Beatific visions: Irons enough in the fire: Egotism and oratory: Hints on elocution

This sudden elevation to fame and fortune, for I had not the smallest doubt that so it was, this double-election of me, who alone perhaps had the power to execute such mighty tasks, was more than even I, sanguine as my expectations had been, could have hoped! To rout politicians and extirpate heresy, to pull down a minister and become the buttress of the church, to reform the state and establish the hierarchy, was indeed a glorious office! Honour and power were suspended over my head: I had but to cut the thread and they would drop and crown me.

But which should I choose; to be the pillar of the state, or the head of the hierarchy? a prime minister, or an archbishop? The question was embarrassing, and it was not quite pleasant that I could not be both.

I did not however forget that I had first some few labours to perform; to which therefore, with all my might, I immediately applied. My busy brain had now fit employment, politics and divinity; but was puzzled with which to begin. The table at which I wrote was richly strewed with invectives, now hurled at state profligacy, now thundered against the non-conforming crew. It was my determination to spare neither friend nor foe. I often remembered the Zoilus Turl, and his heretical opinions; and was ready to exclaim, in the language of the patient Job, 'Oh that his words were now written! Oh that they were printed in a book!' The dictatorial spirit of his reproof, for so I characterised it, had wounded me deeply; and, though I was not depraved enough to feel rancour, I ardently wished for the means to come, pen in hand, to a fair combat; for I feared no mortal wight: if I had, he perhaps would have been the man. It will hereafter be seen that my wish was gratified.

Some days were wasted in this state of indecision; in which I did little, except write detached thoughts and contemplate the sublime and beautiful of my subjects; till I was rouzed from this lethargy of determination by a hint from his lordship, that it was necessary for Themistocles to appear abroad again; lest his enemies should say he was silenced, and his friends fear he was dead.

A second political letter was then quickly produced; in which, with the fear of Turl before my eyes and carefully conning over his whole lesson, I profited by that advice which I half persuaded myself I despised. I wrote not only with more judgment but with increasing ardour, and the effects were visible: the second composition was much better than the first.

The dish too was seasoned to the palate of him for whom I catered. I peppered salted and deviled the minister, till his lordship was in raptures! It was indeed dressed much more to the taste of the times than I myself was aware. It was better calculated to gall, annoy, and alarm a corrupt system than if I had produced a better composition.

Not only the satellites but the leading men of opposition began now to pay their respects to his lordship. In his company I had the pleasure of meeting several of them, and of being frequently surprised by the readiness of their wit, the acuteness of their remarks, their depth of penetration, comprehensive powers, and fertility of genius. Mr. *** himself came occasionally to visit his lordship, so strenuous and sincere did he appear to be in his political conduct.

During this intercourse, and particularly in these conversations, I had sufficient opportunities of studying his lordship's character. He was selfish, ignorant, positive, and proud: yet he affected generosity, talked on every subject as if it were familiar to him, asserted his claim to the most undeviating candour, and would even affect contempt for dignities and distinctions, when they were not the reward of merit. 'A nobleman might by accident possess talents; but he was free to confess that the dignity of his birth could not confer them. He would rather be Mr. *** (Mr. *** was present) than a prince of the blood. He panted to distinguish himself by qualities that were properly his own, and had little veneration for the false varnish of ancestry. Were that of any worth, he had as much reason to be vain as any man perhaps in the kingdom: his family came in with the Conqueror, at which time it was respectable: it had produced men, through all its branches, whose names were no disgrace to history.' Then summoning an additional quantity of candor he added—'There have been many fools among them, no doubt; and I am afraid some knaves; but what have I to do with their knavery, folly, or wisdom? Society, it is true, has thought fit to recompense me for their virtues: such is the order of things. But I cannot persuade myself that I have received the least tarnish from any of their vices. I am a friend to the philosophy of the times, and would have every man measured by the standard of individual merit.'

These liberal sentiments were delivered on the first visit he received from the leader of the minority. Anger, self interest, and the desire of revenge had induced him to adopt the same political principles: anger, self interest, and the desire of revenge induced him to endeavour after the same elevation of mind. Esop is dead, but his frog and his ox are still to be found.

At this interview, the conversation turned on the last debate in both houses, in which the merits of the speakers were canvassed, and his lordship was severe to virulence against his opponents. He had harangued in the upper house himself; but as his delivery, for it could not be called elocution, was slow, hesitating, and confused, no one ventured to mention his speech.

This was a severe mortification. Among his mistakes, that of believing himself an accomplished orator was not the least conspicuous. Unable any longer to support their silence, he quoted his speech himself: though, with that candor which was continually at the tip of his tongue, he acknowledged it was possible perhaps for him to have delivered his sentiments in a more terse and pointed manner. 'But no man', said he, addressing himself to Mr. *** 'no man knows better than you, how arduous a task it is to speak with eloquence.'

Mr. *** was dumb: but the appellant and the appellee were relieved by the less delicate intervention of one of the company; who declared, perhaps with malicious irony, he never heard his lordship to greater advantage. 'Do you think so,' said the peer, turning to his panegyrist. 'No. I believe you are mistaken. I never can satisfy myself! I am so fastidious in the choice of my phrases! I dislike this word, I reject that, and do not know where to find one that pleases me. I certainly think, for my part, that I spoke vilely. The duke indeed and lord Piper both declared they never heard me greater: but I cannot believe it. Though Sir Francis, who went to the house purposely to hear me, positively swears it was the first speech I ever made: the house had seldom, I believe he said, never heard its equal! Indeed he called it divine; and some affirm he is one of the best judges of elocution in the kingdom. But I am sure he is wrong. I know myself better. I was not quite in the cue; had not absolutely the true feel, as I may say, of my subject. Though I own I was once or twice a little pleased with myself. There might perhaps be something like an approach to good speaking; I dare not imagine it was great. It was not, I believe, indeed I am sure, it was not every thing I could have wished. I am not often satisfied with others, and with myself still seldomer.'

To all this self equity and abstinence, Mr. ***, to whom it was again addressed, made no other answer than that he had not the pleasure to hear his lordship. But the candid peer, in imitation of the poets of the days of Louis XIV and Charles II continued to be the censurer and eulogist of himself.

To change the dull theme, one of the company inquired, what is the reason that many men, who are eloquent in the closet, should stammer themselves into confusion and incapacity, when they attempt to speak in public? To this Mr. *** returned the following acute and philosophical reply.

'A happy choice of words, after we have obtained ideas, is one of the most constant labours of the person who attempts to write, or speak, with energy. This induces a habit in the writer or speaker to be satisfied with difficulty. Desirous of giving the thought he has conceived its full force, he never imagines the terms and epithets he has selected to be sufficiently expressive. If, after having accustomed himself to write, it be his wish to exert his powers as a public speaker, he must counteract this habit; and, instead of being severe in the choice of his words, must resolutely accept the first that present themselves, encourage the flow of thought, and leave epithets and phraseology to chance. Neither will his intrepidity, when once acquired, go unrewarded: the happiest language will frequently rush upon him, if, neglecting words, he do but keep his attention confined to thoughts. Of thoughts too it is rather necessary for him to deliver them boldly, following his immediate conceptions and explaining away inaccuracies as they occur, than to seek severe precision in the first instance. Hesitation is the death of eloquence; and precision, like every other power, will increase by being exercised. It is doubtless understood that I do not speak of orations already written and digested; but of speeches in reply, in which any laboured preparation is impossible.'

His lordship applauded the solution of the difficulty, and some of the company observed the orator had given the history of his own mind.