paratory parts; and experience every day teaches us to be distrustful of eloquent introductions. It is nevertheless necessary strongly to fix the attention of a wandering congregation; and I do not see that we violate the rules of art in surprising the hearer by an unexpected stroke which may draw him off from his own thoughts, provided this sudden emotion do not beguile his expectation, and that the orator always proceeds in the enlargement of his subject. "I want discourses," says Montaigne, "which make an immediate attack upon the stronghold of doubt; I desire good and solid arguments at first sight." Montaigne is right. Nothing is more important and difficult than to become masters of our auditory, and to enter upon our subject with a movement that may affect them. Seneca opens the first scene of his tragedy of Troy with a sublime soliloquy, and three verses suffice for his immediately interesting every heart. We behold at a distance the city of Troy consumed by the flames; and Hecuba, in chains, alone upon the theatre, pronounces with a sigh these eloquent expressions: "Ye princes who confide in your power, ye who rule over a numerous court, ye who dread not the inconstant favour of the gods, and ye who indulge yourselves in the soothing repose of prosperity, behold Hecuba, behold Troy !"* Who does * Quicumque regno fidit, et magnâ potens, not then retire within himself, and seriously reflect upon the dangers of his fate? It is thus that a great orator should engage the heart. It is thus he should enrich the beginning of his discourse, provided that the sequel deserve also to be heard after the auditors have been elevated to such a pitch. SECTION XII. OF THE PRODUCTION OF IDEAS. It is this continual propagation of great ideas by which they are mutually enlivened; it is this art of incessantly advancing in composition that gives strength to eloquence, rapidity to discourse, and the whole interest of dialogue to an uninterrupted succession of ideas, which, were they disjointed, would produce no effect, but languish and die. The progression which imparts increasing strength to each period is the natural representation of those Animumque rebus credulum lætis dedit Me videat et te Troja! . . . VIRGIL describes this affecting scene when he says, Vidi Hecubam, centumque nurus, Priamumque per aras Sanguine fœdantem, quos ipse sacraverat, ignes. And again, Eneid, lib. ii., 1. 501. Hic Hecuba, et natæ nequicquam altaria circum, transports of soul which should enliven throughout the compositions of the orator. Hence it follows that an eloquent writer can only be formed by a fertility and vastness of thought. Detached phrases, superfluous passages, witty comparisons, unprofitable definitions, the affectation of shining or surprising at every word, the extravagance of genius, these do not enrich, but rather impoverish a writer as often as they interrupt his progress. Let, then, the orator avoid, as most dangerous rocks, those ensnaring sallies which would diminish the impetuosity of his ardour. Without pity on his productions, and without ever regretting the apparent sacrifices which it will cost him, let him, as he proceeds, retrench this heap of flourishes, which sti "The thoughts with which good authors embellish their discourses are plain, natural, and intelligible; they are neither affected nor far-fetched, and, as it were, forced in, in order to make a parade of wit, but always rise out of the subject to be treated of, from which they seem so inseparable that we cannot think the things could have been otherwise expressed, at the same time that every one imagines he would express them the same way."-ROLLIN'S Belles Lettres, vol. ii., chap. iii., § 2, Art. ii., p. 106. See also what ROLLIN says of Shining Thoughts, vol. ii., p. 126. SO FENELON tells us that "there is much gained by losing all superfluous ornaments, and confining ourselves to such beauties as are simple, easy, clear, and seemingly negligent."-Letter to the French Academy, p. 196. See also Knox's judicious remarks, Essays, No. 15. fles his eloquence instead of embellishing it, and which prevents him from hurrying on forcibly and gracefully towards his main design. If the hearer find himself continually where he was; if he discover the enlargement, the return of the same ideas, or the playing upon words, he is no more transported with the admiration of a vehement orator; it is a florid declaimer whom he hears without effect. He does not even hear him long. He also, like the orator, makes idle reflections on every word. He is continually losing sight of the thread of the discourse amid those digressions of the rhetorician who is aiming to shine while his subject languishes. At length, tired with this redundancy of words, he feels his exhausted attention ready to expire with every breath. Mistaken man of genius! wert thou acquainted with the true method of attaining eloquence, instead of disgusting thy hearer with thy insipid antithesis, his attention would not be at liberty to be diverted. He would partake of your emotions. He would become all that you mean to describe. He would imagine that he himself could discover the plain and striking arguments which you laid before him, and in some measure compose your discourse along with you. His satisfaction would be at its height, as would be your glory. And you would find that it is the delight of him who hears, which always ensures the triumph of him who speaks.* * "What formed the distinct character of Father Mas "A good judge of the Art of Oratory," says Cicero, "need not hear an orator in order to judge of his SILLON'S eloquence was, that all his strokes aimed directly at the heart, so that what was simply reason and proof in others, was feeling in his mouth. He not only convinced, he affected, moved, and melted his hearers. He did not confine himself to discover only the injustice and unreasonableness of vice; he showed it in such a hideous and hateful light, that you could no longer suffer yourself to be under the empire of such a cruel tyrant; you could no longer consider it in any other light than that of a sworn enemy of your felicity. Entering into a holy indignation against yourself, you would appear to yourself so blind, so unjust, so miserable, that you would see no other remedy than that of falling into the arms of virtue. Sermons composed in this taste cannot fail of being heard with extreme attention; every one sees himself in the lively and natural pictures in which the preacher paints the human heart, and discovers its most secret springs of action. Every one imagines the discourse is addressed to him, and thinks the orator meant him only. Hence the remarkable effects of his instructions: nobody, after hearing him, stopped to praise or criticise his sermon. Each auditor retired in a pensive silence, with a thoughtful air, downcast eyes, and composed countenance, carrying away the arrow which the Christian orator had fastened in his heart. These silent suffrages exceed the loudest applauses. When Father MASSILLON had preached his first advent at Versailles, Louis XIV. said these remarkable words to him: Father, I have heard many fine orators in my chapel, and have been much pleased with them; but as for you, always, when I have heard you, I have been very much displeased with myself.' |