Who will now tolerate an advocate who begins by
speaking of the feebleness of his constitution, as is usual in the openings
of Corvinus? Who will sit out the five books against Verres? Who will endure
those huge volumes, on a legal plea or form, which we have read in the
speeches for Marcus Tullius and Aulus Caecina? In our day the judge
anticipates the speaker, and unless he is charmed and imposed on by the
train of arguments, or the brilliancy of the thoughts, or the grace and
elegance of the descriptive sketches, he is deaf to his eloquence. Even the
mob of bystanders, and the chance listeners who flock in, now usually
require brightness and beauty in a speech, and they no more endure in the
law-court the harshness and roughness of antiquity, than they would an actor
on the stage who chose to reproduce the gestures of Roscius or Ambivius. So
again the young, those whose studies are on the anvil, who go after the
orators with a view to their own progress, are anxious not merely to hear
but also to carry back home some brilliant passage worthy of remembrance.
They tell it one to another, and often mention it in letters to their
colonies and provinces, whether it is a reflection lighted up by a neat and
pithy phrase, or a passage bright with choice and poetic ornament. For we
now expect from a speaker even poetic beauty, not indeed soiled with the old
rust of Accius or Pacuvius, but such as is produced from the sacred
treasures of
Horace,
Virgil, and Lucan. Thus the age of our orators,
ANCIENTS INSUFFERABLY DULL |
in conforming
itself to the ear and the taste of such a class, has advanced in beauty and
ornateness. Nor does it follow that our speeches are less successful because
they bring pleasure to the ears of those who have to decide. What if you
were to assume that the temples of the present day are weaker, because,
instead of being built of rough blocks and ill-shaped tiles, they shine with
marble and glitter with gold?