But the art of public speaking, simple as it may seem to be, is at a very low ebb. Go to any public function you like, nay, go to church, not chapel, and ask yourself what these people can be thinking of to stand up and try the nerves of their fellows with such mumblings and thought-mush. I know that there are some voices to which it is a sheer delight to listen, even if what they say is not worth hearing. At any rate, they do take the pains to make themselves audible, even if they cannot impart any useful information, and if it be in church it will hardly matter, because although all can hear, very few will heed, and unless the sermon is reported and gets into the press the preacher may say very nearly what he likes, and his congregation will not notice anything amiss.
Fortunately the “Platform,” with a capital P, as lecturers love to designate their own special métier, is not at all likely to fail in making itself heard or understood. For in the first place, before a lecturer can hope to get anything like a decent fee or a sufficient number of engagements to-day he must have special qualifications, and especially he must speak so as to be heard and understood. Either he has made some subject peculiarly his own and is known as an authority upon that subject, or he is a traveller with special gifts of description and able to visualise the scenes he has witnessed for his audience, or he is a humorist, rarest and best gift of all. Were I offered my choice of a fairy’s catalogue of offerings to men I would choose before all others the power of making men and women laugh—it takes but very little talent to make them weep—I had almost said that anyone can perform that sad feat. I look back upon the few occasions when in freakish mood I have got my audience laughing, and becoming imbued with their merry spirit have gone on in the same direction until we were all laughing together; I look back upon them, I say, as the golden hours of my life, hours that I rejoice to have lived and covet to live again, only that I know it to be impossible.
Let me recall one somewhat similar experience, but pray do not accuse me of irreverence in telling it since nothing can be farther from my thoughts. In the earlier days of my lecturing I often used to be engaged upon the understanding that I would preach in the local chapel or hall on the Sunday, the lecture being arranged for either Saturday or Monday night. On one such occasion I was booked to lecture in Scotland (never mind the town) on a certain Monday, on condition that I preached in the church the preceding morning and evening. From motives of economy, for it was in the early days, I travelled up by the night train, third class, and had the usual weary, cold, and sleepless experience consequent upon a winter night, spent in a corridor compartment with three others. I arrived at the church at about 9.30 and was shown by the caretaker into the vestry, where I had a wash and brush up and then laid down upon the sofa and went sound asleep.
Shortly after ten I was aroused by the pastor, and at first had some little difficulty in remembering where I was and what was expected of me. But the little rest had done wonders for me, and in a few minutes I felt quite ready for anything, my usual good spirits having fully returned. The pastor then timidly enquired what my subject would be for the morning’s address, and I frankly replied that I did not know. My mind was a perfect blank as to topics, no new experience for me in such a position, since if I did prepare an address it was never of any use, never the one I delivered. He looked at me curiously when I told him this, thinking no doubt that I was treating my responsibilities with great levity, and then enquired if I had any wishes about the order of service. I told him that I wished he would do everything but the address.
At this he begged me most earnestly to let him off, telling me that he had been promising himself a rare treat and, well, he said many other things that I won’t record for modesty’s sake. These words had the effect of making me consent, and I selected the hymns, portions, etc., going into the pulpit a few minutes before the time in order to give the congregation what they always enjoy, a good look at the man who is going to address them, without their being able to reply, for half an hour or so. I sat in that elevated position looking straight down the church into the street, watching the people streaming in. And I got my subject—oh, yes, I got it splendidly. For the good folk approached the kirk door greeting one another with smiling faces, and pleasant words. In fact, all seemed as if the glorious morning had put them in the best of humours with all the world. And then they turned into the cool shade of the church door and a gloom fell upon their faces, I might reasonably say a blight, as if the news had just reached them of the loss of all they held dear. That sad frame persisted after they had taken their seats, in almost ludicrous contrast to the bright faces outside, still coming in and presently to assume the same lugubrious cast.
The voluntary ceased, the service commenced. I had chosen joyful hymns and psalms, but they were sung like dirges. At last I came to the sermon, and facing my audience squarely, without opening the Bible, said in a high, ecstatic voice,
“Oh, enter into His gates with thanksgiving,
And into His courts with praise.”
Another pause, and then I went on to ask them in an easy, colloquial tone, smilingly, what was the matter with them. I spoke of the amazing contrast between their faces outside the building and within, and assumed that they had all been suddenly reminded of some poignant sorrow. And soon, with all the sarcasm I could muster, I lashed their assumed lugubriousness. They sat and stared as if uncertain whether they could possibly be hearing aright, and once a middle-aged man burst into an outrageous chuckle which very nearly infected the congregation. As I proceeded, the time flying all too rapidly, I had the satisfaction of seeing a natural expression beaming on all the faces, and when I concluded with the splendid words,
“In His presence is fulness of joy!
And at His right hand are pleasures for evermore,”
I could see that nothing but tradition, steel-hard tradition, prevented them from sending up a great shout of “Hallelujah.”