Quintilian

Oratorical Instruction

11.3.51–60

Voice and Breath

The voice must not be strained beyond its natural capacity. Strain can make it choke up or become less clear or even make that sound the Greeks call ‘rooster song’.

We must not speak in a jumbled rush, thereby destroying clarity and emotional impact, not to mention sometimes even depriving individual words of their full enunciation. The opposite of this, also a vice, is excessive slowness. It betrays a certain difficulty in knowing what to say, and causes the listener’s attention to wander. It also wastes the time on the water clock, which is no small thing. Our speech should be fluent, not rushed; deliberate, not delayed.

We mustn’t take a breath so often that we chop a thought into pieces, nor extend a breath so long that it fails us. The gasp produced by the loss of breath is unattractive; we sound like a man held too long under water, we inhale for too long and at the wrong time, as if by necessity rather than choice. When about to deliver a lengthy period, we should gather our breath, briefly and quietly, so as not to make it obvious. Elsewhere it will be best to inhale at the natural breaks in the discourse.

Breath must be trained if we are to hold it as long as possible. With this in mind, Demosthenes used to recite as many continuous verses of poetry as he could while climbing a hill. To improve his enunciation, he would practise speaking at home while manoeuvring pebbles under his tongue. Sometimes our breathing capacity may be adequate for full and clear expression, yet unreliable when pressed, or tremulous, like bodies that appear sound but lack sinew. The Greeks call this phenomenon ‘quavering’. There are some speakers who, due to missing teeth, do not so much take breaths as suck them in, complete with slurping sound. Others breathe so often and with such internal ruckus that they sound like yoked oxen struggling beneath their load.

Some even make a show of this style, as if they are burdened by the abundance of their ideas and a greater force of eloquence stirs within them than can possibly be emitted through their throats. With others there seems to be a violent struggle between mouth and words. Although not strictly vices of the voice, a number of other faults can be cited here since they happen through the voice, namely excessive coughing and spitting, hacking up phlegm from the depths of the lungs, spewing saliva on those close by and talking while breathing through the nose.

But I could more easily endure any one of these faults than the practice of chanting, which is now so popular in both courtrooms and schools. I can’t decide whether it is more harmful or disgusting. What could be less appropriate for an orator than the kind of vocal modulation that is heard on stage or resembles the carryings-on of drunkards and party-goers? What could be more contrary to the goal of summoning emotions, such as sorrow, anger, indignation or pity, than not just abandoning the very feelings to be induced in the judge, but destroying the sanctity of court with the wantonness of the Lycians and Carians?19 For Cicero reported that speakers from Lycia and Caria all but sang their perorations20 – and we have abandoned even their somewhat austere mode of singing!

To put it succinctly: who on earth sings in a trial – never mind one for murder or sacrilege or parricide, but even one dealing with numbers or accounts? And if such behaviour is acceptable, there’s no reason we shouldn’t assist the vocal fireworks with lyres or flutes, or even, by Hercules, cymbals, which are especially suited to this hideous practice.

Yet we put up with such behaviour willingly. No one finds his own singing unpleasant, and it’s less trouble than actually pleading. And there are some who, in line with other aspects of their lives, are seduced by the pleasure of always hearing something that soothes their ears. Well, what of it? you might ask. Doesn’t Cicero himself say that there is a ‘hint of song’ in oratory?21 Doesn’t song originate in nature? A little later I will explain when and to what extent music, or – what many refuse to understand – a ‘hint’ of song, is acceptable.