Читать книгу Extempore Speech: How to Acquire and Practice It - William Pittenger - Страница 7

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Although unwritten speech is popular and has innumerable arguments in its favor, many persons yet maintain that eloquence of the highest character cannot be reached without trusting to the memory and the pen. In vain we urge that it is more natural to find words at the moment of utterance; that a better framework may be constructed by confining preparation to it alone; that the hearer and speaker may thus be brought into more perfect accord; that this, in short, is the method of nature, which permits the solid part of the tree to stand through many winters, while its graceful robe of foliage is freshly bestowed every spring. With the emphasis of an axiom, opponents declare that the words of a great orator must be previously chosen, fitted, and polished.

A speech-writer is apt to have one argument drawn from his own experience which outweighs all argument. His own most satisfactory efforts are those in which nothing is left to the chance of the moment. But even experience sometimes misleads. We may be bad judges of our own performances. When extemporizing, the best utterances are often immediately forgotten by the speaker, whose mind is crowded with other “thick-coming fancies.” But in writing we may linger lovingly over each sentence, and return to enjoy it as often as we wish. If anything is imperfect, we can correct and improve down to the moment of speech. And while in the act of reading or reciting we are in a much better position to admire our own work, than when carried away by such an impassioned torrent as to scarcely know whether we have been using words at all. If our auditors declare their preference for the latter, we can find a ready explanation in their want of taste and culture.

It is not denied that great effects may be produced by memorized words. The popularity of the stage is sufficient proof of their power. Actors often cause uncontrollable tears to flow. If a man can write powerfully, and then recite well, he may greatly move an audience. Massillon, Bossuet, and our own John B. Gough, have each achieved great popular success in that manner. But while such men will be listened to with eagerness and pleasure, they will be regarded as great performers rather than as authorities and guides. They have placed themselves on a level with those who deal in unreal things, and must be contented to remain there. Doubtless, it is more noble to speak in the words that were once appropriate to our feelings and sentiments, than to deal only in the words of others; but the resemblance between quoting our own previously prepared language and the language of other persons is felt more keenly by the people than the difference between the two processes.

But even in momentary effect, declaimers of memorized words have been surpassed by extemporizers, as numerous examples demonstrate; while in power of thought and lasting influence the superiority of the latter is so great as to make comparison almost impossible.

The great examples of Demosthenes and Cicero are often quoted to prove that eloquence of the highest type must be written. Of these men it may be said that Demosthenes had an assemblage of great qualities that, backed by his tireless industry, would have made any method the road to brilliant success. But he did not always recite, and he would not have dreamed of using manuscript. Cicero was at least as great in literature as in oratory, and his speeches are now read as literary models. Some of them were never spoken at all. It may be allowed that he ordinarily recited previous preparations, but some of his most brilliant passages were purely extemporaneous. The outburst that overwhelmed Catiline upon the unexpected appearance of the latter in the Roman Senate was coined at white heat from the passion of the moment. Hortensius, the great rival of Cicero—perhaps his superior as an advocate—spoke in spontaneous words, as did many of the most eminent of the Roman orators, whose fame now is less brilliant than Cicero’s, mainly because no effective means then existed of preserving extempore speech. As an offset to the example of Demosthenes, the great name of Pericles may be fairly adduced. He did not write his addresses, and direct comparison is therefore impossible; but his speech established a sway over the cultivated democracy of Athens in the day of their highest glory more indisputable than Demosthenes ever attained.

The case in regard to the ancient world may be thus summed up: Manuscript reading was not considered oratory at all; all speeches were either recited or extemporized; the latter have inevitably perished, while some of the former have survived, and, becoming a part of school-book literature, have conferred a disproportionate fame upon their authors. An orator who was compelled to write his speech in order to preserve it had a much greater inducement to write than exists since the invention of shorthand reporting. Yet some speakers of the highest eminence did not adopt that mode, and others did not confine themselves to it.

In the modern world the weight of example is decisively on the side of unwritten speech. A few instances are all that our space will allow us to adduce.

Augustine, the great Christian writer and preacher, has not left us in ignorance as to which mode of address he preferred. He enjoins the “Christian Teacher” to make his hearers comprehend what he says—“to read in the eyes and countenances of his auditors whether they understand him or not, and to repeat the same thing, by giving it different terms, until he perceives it is understood, an advantage those cannot have who, by a servile dependence upon their memories, learn their sermons by heart and repeat them as so many lessons. Let not the preacher,” he continues, “become the servant of words; rather let words be servants to the preacher.”

This advice will be equally applicable to others than preachers who may possess a serious purpose. But the charity of Augustine allows of reciting under certain circumstances. He well says: “Those who are destitute of invention, but can speak well, provided they select well-written discourses of another man, and commit them to memory for the instruction of their hearers, will not do badly if they take that course.” No doubt he intended that due credit should be given to the real author.

Of Luther it was said that “his words were half battles.” No man ever wielded greater power over the hearts of the people. He was an excellent writer, and had great command of words. But he was too terribly in earnest to write his discourses. From a vast fullness of knowledge he spoke right out, and evoked tears or smiles at pleasure. His strong emotions and indomitable will, being given full play, bore down everything before him.

It may well be doubted whether the eloquence of Lord Chatham did not surpass, in immediate effect, anything recorded of Demosthenes or Cicero. His example, and that of his equally gifted son, thoroughly refute those who deny that unwritten speech may convey impressions as strong as any ever made by man upon his fellows. Some of his grandest efforts were entirely impromptu, achieving overwhelming success under circumstances which would have left the man of manuscript or of memory utterly helpless.

Of William Pitt, the son of Lord Chatham, who was likewise an extempore speaker in the best sense of the word, Macaulay says:

“At his first appearance in Parliament he showed himself superior to all his contemporaries in power of language. He could pour out a long succession of rounded and stately periods without ever pausing for a word, without ever repeating a word, in a voice of silver clearness and with a pronunciation so articulate that not a letter was slurred over.”

These two men were never excelled in debate. They had that great advantage peculiar to good extempore speakers of being always ready. Every advantage offered was seized at the most favorable moment. Time wasted by others in writing and memorizing special orations they used in accumulating such stores of general knowledge and in such wide culture that they were always prepared. They came to great intellectual contests with minds un-fagged by the labor of previous composition, and their words were indescribably fresh and charming, because born at the moment of utterance.

The traditions of the almost supernatural eloquence of Patrick Henry are dear to the heart of every American school-boy. While few specimens of his eloquence survive, it is sure that he exerted wonderful power in speech, and that he contributed not a little to the establishment of the American Republic. He never wrote a word either before or after delivery, and his mightiest efforts were made in situations where the use of the pen would have been impossible. The Virginia Resolutions, which mark a vital point in the history of the Revolutionary struggle, were written by him on the blank leaf of a law book while a discussion was in progress. In the whole of the terrible debate which followed he was ever ready, speaking repeatedly and mastering every opponent. He was a great thinker, but a meager writer. History and human character were his favorite studies, and these contributed to fit his wonderful natural genius for coming triumph.

Among the great English preachers of the past century two were especially great as measured by the degree of popular influence they wielded. We do not wish to convey Wesley and Whitefield in any other light than as effective orators. They each did an amount of speaking that a manuscript reader would have found impossible, even if the latter had been hindered by no other consideration. At the beginning Whitefield did memorize most of his sermons. Even afterward he treated the same subject so frequently when addressing different audiences that the words, tones, and gestures, as well as the outline of thought, became quite familiar. Yet his own testimony is decisive as to the fact that he was not a memoriter preacher in the narrow sense of the term. He says that when he came to preach he had often, in his own apprehension, “not a word to say to God or man.” Think of a person who has a fully memorized speech, which he is conning over in his mind, making such a declaration, and afterward thanking God for having given him words and wisdom! Whitefield’s published sermons show few traces of the pen, but bear every mark of impassioned utterance. He spoke every day, until speaking became part of his very life. Think what a command of language, and of all the resources of speech, he must thus have acquired!

Wesley wrote many sermons, and on a very few occasions read them. He used the pen almost as much as the voice, but he wrote sermons, books, and letters for others to read, not as material for his own public reading. He was less impassioned and overwhelming than Whitefield but his sermons were not less effective. They were noted for the quality of exactness of statement. In the most easy and fluent manner he said precisely what he wanted to say. He was never compelled to retract an unguarded expression into which he had been hurried by the ardor of the moment. Yet his power over his hearers was not diminished by this carefulness. Scenes of physical excitement, such as attended the preaching of Whitefield, were even more marked under his own calm words.

We will refer to another deceased preacher, who presents the strange peculiarity of being an extempore speaker whose great fame has been acquired since his eloquent voice became silent in death, and now rests upon his written sermons. Frederick W. Robertson labored in a comparatively narrow field and finished his career in youth, but he was truly eloquent. His example proves that extempore speech may be the vehicle of the most profound thought and be crowned with all the graces of style. These qualities have given his sermons greater popularity in high scientific, literary, and philosophical circles, than those of any preacher of the present day. How could such extempore sermons be preserved? A few were taken down by a short-hand reporter, and although Robertson refused to allow their publication in his lifetime, thus leaving them without the benefit of his corrections, they are almost faultless in form and expression. Others were written out by his own hand after delivery, but these are more or less fragmentary. Had it been necessary for him to write and memorize each sermon, he could never have pursued those thorough studies, described in his letters, from which he derived so much of his power.

The great trio of American political orators belonging to the generation which has just gone from the stage—Clay, Webster, and Calhoun—were extempore speakers; Clay and Calhoun always, and Webster usually, speaking in that manner. The latter, however, was fond of elaborating some striking thought in his mind to the last degree of word-finish, and then bringing it forth in the rush of spontaneous utterance. This did not make his speech composite in the mode of delivery, for these prepared gems were short fragments, employed only for ornamental purposes. Competitors of these great men who were obliged to rely upon manuscript or memory stood no chance of success in the fiery debates through which they passed.

From hundreds of living extemporizers we will call attention to but three, and these of the highest eminence. They are all distinguished writers and do not rely on the extempore method of discourse because of inability to succeed in other methods. These men are Henry Ward Beecher, Charles H. Spurgeon, and William E. Gladstone. The amount and quality of work of all kinds they have accomplished would have been impossible for speech-readers or reciters. Beecher sometimes reads a sermon or a lecture, but though he reads well, the effect is small as compared with the fire and consummate eloquence of his extempore addresses. Spurgeon has drawn together and maintains probably the largest congregation that ever regularly attended the ministry of one man, and he is purely extemporaneous. Both these men are subjected to the additional test of having their sermons written from their lips and widely published, thus showing that their popularity has other elements besides the personal presence and magnetism of the speakers.

The wonderful power of Gladstone has been displayed unceasingly for half a century. While eager critics, hostile as well as friendly, in Parliament or at the hustings, are waiting to catch every word from his lips, he does not find it necessary to control his utterances through the use of the pen. Day after day, in the midst of heated canvasses, he discusses a wide range of complicated questions, and neither friend nor foe ever suggests that he could do better if his words were written out and memorized. Even in such addresses as include the details of finance and abound in statistics he uses but a few disconnected figures traced on a slip of paper. Some years ago, when his modes of speech were less known than now, the writer asked him to give a statement of his method of preparation, and any advice he might feel disposed to convey to young students of oratory. The following courteous and deeply interesting letter was received in reply, and with its weighty words we may appropriately close this chapter: