Society and solitude: Twelve chapters
hesitation and reserve in his narrative! He tells with difficulty some
particulars, and gets as fast as he can to the result, and, though he
cannot describe, hopes to suggest the whole scene. Now listen to a
poor Irishwoman recounting some experience of hers. Her speech flows
like a river,--so unconsidered, so humorous, so pathetic, such justice
done to all the parts! It is a true transubstantiation,--the fact
converted into speech, all warm and colored and alive, as it fell out.
Our Southern people are almost all speakers, and have every advantage
over the New England people, whose climate is so cold that, ’tis said,
we do not like to open our mouths very wide. But neither can the
Southerner in the United States, nor the Irish, compare with the lively
inhabitant of the south of Europe. The traveller in Sicily needs no
gayer melodramatic exhibition than the _table d’hôte_ of his inn will
afford him in the conversation of the joyous guests. They mimic the
voice and manner of the person they describe; they crow, squeal, hiss,
cackle, bark, and scream like mad, and, were it only by the physical
strength exerted in telling the story, keep the table in unbounded
excitement. But in every constitution some large degree of animal vigor
is necessary as material foundation for the higher qualities of the art.
But eloquence must be attractive, or it is none. The virtue of books
is, to be readable, and of orators, to be interesting; and this is
a gift of Nature; as Demosthenes, the most laborious student in
that kind, signified his sense of this necessity when he wrote,
“Good Fortune,” as his motto on his shield. As we know, the power of
discourse of certain individuals amounts to fascination, though it may
have no lasting effect. Some portion of this sugar must intermingle.
The right eloquence needs no bell to call the people together, and no
constable to keep them. It draws the children from their play, the
old from their arm-chairs, the invalid from his warm chamber: it holds
the hearer fast; steals away his feet, that he shall not depart,--his
memory, that he shall not remember the most pressing affairs,--his
belief, that he shall not admit any opposing considerations. The
pictures we have of it in semi-barbarous ages, when it has some
advantages in the simpler habit of the people, show what it aims at. It
is said that the Khans, or story-tellers, in Ispahan and other cities
of the East, attain a controlling power over their audience, keeping
them for many hours attentive to the most fanciful and extravagant
adventures. The whole world knows pretty well the style of these
improvisators, and how fascinating they are, in our translations of the
“Arabian Nights.” Scheherezade tells these stories to save her life,
and the delight of young Europe and young America in them proves that
she fairly earned it. And who does not remember in childhood some white
or black or yellow Scheherezade, who, by that talent of telling endless
feats of fairies and magicians, and kings and queens, was more dear and
wonderful to a circle of children than any orator in England or America
is now? The more indolent and imaginative complexion of the Eastern
nations makes them much more impressible by these appeals to the fancy.
These legends are only exaggerations of real occurrences, and every
literature contains these high compliments to the art of the orator
and the bard, from the Hebrew and the Greek down to the Scottish
Glenkindie, who
“harpit a fish out o’ saut-water,
Or water out of a stone,
Or milk out of a maiden’s breast
Who bairn had never none.”
Homer specially delighted in drawing the same figure. For what is the
“Odyssey” but a history of the orator, in the largest style, carried
through a series of adventures furnishing brilliant opportunities to
his talent? See with what care and pleasure the poet brings him on the
stage. Helen is pointing out to Priam, from a tower, the different
Grecian chiefs. “The old man asked: ‘Tell me, dear child, who is
that man, shorter by a head than Agamemnon, yet he looks broader in
his shoulders and breast. His arms lie on the ground, but he, like a
leader, walks about the bands of the men. He seems to me like a stately
ram, who goes as a master of the flock.’ Him answered Helen, daughter
of Jove: ‘This is the wise Ulysses, son of Laertes, who was reared
in the state of craggy Ithaca, knowing all wiles and wise counsels.’
To her the prudent Antenor replied again: ‘O woman, you have spoken
truly. For once the wise Ulysses came hither on an embassy, with
Menelaus, beloved by Mars. I received them, and entertained them at my
house. I became acquainted with the genius and the prudent judgments
of both. When they mixed with the assembled Trojans, and stood, the
broad shoulders of Menelaus rose above the other; but, both sitting,
Ulysses was more majestic. When they conversed, and interweaved stories
and opinions with all, Menelaus spoke succinctly,--few but very sweet
words, since he was not talkative, nor superfluous in speech, and was
the younger. But when the wise Ulysses arose, and stood, and looked
down, fixing his eyes on the ground, and neither moved his sceptre
backward nor forward, but held it still, like an awkward person, you
would say it was some angry or foolish man; but when he sent his
great voice forth out of his breast, and his words fell like the
winter snows, not then would any mortal contend with Ulysses; and we,
beholding, wondered not afterwards so much at his aspect.’”[B] Thus he
does not fail to arm Ulysses at first with this power of overcoming
all opposition by the blandishments of speech. Plutarch tells us that
Thucydides, when Archidamus, king of Sparta, asked him which was the
best wrestler,--Pericles or he,--replied, “When I throw him, he says he
was never down, and he persuades the very spectators to believe him.”
Philip of Macedon said of Demosthenes, on hearing the report of one of
his orations, “Had I been there, he would have persuaded me to take up
arms against myself”; and Warren Hastings said of Burke’s speech on
his impeachment, “As I listened to the orator, I felt for more than
half an hour as if I were the most culpable being on earth.”
In these examples, higher qualities have already entered; but the power
of detaining the ear by pleasing speech, and addressing the fancy and
imagination, often exists without higher merits. Thus separated, as
this fascination of discourse aims only at amusement, though it be
decisive in its momentary effect, it is yet a juggle, and of no lasting
power. It is heard like a band of music passing through the streets,
which converts all the passengers into poets, but is forgotten as soon
as it has turned the next corner; and unless this oiled tongue could,
in Oriental phrase, lick the sun and moon away, it must take its place
with opium and brandy. I know no remedy against it but cotton-wool, or
the wax which Ulysses stuffed into the ears of his sailors to pass the
Sirens safely.
There are all degrees of power, and the least are interesting, but
they must not be confounded. There is the glib tongue and cool
self-possession of the salesman in a large shop, which, as is well
known, overpower the prudence and resolution of housekeepers of both
sexes. There is a petty lawyer’s fluency, which is sufficiently
impressive to him who is devoid of that talent, though it be, in so
many cases, nothing more than a facility of expressing with accuracy
and speed what everybody thinks and says more slowly, without new
information, or precision of thought,--but the same thing, neither less
nor more. It requires no special insight to edit one of our country
newspapers. Yet whoever can say off currently, sentence by sentence,
matter neither better nor worse than what is there printed, will be
very impressive to our easily pleased population. These talkers are
of that class who prosper, like the celebrated schoolmaster, by being
only one lesson ahead of the pupil. Add a little sarcasm, and prompt
allusion to passing occurrences, and you have the mischievous member
of Congress. A spice of malice, a ruffian touch in his rhetoric,
will do him no harm with his audience. These accomplishments are
of the same kind, and only a degree higher than the coaxing of the
auctioneer, or the vituperative style well described in the street-word
“jawing.” These kinds of public and private speaking have their use and
convenience to the practitioners; but we may say of such collectively,
that the habit of oratory is apt to disqualify them for eloquence.
One of our statesmen said, “The curse of this country is eloquent men.”
And one cannot wonder at the uneasiness sometimes manifested by trained
statesmen, with large experience of public affairs, when they observe
the disproportionate advantage suddenly given to oratory over the most
solid and accumulated public service. In a Senate or other business
committee, the solid result depends on a few men with working-talent.
They know how to deal with the facts before them, to put things into a
practical shape, and they value men only as they can forward the work.
But a new man comes there, who has no capacity for helping them at all,
is insignificant, and nobody in the committee, but has a talent for
speaking. In the debate with open doors, this precious person makes a
speech, which is printed, and read all over the Union, and he at once
becomes famous, and takes the lead in the public mind over all these
executive men, who, of course, are full of indignation to find one who
has no tact or skill, and knows he has none, put over them by means of
this talking-power which they despise.
Leaving behind us these pretensions, better or worse, to come a little
nearer to the verity,--eloquence is attractive as an example of the
magic of personal ascendency,--a total and resultant power, rare,
because it requires a rich coincidence of powers, intellect, will,
sympathy, organs, and, over all, good fortune in the cause. We have
a half-belief that the person is possible who can counterpoise all
other persons. We believe that there may be a man who is a match for
events,--one who never found his match,--against whom other men being
dashed are broken,--one of inexhaustible personal resources, who can
give you any odds and beat you. What we really wish for is a mind
equal to any exigency. You are safe in your rural district, or in the
city, in broad daylight, amidst the police, and under the eyes of a
hundred thousand people. But how is it on the Atlantic, in a storm,--do
you understand how to infuse your reason into men disabled by terror,
and to bring yourself off safe then?--how among thieves, or among an
infuriated populace, or among cannibals? Face to face with a highwayman
who has every temptation and opportunity for violence and plunder, can
you bring yourself off safe by your wit, exercised through speech?--a
problem easy enough to Cæsar or Napoleon. Whenever a man of that
stamp arrives, the highwayman has found a master. What a difference
between men in power of face! A man succeeds because he has more power
of eye than another, and so coaxes or confounds him. The newspapers,
every week, report the adventures of some impudent swindler, who, by
steadiness of carriage, duped those who should have known better. Yet
any swindlers we have known are novices and bunglers, as is attested
by their ill name. A greater power of face would accomplish anything,
and, with the rest of their takings, take away the bad name. A greater
power of carrying the thing loftily, and with perfect assurance, would
confound merchant, banker, judge, men of influence and power,--poet
and president,--and might head any party, unseat any sovereign, and
abrogate any constitution in Europe and America. It was said that a