Perhaps what I am going to say will be thought
trifling and ridiculous; but I will say it even to be laughed at. What
contempt (so I think at least) has been brought on eloquence by those little
overcoats into which we squeeze, and, so to say, box ourselves up, when we
chat with the judges! How much force may we suppose has been taken from our
speeches by the little rooms and offices in which nearly all cases have to
be set forth. Just as a spacious course tests a fine horse, so the orator
has his field, and unless he can move in it freely and at ease, his
eloquence grows feeble and breaks down. Nay more; we find the pains and
labour of careful composition out of place, for the judge keeps asking when
you are going to open the case, and you must begin from his question.
Frequently he imposes silence on the advocate to hear proofs and witnesses.
Meanwhile only one or two persons stand by you as you are speaking and the
whole business is transacted almost in solitude. But the orator wants shouts
and applause, and something like a theatre, all which and the like were the
every day lot of the orators of antiquity, when both numbers and nobility
pressed into the forum, when gatherings of clients and the people in their
tribes and deputations from the towns and indeed a great part of Italy stood by the accused in his peril, and Rome's
citizens felt in a multitude of trials that they themselves had an interest
in the decision. We know that there was a universal rush of the people to
hear the accusation and the defence of Cornelius, Scaurus, Milo, Bestia, and
Vatinius, so that even the coldest speaker might have been stirred and
kindled by the mere enthusiasm of the citizens in their strife. And
therefore indeed such pleadings are still extant, and thus the men too who
pleaded, owe their fame to no other speeches more than these.