The 'dreary drip of dilatory declamation' to which Lord Salisbury, in
one of his happiest phrases, once drew attention, shows no sign of
exhaustion, or even of diminution; and the Conservative chief has
followed up his admirable epigram by picturing the time when, all
rational discussion and all beneficial legislation being out of the
question, the House of Commons may become a mere mechanical puppet-show,
and may present the spectacle of 'a steam Irish Party, an electric
Ministry, and a clockwork Speaker.' It is certain that there never was
so much talk in the Lower House as at the present moment; but it is also
certain that the complaint of 'much speaking' has before now been
frequently preferred against both Chambers. Politicians have always been
a wordy race, and many a sharp shaft has been aimed at their besetting
weakness. A last-century satirist once wrote:
'"Do this," cries one side of St. Stephen's great hall;
"Do just the reverse," the minority bawl....
And what is the end of this mighty tongue-war?
--Nothing's done for the State till the State is done for!'
And, unfortunately, the quality of the talk has often been as poor as
the quantity was considerable. It was, we believe, a pre-Victorian pen
which perpetrated this couplet on the House of Commons:
'To wonder now at Balaam's ass were weak:
Is there a night that asses do not speak?'
Fun has constantly been made of the typical drawbacks of political
oratory--of the dull men, of the heavy, of the shallow, of the
unintelligible, and what not. We have been told how 'a lord of
senatorial fame' was known at once by his portrait, because the painter
had so 'play'd his game' that it 'made one even yawn at sight.' It has
been said of an M.P., that his speeches 'possessed such remarkable
weight' that it was 'really a trouble to bear them.' Of a third it was
written that his discourses had some resemblance to an hour-glass,
because, the longer time they ran, the shallower they grew. Of yet
another orator we read that his reasoning was really deep, his argument
profound, 'for deuce a bit could anybody see the ground.' Nor have
certain historical personages been able to escape the lash. When Admiral
Vernon was appointed to take charge of the herring fishery, Horace
Walpole wrote:
'Long in the Senate had brave Vernon rail'd,
And all mankind with bitter tongue assail'd;
Sick of his noise, we wearied Heav'n with pray'r
In his own element to place the tar.
The gods at length have yielded to our wish,
And bade him rule o'er Billingsgate and fish.'
From which it will be gathered anew that a somewhat bitter style of
debate is no novelty in this country--that strong language has been
heard in the House of Commons _ante Agamemnona_.
Within living memory a member has dared to suggest that certain of his
opponents had come into the House not wholly sober. Who does not
remember the epigrams which were based on Pitt's addiction, real or
supposed, to intoxicating liquors? Porson is said to have composed one
hundred such 'paper pellets' in one night, as, for example:
'"Who's up?" inquired Burke of a friend at the door;
"Oh, no one," said Paddy, "tho' Pitt's on the floor."'
After this, most other insinuations become almost harmless; and the
accusation of mere twaddling, such as that which was brought against Mr.
Urquhart in the following lines, seems, by comparison, trivial:
'When Palmerston begins to speak,
He moves the House--as facts can prove.
Let Urquhart rise, with accents weak,
The House itself begins to move.'
By the side of twaddling, again, mere rambling grows venial. One of H.
J. Byron's burlesque heroes says of Cerberus:
'My dog, who picks up everything one teaches,
Has got "three heads," like Mr. Gladstone's speeches.
But, as might naturally be expected,
His are considerably more connected.'
But it is against Parliamentary long-windedness, in particular, that
most sarcasm, whether in verse or in prose, has been directed. Everybody
remembers Moore's comparison of the Lord Castlereagh of his time to a
pump, which up and down its awkward arm doth sway,
'And coolly spout, and spout, and spout away,
In one weak, washy, everlasting flood.'
This has always been a stock quotation to use against oratory of the
'dreary' and 'dilatory' order. Then, Brougham had the good sense to
recognise his own sins in respect to 'much speaking.' _Punch_ made
someone ask himself 'if Brougham thinks as much as he talks;' but the
Lord Chancellor removed the pungency from gibes of that sort by writing
his own epitaph, in which he declares that
'My fate a moral teaches,
The ark in which my body lies
Would not contain one-half my speeches.'
It was asserted of Lord George Bentinck that true sportsmen 'loved his
prate,' because his speech recalled the 'four-mile course,' his
arguments the 'feather-weight.' One is reminded, in this connection, of
the preacher of whom it was observed that he 'so lengthily his subject
did pursue,' that it was feared 'he had, indeed, eternity in view.' And,
perhaps, a long discourse is none the more acceptable when it is
palpable to the hearers that the discourser has committed it to memory,
and is bound to go on to the bitter end. Possibly this adds to the
feeling of exasperation. Nevertheless, there are those who must learn
their speeches by heart, or else not speak at all. As Luttrell contended
that Lord Dudley had said of himself:
'In vain my affections the ladies are seeking;
If I give up my heart, there's an end to my speaking.'
However, it is, perhaps, scarcely fair of laymen to dwell too sternly on
the joy which so many legislators seem to feel in hearing their own
voices. Man is a talking animal, and can 'hold forth' outside the Houses
of Parliament as well as in. And though in the term 'man' we may include
woman, let us give no countenance to the old calumny, that the fairer
and weaker is also the more talkative sex. There are some old lines to
the effect that Nature wisely forbade a beard to grow on woman's chin,
'For how could she be shaved, whate'er the skill,
Whose tongue would never let her chin be still?'
There is also a certain epitaph on an old maid,
'Who from her cradle talk'd till death,
And ne'er before was out of breath,'
and of whom it was opined that in heaven she'd be unblest, because she
loathed a place of rest. But these flouts and sneers are as cheap as
they are venerable. Let the ladies take heart. Men have been censured
for their 'much speaking' at least as frequently as women. Prior
declared of one Lysander that he ought to possess the art of talk, if he
did not, for he practised 'full fourteen hours in four-and-twenty.' And
we owe to a more recent writer this paraphrase of an epigram by
Macentinus:
'Black locks hath Gabriel, beard that's white--
The reason, sir, is plain:
Gabriel works hard from morn till night,
More with his jaw than brain.'
It is well that satire should go that way for a change. All the talking
is not done by women or by Parliament. There is, at times, as much
chatter in the smoking-room as in the boudoir and the Senate. Tongues,
as well as beards, 'wag all,' when we are 'merry in hall.'