Mr. Burlingame as an Orator

THOSE who were personally intimate, or even casually acquainted, with the late Mr. Burlingame will remember his ease and fluency of speech in ordinary conversation. But writing was labor and weariness to him. It seemed impossible for him to establish a rapid transit between his brain and the end of a pen. What he prepared in the way of official communication was graceful, strong, and effective, but it was generally, if not always, the result of dictation to an amanuensis, whilst he walked back and forth, phrasing aloud as though he were directly addressing an eager and interested listener.

Mr. Burlingame’s public speeches, whether in the legislative chamber, or the American platform, or as ambassador at the courts of the civilized world, were always prepared with great elaboration and with minute attention to details. But not one word was ever written. He possessed the rare and singular faculty of not only casting the general outline of his discourse, but of ordering also the exact style of his diction, without resorting to the use of note or memorandum to aid his memory. His habit was to form in his own mind a clear and accurate comprehension of the subject, to mark its natural divisions, and thoroughly analyze its sequences and connections, and then with utmost care to frame the sentences and paragraphs which should make up the speech. After silently and thoroughly digesting the whole subject, rhetorically as well as logically, he would repeat the entire oration aloud, over and over again. He used frequently to say “ that no one could tell how a phrase or sentence would strike the ear of an audience until it was tested by actual hearing.” And in the same connection he would add that he “very often changed and corrected the structure of a whole paragraph on finding that the way he had thought it out was not the way that sounded best.” Charles James Fox had no confidence in the effect upon the House of Commons of a speech that read well; and Mr. Burlingame seemed to have a similar intuition in regard to the requirements of both the popular and the parliamentary ear.

With a speech thus prepared, Mr. Burlingame’s delivery was exceedingly effective. He spoke with the unerring correctness of one who had thoroughly studied his part, and yet with the absolute freshness and apparent spontaneity of a man who had sprung to his feet with the abundant fulness of the subject and the uncontrollable impulse of the occasion. And he had the remarkable gift of retaining this freshness and spontaneity, no matter how frequently he repeated the speech. And the precision of his repetition was among the noteworthy features of his oratory. In what is termed a campaign speech it is difficult for the best filled mind and the readiest tongue to make more than one really valuable effort. The issues to be discussed on successive days, pending one election, are so entirely identical as to admit of but slight variation in the mode of their presentation by the same speaker. The prince of all campaign orators, Tom Corwin of Ohio, was in the habit of saying that “ a man who should attempt a fresh speech on every stump would never have any speech worth listening to.” While, therefore, it is to be expected that a general similarity will of necessity pervade the speeches of any man who attempts to discuss the issues of a political campaign, it was peculiar to Mr. Burlingame to deliver day after day the same speech exactly, verbatim et literatem et punctuatim. And he was wise in so doing. Any attempt to change the thread of his argument or to vary the felicitous illustrations of his rhetoric would have deranged the entire framework of that which he so fitly compacted and joined together. He always kept in mind that he had a different audience every day, and that no matter how hackneyed the speech became to himself it was fresh and new to each succeeding crowd of hearers But, in fact, the speech did not become hackneyed to himself, for the moment he faced a sympathetic audience he partook of their temper, grew elated with their interest, and forgot in the intensity of to-day’s magnetism that he was repeating the sayings of yesterday.

And it was the magnetism of Mr. Burlingame that made him pre-eminently effective before an assemblage of the people. What we mean precisely by magnetism it might be difficult to define, but it is undoubtedly true that Mr. Burlingame possessed an immense reserve of that subtle, forceful, overwhelming power which the word magnetism is used to signify. It was with him, as with every one that has it, quite independent of volition, not in any sense under his control, and not indeed influencing others until it had made him all aglow with its fiery enthusiasm. Si vis me flere, dolendum est primum ipsi tibi. Mr. Burlingame was not an actor ; he never simulated a part, and he never sought to stir his hearers with a passion or a sentiment with which he was not himself profoundly stirred in advance. In Mr. Webster’s famous description of Samuel Dexter, he says that “ the earnestness of his conviction wrought conviction in others.” It was so with Mr. Burlingame. What he believed he believed with such intensity, what he spoke he spoke with such fervor, that the unbidden impulse was " to believe and assent and be convinced,” we again quote Mr. Webster, “ because it was gratifying and delightful to think and feel and believe in unison with him.”

And this power which Mr. Burlingame possessed was not dependent on language, though of course it was greatly deepened and strengthened by it. But its influence was never more potential and commanding than at the capital of China, where, after seven years of brilliant success as American Minister, he was selected by the government to represent the Celestial Empire at all the courts of earth. He did not understand the Chinese language, did not attempt to write it, and never essayed to speak it; and yet, through the broken circuit of an interpreter, the current of his magnetism reached the Mandarins of Pekin as effectively as his living voice ever electrified a Boston audience in Fanueil Hall.

And this is no small praise. Indeed, Mr. Burlingame’s success at Pekin will always remain the distinguishing feature of his remarkable career. The eminence he achieved, the influence he exerted, and the reputation he acquired in China are almost without parallel. Prior to Mr. Burlingame, our country had been represented at the Chinese court by ministers of superior culture and commanding talent. Away back in John Tyler’s day we had Caleb Cushing, then in the early prime of an illustrious career. He went to China full of learning, a linguist of rare attainments, with diplomatic talent of the highest order, thoroughly learned in international law, and with an acute intellect singularly fitted to cope with and control the mind of the Orient. A few years later, in Mr. Fillmore’s Presidency, we sent Humphrey Marshall of Kentucky to represent us at Pekin. Less eminent in culture than Mr. Cushing, he is scarcely the inferior of any man in natural ability. To the talent of the Marshalls, conspicuous and brilliant through four generations, he added the blood and the brains of the Birneys. He went upon his mission when young, with military laurels won in the Mexican war, and with the further prestige of a distinguished career in Congress. Following Marshall we had William B. Reed of Pennsylvania, sent thither by his devoted personal friend, President Buchanan. Mr. Reed has long been a leading member of the Philadelphia bar, learned not merely in the law, but with generous culture outside the limits of his profession, and regarded by those who know him best as among the readiest and most acute of American jurists. Such were the men whom Mr. Burlingame succeeded in his diplomatic career. It is not stating the case too strongly to say that at no European court did we have superior talent during the service of the three gentlemen we have named. And yet the influence of these men, with all their conceded gifts and accomplishments, did not compare with the influence exerted by Mr. Burlingame. Indeed, it was the testimony of Sir Frederic Bruce, who was at Pekin as the representative of England, at the same time, that no foreign minister had ever gained such ascendency in the councils of the Chinese as Mr. Burlingame. His selection, therefore, for the most important mission which China ever sent to Christian nations was not matter of accident or luck, but grew naturally from the exalted estimate placed upon his ability and fitness by the leading minds of the Pekin government. As an example of the influence of a single man, attained over an alien race, whose civilization is widely different, whose religious belief is totally opposite, whose language he could not read nor write nor speak, Mr. Burlingame’s career in China will always be regarded as an extraordinary event, not to be accounted for except by conceding to him a peculiar power of influencing those with whom he came in contact; a power growing out of a mysterious gift, partly intellectual, partly spiritual, largely physical; a power whose laws are unknown, whose origin cannot be traced, and whose limits cannot be assigned ; a power which, for the want of amore comprehensive and significant term, recurring to our postulate, we designate as magnetism.

And this, in fine, was his power as an orator. It was not so much what he said as the magnetic manner of his saying it, that gave a peculiar charm and force to his words. Dependent on this quality for success, he sometimes failed, for “lack of inspiration,” as he termed it. The very same speech on one occasion would carry his hearers to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, and the triumph be repeated perhaps a score of times ; and yet another effort, and he would fail. He could not get himself en rapport with his audience, and the whole speech would prove the dreariest of drudgery to him. His success in 1856, advocating the cause of Fremont, and again in 1860 as the supporter of Lincoln, was a leading feature in each of those memorable campaigns. In New England, in the Middle States, in the West, he was equally and immensely popular. It is perhaps not extravagant to assert that, so far as public speaking contributed to Republican victory in the nation, no one bore a more conspicuous and influential part than Mr. Burlingame. And seven years’ absence from American association had not diminished his power over American audiences. His addresses, made when he passed through our country in 1868, as the head of the Chinese Embassy, were full of his old force and fire. And had he lived to realize his cherished desire of once more participating in the public and political affairs of his native land, he would have taken and maintained a foremost position. But this final triumph was not reserved for him. His career closed suddenly, and, to mortal vision, prematurely. He died at the early age of forty-seven, lamented, honored, beloved, on three continents.