CHAPTER XVII.
Meetings or public calls he never missed,
To dictate often, always to assist.
. . . . .
To his experience and his native sense,
He joined a bold, imperious eloquence;
The grave, stern look of men informed and wise,
A full command of feature, heart and eyes,
An awe-compelling frown, and fear-inspiring size.--CRABBE.
The next evening Clarence, mindful of Wolfe's invitation, inquired
from Warner (who repaid the contempt of the republican for the
painter's calling by a similar feeling for the zealot's) the direction
of the oratorical meeting, and repaired there alone. It was the most
celebrated club (of that description) of the day, and well worth
attending, as a gratification to the curiosity, if not an improvement
to the mind.
On entering, he found himself in a long room, tolerably well lighted,
and still better filled. The sleepy countenances of the audience, the
whispered conversation carried on at scattered intervals, the listless
attitudes of some, the frequent yawns of others, the eagerness with
which attention was attracted to the opening door, when it admitted
some new object of interest, the desperate resolution with which some
of the more energetic turned themselves towards the orator, and then,
with a faint shake of the head, turned themselves again hopelessly
away,--were all signs that denoted that no very eloquent declaimer was
in possession of the "house." It was, indeed, a singularly dull,
monotonous voice which, arising from the upper end of the room,
dragged itself on towards the middle, and expired with a sighing sound
before it reached the end. The face of the speaker suited his vocal
powers; it was small, mean, and of a round stupidity, without anything
even in fault that could possibly command attention or even the
excitement of disapprobation: the very garments of the orator seemed
dull and heavy, and, like the Melancholy of Milton, had a "leaden
look." Now and then some words, more emphatic than others,--stones
breaking, as it were with a momentary splash, the stagnation of the
heavy stream,--produced from three very quiet, unhappy-looking persons
seated next to the speaker, his immediate friends, three single
isolated "hears!"
"The force of friendship could no further go."
At last, the orator having spoken through, suddenly stopped; the whole
meeting seemed as if a weight had been taken from it; there was a
general buzz of awakened energy, each stretched his limbs, and
resettled himself in his place,--
"And turning to his neighbour said,
'Rejoice!'"
A pause ensued, the chairman looked round, the eyes of the meeting
followed those of the president, with a universal and palpable
impatience, towards an obscure corner of the room: the pause deepened
for one moment, and then was broken; a voice cried "Wolfe!" and at
that signal the whole room shook with the name. The place which
Clarence had taken did not allow him to see the object of these cries,
till he rose from his situation, and, passing two rows of benches,
stood forth in the middle space of the room; then, from one to one
went round the general roar of applause; feet stamped, hands clapped,
umbrellas set their sharp points to the ground, and walking-sticks
thumped themselves out of shape in the universal clamour. Tall,
gaunt, and erect, the speaker possessed, even in the mere proportions
of his frame, that physical power which never fails, in a popular
assembly, to gain attention to mediocrity and to throw dignity over
faults. He looked very slowly round the room, remaining perfectly
still and motionless, till the clamour of applause had entirely
subsided, and every ear, Clarence's no less eagerly than the rest, was
strained, and thirsting to catch the first syllables of his voice.
It was then with a low, very deep, and somewhat hoarse tone, that he
began; and it was not till he had spoken for several minutes that the
iron expression of his face altered, that the drooping hand was
raised, and that the suppressed, yet powerful, voice began to expand
and vary in its volume. He had then entered upon a new department of
his subject. The question was connected with the English
constitution, and Wolfe was now preparing to put forth, in long and
blackened array, the alleged evils of an aristocratical form of
government. Then it was as if the bile and bitterness of years were
poured forth in a terrible and stormy wrath,--then his action became
vehement, and his eye flashed forth unutterable fire: his voice,
solemn, swelling, and increasing with each tone in its height and
depth, filled, as with something palpable and perceptible, the shaking
walls. The listeners,--a various and unconnected group, bound by no
tie of faith or of party, many attracted by curiosity, many by the
hope of ridicule, some abhorring the tenets expressed, and nearly all
disapproving their principles or doubting their wisdom,--the
listeners, certainly not a group previously formed or moulded into
enthusiasm, became rapt and earnest; their very breath forsook them.
Linden had never before that night heard a public speaker; but he was
of a thoughtful and rather calculating mind, and his early habits of
decision, and the premature cultivation of his intellect, rendered him
little susceptible, in general, to the impressions of the vulgar:
nevertheless, in spite of himself, he was hurried away by the stream,
and found that the force and rapidity of the speaker did not allow him
even time for the dissent and disapprobation which his republican
maxims and fiery denunciations perpetually excited in a mind
aristocratic both by creed and education. At length after a
peroration of impetuous and magnificent invective, the orator ceased.
In the midst of the applause that followed, Clarence left the
assembly; he could not endure the thought that any duller or more
commonplace speaker should fritter away the spell which yet bound and
engrossed his spirit.
