning them in the lowest pitch gradually rise, in 
 reading them, to the highest, and inversely. 
 Walker prescribes, for this purpose, the recita- 
 tion of the terrible adjuration of Macbeth to the 
 Witches, in Shakspeare. It is a great cause of 
 monotony, that of not varying sufficiently the 
 z4 
 
844 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 
 
 pitch. Slight variations even, would relieve the 
 sameness, both to the ear of the hearer and to 
 the organs of the speaker. The power, to speak 
 long and with the exertion of force, is large- 
 ly dependent upon proper variety — ^ia pitch, in 
 time, rate of utterance, and modes of emphasis. 
 Besides it is the natural way, and therefore easy 
 and agreeable. 
 
 We are now to speak of that important matter 
 Emphasis. To do this in a satisfactory manner, 
 there must be some elementary points first incul- 
 cated. Many readers will be aware already that 
 the force of the voice may fall, with diverse ef- 
 fects, upon different parts of the emphatic syllar 
 ble. Dr. Rush has beautifully elucidated this 
 topic, so obscure and indefined, before he wrote 
 upon it. You may strike the first part of the 
 syllable with a disproportionate force as in im- 
 perative emphasis, as " Go." " Die." " Come," 
 uttered passionately. 
 
 The middle may receive the distinction by 
 opening softly on the syllable, swelling the tone 
 as it advances, and letting it fail, or faint away 
 toward the close — " Glorions.'" "Har»/»omou3 
 mysteries." " To die." " To'sleep." 
 
 It may be the end of the syllables that the 
 
THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 345 
 
 voice presses npon — as, " You, Prince of Wales?" 
 " Ztold you so ?" It is a sort of jerk at the end. 
 
 Many persons, in ordinary talking, indulge 
 themselves in one or other of these forms of em- 
 phasis, to the neglect of the others, but aU are 
 constantly met with, and will be readily identi- 
 fied by an attentive observer. The first and 
 second are more used in public utterance than 
 the last ; but he who is called to address bodies 
 of men, ought to accustom himself to putting 
 any one of these forms on all the vowel sounds, 
 and also on words chosen for the purpose. 
 
 The foregoing are ways of rendering single 
 words conspicuous ; but, generally, any marked 
 alteration in the ordinary current of discourse 
 bestows emphasis. A change from vocalising to 
 whispering is one very significant means of em- 
 phasizing ; a sudden descent, or rise, in the scale, 
 is another. A change in force, in the rate of the 
 utterance, a pause more or less prolonged, are all 
 means of giving emphasis, that is, distinction to 
 portions of discourse. These latter belong rather 
 to clauses and sentences, than to single words. 
 For one example of a single way, let us suppose 
 the passionate and insulting expression, Yok lie, 
 is uttered. If the first word is spoken in a low 
 
346 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKIITG. 
 
 key, and the second far 'ip the scale, with the 
 force on the first part of the vowel i, and this 
 latter afterward continued downward, the feeling 
 which accompanies it will have been expressed. 
 
 The subject of accent has employed and defied 
 the ingenuity of scholars, for ages. But this is 
 because there exist no sufficient data to deter- 
 mine clearly the nature of the Greek and Latin 
 accentuation. As respects a living tongue the 
 case is quite otherwise. In our EngUsh, every 
 word of more than one syllable has one of them 
 distinguished by accent — that is, it has more of 
 the force of the voice upon it. Now it is found 
 that the voice cannot conveniently interpose be> 
 tween two accented syllables more than four un- 
 accented ones. In rude languages, they cannot 
 permit even so many. EUis, in his " Polynesian 
 Researches," found that the natives regularly ac- 
 cented ev€iy otJier syllable. A similar fact is per- 
 ceived among the American tribes. We pronoance 
 the word Seminole (in four syllables) with one 
 accent, the people of that tribe call the name 
 S6minole. The name of one of their chiefs is pro- 
 nounced by the whites, Holat6ochee, by the 
 Indians, HoMtoochee. 
 
 The organs cannot enunciate zonsecutively, 
 
THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 347 
 
 without an hiatus, two accented syllables. Thia 
 may be considered an ultimate fact of hnman 
 Bpeech. Keep — ^pdce, for instance, with the accent 
 on each word, must have an interval of pause 
 between them ; the article the can he put between 
 them without the least addition to the time of 
 the whole utterance. This accentual pause, ex- 
 ercises an important influence over emphasis. It 
 serves to confer time on that kind of emphatic 
 syUahles which is incapable of prolongation, and 
 obtains in this way the advantage of quantity. 
 To exemplify this interesting phenomenon — 
 
 " Cut — short all intermission. 
 Front»-to front bring thou," etc. 
 
 Shaesfeabe. 
 
 That is, the time which cannot be expended 
 upon the short syllables is apportioned to them 
 in the form of pausing. I hope the intelligent 
 reader sees what an unforceful blunder it is 
 in a speaker to disregard this vocal principle, 
 which, duly observed, assists the utterance, 
 the breathing, the sense, and the ear of the 
 auditor. Take, for a further example, the furious 
 exclamation of Coriolanus, " C6t me to pieces !" 
 Here the two unaccented syllables, "me to" 
 fiU up what before in " Cut — short" was assigned 
 
343 THE VOICE m PUBLIC SPEAKING. 
 
 to an accentual pause. The whole time of the 
 two clauses is equal. 
 
 From the former principle the next is at once 
 derived. ' The voice passes lightly over the un- 
 accented syllables, and skips, or steps, from 
 accent to accent. Speech is. thus reduced to 
 measure. In the lines from Pope, which follow, 
 the spaces separate the measures. 
 
 " Why then, a Borgia, or a Catiline ? 
 Who knows but He whose hand the lightning forms. 
 Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms ?" 
 
 An advantage from the practise of reading the 
 various kinds of verse, is that the voice becomes 
 habituated to observe measure duly. But prose 
 likewise requires it, and ease and force of deliv- 
 ery imperatively demand a proper conformity 
 to it. 
 
 Emphasis always falls, by necessity, upon some 
 accented syllable. The effect of accent is to .dis- 
 tinguish words one from another. They are 
 known as separate words by means of the accent 
 which ties together, the several syllables. A 
 proof of this may be seen by the experiment of 
 misplacing the accents on a succession of words 
 which compose a sentence. A jargon will result. 
 
THE VOICE DT PUBLIC SPBAKIKG. 349 
 
 « 
 
 which, if intelligible at all, is so only by reason 
 of the resemblance to what is previously known 
 under true accentuation. What belongs to 
 accent extends itself to emphasis. Without 
 accent, words would not be distinguished fi-om 
 one another; without emphasis, clauses would 
 not be. The syllable accented distinguishes the 
 word, the word emphasized gives meaning to the 
 sentence. 
 
 But emphasis demands yet more. It requires 
 a pause after each subdivision into which it cuts 
 discourse. The breathing asks for this, as well as 
 the eai;. The ear requires it because it can take 
 in the word with its accent, without necessarily 
 any pause, from knowing the word already, but 
 the clause of emphasis it has to learn, and these 
 must be separated and distinguished- by interven- 
 ing pauses, or the ear cannot make the arrange- 
 ment of the sense. We mean, then, in fine, that 
 emphasis ties together words into detached 
 groups, forming, as it were, a species of longer 
 words ; that pauses interpose between this longer 
 sort of words, and hence, that pauses, that is, the 
 principal ones, for the most part, depend on em- 
 phasis. Emphasis is the law and life of discoursei 
 Better that all else go wrong than it. 
 
360 THE VOICE IN PUBLiC SPEAKING. 
 
 Trusting that the reader -vrill not lightly pass 
 over the principles now inculcated, we shall pro- 
 ceed to put down a number of illustrative exam- 
 ples of these emphasis-words — calling them 
 thus in order to fix the idea : 
 
 " Bnt-y/ith-the froward he-was-fierce-a'a^/Jre." 
 
 The italicised words are to the clauses of 
 meaning what accent is to individual woyds. 
 
 "Poured-thxovLgh-the mellow horn her-pensive-sou/ 
 In-hollow-murmurs died-a,wa,y.'' 
 
 "G^ace-was-in-all-her motions 2feo«en-in-her-eye. 
 In-every-ociioji digmt}/-a.ni-\oYe,'' 
 
 ''Alexander-a.t-a.4ea.st surrounded-by;;?a«erers heated- 
 ytith-wine oyeTCorae-bj-anger lei-bj-a.-eoti<yubine is- 
 a.-{orcihle-exainple that-the-conqueror-of-A»»{r(?o)»j may- 
 have-negleoted-the-conquest-of AtmscZ/:" 
 
 " I-have-but-one-lamp by-which-my-feet-are-guided 
 ini-that is-the-\amp-o!-expenence." 
 
 "Whence a,nd what ari-thou execraUe-sbapeV 
 
 " If-thou-dost-sZanife)- her and torture-me 
 Nevev-pray-moTB aJandon-all-remorse." 
 
 The foregoing must suffice for illustrations of 
 the principles, which the reader can readily 
 apply to any desirable extent. He will see that 
 
THE VOICE rST PUBLIC SPEAKING. 351 
 
 the thought governs the expression ahsolately, 
 and that the dae interchange of sound and silence 
 is intelligible speech. 
 
 In essaying to speak to todies of men, the first 
 and chief thing is to hit rightly, with due quan- 
 tity jind stress, those commanding words ia the 
 discourse, to -which the others annex themselves, 
 and to which they are suhordinated. On each 
 of them send forth the voice in the manner 
 described at the beginning — loudly, and even 
 violently at first, if needful. And be persuaded 
 that speaking and talking are not the same thing, 
 whatever may be said about a " natural " man- 
 ner, and so forth. To impress masses of listeners, 
 there must be something more strenuous than 
 ordinary talk. Not thus did the Athenian 
 "fuhnine over Greece," nor TuUy — ^who caUs 
 the right arm the weapon of the orator — sway 
 the Roman senate. 
 
 The following short extract from "Webster's 
 address on the centennial birthday of "Washing- 
 ton we select to be spoken. The words where 
 the vigor of the voice should be felt are marked. 
 We advise that the learner quUMhe tone of con- 
 versation, and setting his utterance free from its 
 trammels and bondage, urge it forth in broad. 
 
352 THE VOICE IX PUBLIC SPEAKDrG. 
 
 prolonged, emphatic speaking. ■ Let hjm possew 
 his mind with the determination of controlling 
 an audience, and carrying their full feelings along 
 with him. 
 
 " But let us hope for bbttek things. Let us 
 trust in that gracious Being who has hitherto 
 held our country as in the hollow of his hand. 
 Let us trust to the influence of WASHiNGTON'a 
 example. A hundred years hence, othee disci- 
 ples of Washington will celebrate his birth with 
 NO LESS of sincere admiration than we now com- 
 memorate it. When thet shall meet, as we 
 NOW MEET, to do themselvcs and him that 
 HONOE, so SUEELT as they shall see the blue 
 SUMMITS of his native mountains eisb in the hori- 
 zon, SO sueely may they see, as we now see, 
 the FLAG of the Union floating on the top of 
 the Capitol ; and then, as now, may the sun in 
 his course visit no land more eeee, more happy, 
 more lovely, than this our aws country." 
 
 So soon as the learner shall have caught the 
 way of utterance which belongs to the extraordi- 
 nary occasions of public speaking, so soon as he 
 shall begin to be able to manifest it in single 
 
tHE VOICE IN PITBLIC SPEAKING. 353 
 
 words and 'next on brief clauses, he will be able 
 to advance to the complete attainment of the 
 speaking voice.' I think the acquisition is not 
 much unlike learning to swim — ^it is something 
 new attained, and once gotten is never lost. Of 
 its value and popular appreciation, we need not 
 stop to say anything. 
 
 In " Gardiner's Music of Nature,'' it is shown 
 that a musical sourid Jlies further than another 
 kind of sound. He says that at a distance from 
 Donnybrook, when the great fair was going for- 
 ward, the notes of the violins came clear and dis- 
 tinct to the ear, while the duller noises and din 
 that prevailed around them were lost, or reduced 
 to a faint murmur. The same writer states that 
 the connoisseurs did not seek the nearest seats 
 when Paganini played in England, but preferred 
 more retired places, where his exquisite instru- 
 ment over-rode the storm of the orchestra. This 
 principle obtains in the superior audibility of 
 trained voices, which is always accompanied with 
 an improved ease of delivery. The main ingre- 
 dient of clear and resonant tone is a discharge of 
 aU. husldness or aspiration fi-om it — except, of 
 course, where these are expressly caled for as an 
 element of expression. The smaller the measure 
 
354 THE VOICE IN PCTBLIC SPEAKING. 
 
 of breatli put forth, the clearer and. purer the 
 tone, in general, produced. Because the more 
 completely is the column of air put into vibra^ 
 tion, the less, too, the fatigue, necessarily. With 
 practice, the power to vibrate fully a larger ex- 
 piration, is found to increase. 
 
 The abihty to make one's voice travel far 
 depends upon ringing it against the roof of the 
 mouth — forcing, as it were, the breath to strike 
 against the centre of the archway which the 
 roof forms. I have also remarked that speakers, 
 when addressing audiences in the open air, 
 have, not unfrequently, a tendency to curve 
 the lips outward, trumpet-fashign, which, of 
 course, projects the sound. These experiments 
 may be made on aU the vowels. 
 
 We will close with an extract from an old 
 work, on the power of music, which may interest 
 the reader: " In the year 1714, in an opera that 
 was performed at Ancona, there was in the be- 
 ginning of the third act, a passage of recitative, 
 imaccompanied by any other instrument but the 
 bass, which raised, both in tjie professors and in 
 the rest of the audience, such and so great a 
 commotion of mind, that we could not help star- 
 ing at one another on account of the visible 
 
THE VOICE IN PtTBLIC SPEAKING. 355 
 
 change of color that was caused in every one's 
 countenance. The effect was not of the plamtive 
 kind. I rememher well that the words expressed 
 indignation ; but of so harsh and chilling a nature 
 that the mind was disordered by it. Thirteen 
 times this drama was performed, and the same 
 effect always followed, and that, too, universally ; 
 of which the remarkable previous silence of the 
 audience to prepare themselves for the enjoyment 
 of the effect was an imdoubted sign." — StiUing- 
 fleet. 
 
CHAPTER XXVm. 
 
 EUXES OF OKDEE AUD DEBATE. 
 
 There is so mucli business transacted in public 
 meetings, on Boards, in Committees, etc., and on 
 such occasions public speaking of one sort or 
 another, is so constant a part of-the procedures, 
 that it seems very appropriate to the purpose of 
 this work to throw together some principles and 
 rules in regard to those matters. Few persons 
 in this country will find it a superfluous attain- 
 ment to know thoroughly, at least so much as 
 they will find here — ^were it only with a view to 
 understand fuUy the reports of legislative and 
 other matters which appear from time to time in 
 the journals. As to the conduct of Debating 
 Societies, the principles which follow are so easily 
 applicable to them, that we need not encumber 
 the statements by any special directions for them. 
 
 The order of business and the rules of the 
 English Parliament, grown from a remote period 
 
 Sfi« 
 
ETTLES OF OEDEE AND DEBATE. 357 
 
 into a system, and comprised in many volumes, 
 have descended to Congress and our State Legis- 
 latures, and finally regulate, under a modified 
 foi-m, the deliberations of popular assemblies. 
 
 Unless there is some special rule, the majority 
 of votes decides the question. 
 
 In organizing a meeting, usually some member 
 proposes the name of another for president, and 
 puts it to the vote by saying, " all in fevor o^ 
 etc., — ^wiU signify the same by saying, aye." 
 After a short pause, " The contrary, no." Then 
 " Carried" — ^if such -was the case — or " The ayea 
 have it." 
 
 The president takes the chair, or, on formal 
 occasions, is conducted to it, and opens the busi- 
 ness by a brief statement of the objects of the 
 meetiag. If there are to be vice-presidents and 
 secretaries, they are usually nominated and 
 selected in the same manner. 
 
 The duty of the president is to preserve order, 
 put questions, (ia the manner above,) appoint 
 committees, sign resolutions, call for papers and 
 reports, receive and announce messages, caU the 
 business up in its order, etc., etc., and declare the 
 adjoonunents. 
 
358 EITLES OF OEDEE AND DEBATE 
 
 If on the vote vivd voce, the president is una- 
 ble to determine whether the ayes have it, or the 
 nays, he may call for a division, or for the former 
 to rise, or he may appoint tellers to ascertain by 
 counting. In case of a tie, the president is to 
 give the casting vote. (This is the only occasion 
 on which he votes.) Where it is requisite to re- 
 cord the vote, the secretary calls the names one 
 by one, and scores down each member's vote. 
 This is called taking the ayes and nay's on tho 
 question: 
 
 In an assembly a member rising to speak calls 
 " Mr. President, or Chairman, or Speaker "—the 
 latter recognizes the one who is the first to claim 
 his attention, by naming him, bowing or nod- 
 ding to him, with " The gentleman from ," 
 
 etc., or " Mr. has the floor," or, in other 
 
 cases, the presiding officer introduces the Speaker 
 to the audience. 
 
 It is quite usual to appoint a committee to re- 
 tire and draft resolutions, expressive of the sense 
 of the meeting. He who proposes the commit- 
 tee is ordmarily selected for its chairman. "When 
 the committee returns, it reports through its 
 chairman to the president, who directs the seers' 
 
BULES OP OEDEE AND DEBATE. 359 
 
 taiy to read the resolutions to the meeting, which 
 are then put to the vote by the president. Or 
 the latter may read them, and put them to the 
 vote, separately. 
 
 A motion must he made by one member, and 
 seconded by another ; it is then stated by tho 
 president, or " being in writing, it shaU be handed 
 to the Chair and read aloud by the secretary, 
 before debated." — Jiule. So. Heps. April 7, 
 1V89. 
 
 "When a question is under debate, no -motion 
 shall be received but to adjourn, to lay on the 
 table, for the previous question, to postpone to a 
 certain day, to commit,* or amend, to postpone 
 indefinitely."— J2b. 1822. 
 
 "A motion to adjourn, and to fix the day of 
 adjournment, is always iu order. These two, and 
 the motion to lay on the table, shall be decided 
 without debate." — J2b. Heps. 1822. But these 
 motions cannot be made while a member is ia 
 possession of the floor, miless he chooses to give 
 way for them. (Jefferson's Manual.) 
 
 In every deliberative body the first necessity 
 
 • " To eonunlt"— to refer the matter to a eominlttee. 
 
360 EULES OF OEDEE AND DEBATE 
 
 is the preservation of order : the next is the order 
 of the business before it. But as both these de- 
 pend upon the question whether the meeting will 
 continue to be held, or not, the motion to adjourn 
 has the precedence of all others. Next to the 
 motion to adjourn are questions of privilege and 
 questions of order as these relate intiojately to 
 the organization of the'body. 
 
 The next, after these, is the order of the busi- 
 ness, and here there should be but one chief pro- 
 position, or main question, and if its terms are 
 not simple, and its purpose single, it may be di- 
 vided, on motion. To this subject the debate 
 should be, for the time, directed and confined. 
 
 When a question is before the body, the motion 
 to lay it on the table — or as the phrase is, " to ta- 
 ble" it, has precedence of all (except, the motion 
 to adjourn, as already stated). It can neither be 
 debated, nor amended, and if passed disposes of 
 the question, tiU regularly called up at another 
 meeting. 
 
 The motion for the previous question, cuts 
 short all debate by bringing the amendments and 
 the question itself at once to a test vote. But 
 from its odium as a " gag law," by the present 
 
EULES OF OEDEK AND HEBATE. 361 
 
 rules of the House of Representatives, the pre- 
 vious question must be demanded by a majority 
 of the members present, or it cannot be enter- 
 tained. The motion is neitfier debatable nor 
 amendable. 
 
 The motion to postpone, if indefinitely, evident- 
 ly, disposes finally of the question. It may be 
 amended by a motion to specify a day, but not 
 otherwise, nor is it debatable. 
 
 Amendments. — ^These usually relate to the 
 parts and details of the main question, but they 
 may go so far as to substitute a new one, by mov- 
 ing to strike out all after the word " Resolved.^'' 
 And the amendment itself may be treated simi- 
 larly, i. e., by another amendment, it may be to- 
 tally displaced, and substituted. , There may be 
 an amendment of an amendment, but the process 
 can go no further, as that would be travelling 
 too far beyond the subject-matter. Obviously, 
 irrelevant matter is not admissible, under the 
 form of an amendment. (Rule of Ho. of Reps.) 
 An amendment once accepted cannot be altered, 
 nor one once rejected cannot be again proposed. 
 But the object may be reached by embodying 
 the proposed alteration in a motion substantially 
 
S62 KULES OP OEDEB AND DEBATE. 
 
 different, as containing more substance — making 
 it a part, e. g. of a more extensive claase. And 
 this is the only way. " A motion to strike out 
 the enacting words of a Sill shall have prece- 
 dence of a motion to amend ; and if carried, shall 
 be considered equivalent to its rejection." — 
 House of Reps., March 13, 1822. 
 
 Motions for the Reading of papers, may be 
 made when the papers are either necessary to the 
 giving of a vote, or pertinent to the question, 
 but where the reading would create delay, etc., 
 it will not prevail. If the report of a committee 
 is ordered -to be printed, it is not usual to call for 
 its reading. 
 
 A motion may be withdrawn by its mover, un- 
 less objected to, before amendment, but not after, 
 and when stated from the chair it is regarded as 
 the property of the whole body. — Ho. Reps., 
 1789. 
 
 "A motion to suspend the standing rules cannot 
 usually be carried by less than a vote of two- 
 thirds. 
 
 Motion to reconsider (a vote) takes precedence 
 of all but the motion to adjourn. It can be 
 moved only by one who voted /or the resolution. 
 
EtTLES OF OEDEE AND DEBATE. 363 
 
 Accordingly, membera sometimes vote in the 
 affirmative in order to entitle themselves to move 
 a reconsideration. And upon a motion to recon- 
 sider, a motion tq lay it npon the table may ba 
 made. That is, a member may move to " table" 
 a motion to reconsider, -which, if carried, disposes 
 of the question, for that time. 
 
 In Congress bills must be introduced either 
 upon the report Of a committee, or else by 
 motion for leave. Every biQ must have three 
 several " readings " on different days. Upon the 
 second reading, the bUl is ready for conmiitment, 
 or engrossment, before passing to its final read- 
 ing. And after commitment and report of a bUI 
 to the House, at any time before its passage, it 
 may be recommitted, i. e., sent again to a com- 
 mittee. 
 
 COMMITTEES 
 
 Are — select, standing, and of the whole. Spe- 
 cial Committees are for an express purpose and 
 are discharged upon the acceptance of their Re- 
 porf. Standing Committees are for permanent 
 branches of business, and have, usually, more 
 members than the former. In the House of 
 Representatives some of the Standing Commit- 
 
364 RULES OF OEDEK AND DEBATE. 
 
 tees are, "Ways and Means," " On the Judiciary," 
 " On Foreign Afiairs," " On Territories." 
 
 Committee of the Whole is formed by motion 
 of some member, seconded and put to the vote, 
 which, when carried, is followed by the presi- 
 dent's naming some member to take his own 
 place. "When the Committee rises, the president 
 resumes his place, and the Chairman of the Com 
 mittee reports to him the progress of said Com. 
 mittee. If, during the sitting of the Committee 
 a quorum of the whole body be not present, the 
 Committee must " rise" at once. The jproceedings 
 of the Committee of the Whole are not matters 
 for record. There are other differences between 
 the Committee and the whole assembly. For ex- 
 ample, the Committee of the Whole cannot ad- 
 journ — it can only rise. Hence that privileged 
 question does not then subsist. Besides this, in 
 Committee of the Whole, the previous question 
 cannot be called, nor the ayes and nays demand- 
 ed — nor can anything be referred to a Commit- 
 Ijee, nor can an infraction of the rules of order 
 be punished — ^it must be reported to the House. 
 Finally, there is no limitation upon the times a 
 .membsr miay speak, and no appeal from the 
 Chairman's decision.