And though eloquence at its highest is a gift, the art of speaking can be learned and personal difficulties overcome. Demosthenes, with his pebbles in his mouth or running up a hill spouting an oration, has been an example to us from the schoolroom. Cicero took lessons from Roscius and Æsop. Lord Guildford, Lord Campbell, Lord Brougham, and others have impressed on students the importance of attending and practising at moots and debating societies. The mechanics of eloquence can be as certainly learned by the student as the mechanics of etching or engraving, but how far these will make an artist of him and help to bring real eloquence to the learner lies in himself.
There is no golden rule of method, but there is this golden principle to remember that the message of eloquence is addressed to the heart rather than the brain. This is well put by Lord Chesterfield, who was more human than many will allow, when he wrote to his son: “Gain the heart, or you gain nothing; the eyes and the ears are the only road to the heart. Merit and knowledge will not gain hearts, though they will secure them when gained. Pray have that truth ever in your mind. Engage the eyes by your address, air, and motions; soothe the ears by the elegancy and harmony of your diction; the heart will certainly follow; and the whole man and woman will as certainly follow the heart.”
Thus is the grammar of the matter set down by a skilled grammarian, yet it is but a bundle of dry sticks and kindles no flame. The high privilege of lighting the torch at the lamp of eloquence is a gift of the gods, for orators are born, and not made.
VI
THE LAMP
OF JUDGMENT
VI
THE LAMP OF JUDGMENT
Judgment inspires a man to translate good sense into right action. I would not quarrel with the philosopher who describes judgment as an instinct, but I would bid him remember that even an instinct is acquired by “cunning” rather than luck. Let no one think that he can attain to sound judgment without hard work. The judgment of the advocate must be based on the maxim, “He that judges without informing himself to the utmost that he is capable cannot acquit himself of judging amiss.”
A client is entitled to the independent judgment of the advocate. Whether his judgment is right or wrong, it is the duty of the advocate to place it at the disposal of his client. In the business of advocacy judgment is the goods that the advocate is bound to deliver. Yet he is under constant temptation to please his client by giving him an inferior article. The duty of the advocate to give only his best is wisely insisted upon by Serjeant Ballantine, who relates a personal experience that all advocates must be ready to face.
“The solicitor instructing me,” he writes, “was vehement in expressing belief in his client’s innocence. I was of a different opinion. He, acting upon his belief, desired that certain witnesses should be called. I, governed by my convictions, absolutely refused to do so, offering at the same time to return my brief. This, however, was refused, and I was left to exercise my own responsibility. The above question frequently arises, and some counsel have considered themselves bound to obey the wishes of the solicitor. There is no doubt that this is the safest course for the advocate, for, if he does otherwise and the result is adverse, he is likely to be much blamed, and the solicitor also is exposed to disagreeable comments; but I hold, and have always acted upon the opinion, that the client retains counsel’s judgment, which he has no right to yield to the wishes or opinions of any one else. He is bound, if required, to return his brief, but if he acts against his own convictions he sacrifices, I think, his duty as an advocate.”
An advocate of judgment has the power of gathering up the scattered threads of facts and weaving them into a pattern surrounding and emphasising the central point of the case. In every case there is one commanding theory, to the proof of which all the facts must be skilfully marshalled. An advocate with one point has infinitely greater chances than an advocate with twenty points.
Rufus Choate was an advocate of great judgment, and not only was he enthusiastic and diligent in searching for the central theory, or “hub of his case,” as he called it, but having made up his mind what it was, he rightly put it forward without delay, believing that it was the “first strike” that conquered the jury. Parker, his biographer, tells us that “he often said to me that the first moments were the great moments for the advocate. Then, said he, the attention is all on the alert, the ears are quicker, the mind receptive. People think they ought to go on gently, till, somewhere about the middle of their talk, they will put forth all their power. But this is a sad mistake. At the beginning the jury are all eager to know what you are going to say, what the strength of your case is. They don’t go into details and follow you critically all along: they try to get hold of your leading notion, and lump it all up. At the outset, then, you want to strike into their minds what they want—a good, solid, general view of your case; and let them think over that for a good while. ‘If,’ said he emphatically, ‘you haven’t got hold of them, got their convictions at least open, in your first half-hour or hour, you will never get at them at all.’”