An idea of the real meaning of after-dinner speaking may be obtained from
the feudal feasts of earlier times. The old lord or baron of the Middle
Ages partook of his principal meal in the great hall of his castle,
surrounded by guests, each being assigned his place in formal order and
with no small degree of ceremony. This hall was the main feature of the
castle. There all the family and guests met on frequent festal occasions,
and after the feasting and the hour of ceremony and more refined
entertainment was over, retired to rest in comparatively small and humble
apartments adjoining, though sometimes they would simply wrap their cloaks
about them, and lie down to sleep on the rushes that littered the floor of
the great hall.
After the "rage of hunger was appeased"--which then, as in our day, and
back even as far as the time of the ancient Greeks, was the first business
in order--came the social hour, which meant much to the dwellers in those
dull, comfortless old barracks--for the great castles of that day were
little better than barracks. The chief gave the signal for talk, music, or
story, previous to which, any inquiries or conversation, other than the
briefest question and answer about the food or other necessary things,
would have been considered inappropriate and disrespectful. There probably
was present some guest, who came under circumstances that awakened the
strongest curiosity or who had a claim upon his entertainer. Such a guest
was placed at the board in a position corresponding to his rank.
After resting and partaking of the repast, it was pertinent to hear what
account he could give of himself, and courtesy permitted the host to
levy an intellectual tax upon him, as a contribution to the joy of the
hour. Seated at the head of the table the chief, or, in his absence, a
representative, made the opening speech--the address of welcome, to use the
term familiar to ourselves. This might be very brief or at considerable
length; it might suggest inquiries of any of the company or merely pledge
an attentive and courteous hearing to whatever the guest might utter; it
might refer to the past glory of the castle and its lord, or vaunt its
present greatness and active occupation.
But whatever form it might take it was sure to consist--as addresses of
welcome in all ages have done--of two words, by dexterously using which,
any man can make a good speech of this character. These two words are "We"
and "You;" and all else not connected with these is irrelevant and useless.
They do not constitute two parts of the same speech but ordinarily play
back and forth, like a game of battledore. Who "we" are; what "we" have
done; how "we" saw "you;" what "we" have heard of "you;" how great and good
"you" are thought to be; the joy at "your" coming; what "we" now want to
learn of "you;" what "we" wish "you" to do; how "we" desire a longer stay
or regret the need of an early departure--all is a variation of the one
theme--"we" and "you."
The old Baron probably said all of this and much more in a lordly way,
occupying a longer or shorter time, without ever dreaming that he was
making a speech. It was his ordinary after-dinner talk to those whom chance
or fortune brought within his walls. Or, if he prided himself upon being a
man of few words, scorning these as fit only for women and minstrels, he
would simply remind the guest that he was now at liberty to give such an
account of himself, and to prefer such requests as seemed agreeable to him.
The guest was then expected to respond, though this by no means was the
rule. The host might wish first to call out more of his own intellectual
treasures. This he would do by having other occupants of the castle speak
further words of welcome, or would call upon a minstrel to sing a song or
relate some deed of chivalry.
When the guest at last rises to speak, it is still the two pronouns with
slightly changed emphasis that play a conspicuous part. The "we" may become
"I;" but this is no essential change. Where "I" or "we" have been; what "I"
have done, suffered, or enjoyed; how and why "I" came here; how glad "I" am
to be here; what "I" have known and heard of "you;" how "we" may help each
other; what great enterprises "we" can enter upon; how thankful for the
good cheer and good words "we" hear.
In the baronial hall, which foreshadowed the family fireside of later
days, the drinking was free and copious whilst the other portions of the
entertainment were of a general character and quite protracted. Mirth,
song, the rude jest, anecdotes of the chase or of a battle, or a rehearsal
of the experiences of every-day life, were all in place. Sometimes, the
guests, overpowered by their libations, are said to have fallen under the
table and to have slumbered there till surprised by the pale morning light.
There was little need of ceremony in such feasts, and there is little need
of formality or constraint in the far different festal occasions of the
present time.
When no guest, either by chance or invitation came to the castle, less
variety could be given to the after-dinner entertainment, and many
expedients were required to pass the long hours that sometimes hung heavily
on their hands. Then the use of "Toasts" became an important feature. The
drinking also was expected to arouse interest, but if it went on in silence
and gloom or amid the buzz of trivial conversation in different parts
of the hall the unity of the hour was marred and the evening was voted
dull--the lord himself then having no more honor than his meanest vassal.
But the toast--no matter how it originated--remedied all this. A compliment
and a proverb, a speech and a response, however rude, fixed the attention
of every one at the table, and enabled the lord to retain the same
leadership at the feast that he had won in the chase or in battle. He might
himself propose a toast of his own choice or give another permission to
propose it. He might then designate some humorous or entertaining clansman
to respond; he might either stimulate or repress the zeal of the guests,
and give unity to each part of the entertainment and to the whole feast.
For these reasons the toast rose into popularity, and is now often
used--possibly it might be said generally used if our own country alone be
considered--even when no drinking at all is indulged in.
Let us now take a look at an after-dinner hour of the present day; one
of the very latest and most approved pattern. The contrast will not be
without interest and value. The fare at the dinner is always inviting. The
company is large. Good speakers are secured in advance. Each is given an
appropriate toast, either to propose or respond to. Suppose it is a New
England society celebrating Forefathers' Day in New York. The chairman (who
is usually the president of the society) rises, and by touching a bell,
rapping on the table, or in some other suitable manner, attracts all eyes
to himself. He then asks the meeting to come to order, or if he prefers the
form, to give attention. Then he utters a few graceful commonplaces, and
calls upon a guest to offer the leading toast--not always the chief or most
interesting one. When one is reached in which there is a lively interest,
some distinguished person such as Chauncey M. Depew, the prince of
after-dinner speakers, comes to the front. We give an outline of one of his
addresses on Forefathers' Day, delivered December 22d, 1882, in response to
the toast, "The Half Moon and the Mayflower."
In reading this address the "We" and "You" cannot fail to be noted. Mr.
Depew said he did not know why he should be called upon to celebrate his
conquerors. The Yankees had overcome the Dutch, and the two races are
mingled. The speaker then introduced three fine stories--one at the expense
of the Dutch who are slow in reaching their ends. A tenor singer at the
church of a celebrated preacher said to Mr. Depew, "You must come again,
the fact is the Doctor and myself were not at our best last Sunday
morning." The second related to the inquisitiveness of a person who
expressed himself thus to the guide upon the estate of the Duke of
Westminster: "What, you can't tell how much the house cost or what the farm
yields an acre, or what the old man's income is, or how much he is worth?
Don't you Britishers know anything?" The third story, near the close, set
off Yankee complacency. A New England girl mistook the first mile-stone
from Boston for a tombstone, and reading its inscription "1 M. from
Boston," said "I'm from Boston; how simple; how sufficient."
The serious part of the discourse was a rapid statement of the principles
represented by the Dutch pioneer ship "Half Moon" and the Pilgrim
"Mayflower;" the elements of each contributed to national character and
progress. (For speech in full see _Depew's Speeches_, Vol. I.)
Other toasts and responses followed; eloquence and humor mingled until the
small hours of the night. Probably not one of that pleased and brilliant
assemblage for a moment thought that they were doing at this anniversary
what their old, barbaric ancestors did nightly, while resting after a
border foray or Viking sea raid.