Effect of the Introduction upon Audience

Many centuries ago a famous and successful Roman orator stipulated the purpose of an introduction with respect to the audience. Cicero stated that an introduction should render its hearers "benevolos, attentos, dociles"; that is, kindly disposed towards the speaker himself, attentive to his remarks, and willing to be instructed by his explanations or arguments.

Not everyone has a pleasing personality but he can strive to acquire one. He can, perhaps, not add many attributes to offset those nature has given him, but he can always reduce, eradicate, or change those which interfere with his reception by others. Education and training will work wonders for people who are not blessed with that elusive quality, charm, or that winner of consideration, impressiveness. Self-examination, self-restraint, self-development, are prime elements in such a process. Great men have not been beyond criticism for such qualities. Great men have recognized their value and striven to rid themselves of hindrances and replace them by helps.

Every reader is familiar with Benjamin Franklin's account of his own method as related in his Autobiography, yet it will bear quotation here to illustrate this point:

Of course an audience must be induced to listen. The obligation is always with the speaker. He is appealing for consideration, he wants to affect the hearers, therefore he must have at his command all the resources of securing their respectful attention. He must be able to employ all the legitimate means of winning their attention. A good speaker will not stoop to use any tricks or devices that are not legitimate. A trick, even when it is successful, is still nothing but a trick, and though it secure the temporary attention of the lower orders of intellect it can never hold the better minds of an audience.

"Surprises, false alarms, spectacular appeals, may find their defenders"

Surprises, false alarms, spectacular appeals, may find their defenders. One widely reputed United States lawyer in speaking before audiences of young people used to advance theatrically to the edge of the stage, and, then, pointing an accusing finger at one part of the audience, declare in loud ringing tones, "You're a sneak!" It is questionable whether any attempt at arousing interest could justify such a brusque approach. Only in broadly comic or genuinely humorous addresses can it be said that the end justifies the means.

When the audience has been induced to listen, the rest should be easy for the good speaker. Then comes into action his skill at explanation, his ability to reason and convince, to persuade and sway, which is the speaker's peculiar art. If they will listen to him, he should be able to instruct them. The introduction must, so far as this last is concerned, clear the way for the remainder of the speech. The methods by which such instruction, reasoning, and persuasion are effected best will be treated later in this book.

Having covered the preceding explanation of the aims and forms of introductions, let us look at a few which have been delivered by regularly practising speech-makers before groups of men whose interest, concern, and business it was to listen. All men who speak frequently are extremely uneven in their quality and just as irregular in their success.

 

One of the best instances of this unevenness and irregularity was Edmund Burke, whose career and practice are bound to afford food for thought and discussion to every student of the power and value of the spoken word. Some of Burke's speeches are models for imitation and study, others are warnings for avoidance. At one time when he felt personally disturbed by the actions of the House of Commons, because he as a member of the minority could not affect the voting, he began a speech exactly as no man should under any circumstances. No man in a deliberative assembly can be excused for losing control of himself. Yet Burke opened his remarks with these plain words.

 

"Mr. Speaker! I rise under some embarrassment occasioned by a feeling of delicacy toward one-half of the House, and of sovereign contempt for the other half."

This is childish, of course. A man may not infrequently be forced by circumstances to speak before an audience whose sentiments, opinions, prejudices, all place them in a position antagonistic to his own. How shall he make them well-disposed, attentive, willing to be instructed? The situation is not likely to surround a beginning speaker, but men in affairs, in business, in courts, must be prepared for such circumstances. One of the most striking instances of a man who attempted to speak before an antagonistic group and yet by sheer power of his art and language ended by winning them to his own party is in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar when Mark Antony speaks over his dead friend's body. Brutus allows it, but insists on speaking to the people first that he may explain why he and his fellow conspirators assassinated the great leader. It was a mistake to allow a person from the opposite party to have the last word before the populace, but that is not the point just here.

Brutus is able to explain why a group of noble Romans felt that for the safety of the state and its inhabitants, they had to kill the rising favorite who would soon as King rule them all. When he ceases speaking, the citizens approve the killing. Mark Antony perceives that, so at the beginning of his speech he seems to agree with the people. Caesar was his friend, yet Brutus says he was ambitious, and Brutus is an honorable man. Thus the skilful orator makes the populace well-disposed towards him, then attentive.

 

Having secured those things he proceeds slowly and unobtrusively to instruct them. It takes only a few lines until he has made them believe all he wants them to; before the end of his oration he has them crying out upon the murderers of their beloved Caesar, for whose lives they now thirst. Yet only ten minutes earlier they were loudly acclaiming them as deliverers of their country. The entire scene should be analyzed carefully by the student. It is the second scene of the third act of the play.

In actual life a man would hardly have to go so far as seemingly to agree with such opposite sentiments as expressed in this situation from a stage tragedy. It is general knowledge that during the early years of the American Civil War England sympathized with the southern states, mainly because the effective blockade maintained by the North prevented raw cotton from reaching the British mills. Henry Ward Beecher attempted to present the union cause to the English in a series of addresses throughout the country. When he appeared upon the platform in Liverpool the audience broke out into a riot of noise which effectively drowned all his words for minutes. The speaker waited until he could get in a phrase. Finally he was allowed to deliver a few sentences. By his patience, his appeal to their English sense of fair play, and to a large degree by his tolerant sense of humor, he won their attention. His material, his power as a speaker did all the rest.

The beginning of one of Daniel Webster's famous speeches was a triumph of the deliverer's recognition of the mood of an audience. In the Senate in 1830 feeling had been running high over a resolution concerning public lands. Innocent enough in its appearance, this resolution really covered an attempt at the extension of the slavery territory. Both North and South watched the progress of the debate upon this topic with almost held breath. Hayne of South Carolina had spoken upon it during two days when Webster rose to reply to him. The Senate galleries were packed, the members themselves were stirred up to the highest pitch of keen intensity. Nearly the entire effect of Webster's statement and argument for the North depended upon the effect he could make upon the Senators at the very opening of his speech.

Webster began in a low voice, with a calm manner, to speak very slowly. In a second he had soothed the emotional tension, set all the hearers quite at ease, and by the time the Secretary had read the resolution asked by Webster, he had them in complete control. His task was to make them attentive, but more especially, ready to be instructed.

 

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