The effect of this speech upon the auditory was such that it was only after some time had elapsed, and after repeated efforts, that Fox, himself a giant in eloquence, could obtain a hearing.
The character of Burke’s eloquence is well summed up in the following account, given by Wraxall, one of his contemporaries:
“Nature had bestowed on him a boundless imagination, aided by a memory of equal strength and tenacity. His fancy was so vivid that it seemed to light up by its own powers, and to burn without consuming the aliment on which it fed: sometimes bearing him away into ideal scenes created by his own exuberant mind, but from which he, sooner or later, returned to the subject of debate; descending from his most aerial flights, by a gentle and imperceptible gradation, till he again touched the ground. Learning waited on him like a handmaid, presenting to his choice all that antiquity has culled or invented, most elucidatory of the topic under discussion. He always seemed to be oppressed under the load and variety of his intellectual treasures. Every power of oratory was wielded by him in its turn; for he could be, during the same evening, often within the space of a few minutes, pathetic and humorous; acrimonious and conciliating; now giving loose to his indignation or severity; and then, almost in the same breath, calling to his assistance wit and ridicule. It would be endless to cite instances of this versatility of his disposition, and of the rapidity of his transitions,
‘From grave to gay, from lively to severe,’
that I have, myself, witnessed. . . . What he was in public he was in private; like the star which now precedes and now follows the sun, he was equally brilliant whether he
‘Flamed in the forehead of the morning sky,’
or led on with a milder luster the modest hosts of evening.”
A Frenchman gives a graphic description of one of his speeches. At first he was disappointed in his appearance.
“I certainly did not expect to find him in the British Parliament dressed in the ancient toga; nor was I prepared to see him in a tight brown coat, which seemed to impede every movement, and above all, the little hat-wig with curls. . . . He moved into the middle of the house contrary to the usual practice, for the members speak standing and uncovered, not leaving their places. But Mr. Burke, with the most natural air imaginable, with seeming humility, and with folded arms, began his speech in so low a tone of voice that I could scarcely hear him. Soon after, however, becoming animated by degrees, he described religion attacked, the bonds of subordination broken, civil society threatened to its foundation.... When in the course of this grand sketch, (to show that England could depend only on herself,) he mentioned Spain, that immense monarchy, which appeared to have fallen into a total lethargy: ‘What can we expect,’ said he, ‘from her?—mighty indeed, but unwieldy—vast in bulk, but inert in spirit—a whale stranded upon the sea shore of Europe.’ The whole House was silent; every mind was fixed; ... never was the electric power of eloquence more imperiously felt. I have witnessed many, too many political assemblages and striking scenes where eloquence performed a noble part, but the whole of them appear insipid when compared with this amazing effort.”
Burke was an extemporaneous speaker in the sense we have used the word in the preceding pages. He thought over the ideas of his speech as fully as his time permitted, and when he spoke, threw them into the language of the moment. At the conclusion of one of his speeches on the American question, his friends crowded around and urged him to write what he had said for the benefit of the world. He did so then, and also on five other occasions. Of the hundreds of other speeches he delivered only broken and imperfect fragments remain.