And Another Thing | 21 June 2008

I recently gave a lecture, on quite a solemn subject, the connection between freedom and the ownership of property, to about 200 people, and was gratified — and surprised — at how well it was received. I think it was because I followed my own maxim, and spoke for only 25 minutes, leaving the rest of the hour for questions. It is a fact of life that any discourse, on any subject, whatever the occasion and whatever the status of the speaker, will always please if it is five minutes shorter than people expect. That is one reason why Lincoln’s Gettysburg address became so famous.

Of course what made it so unusual was that in the Victorian period orations of all kinds were expected to be long. Gladstone, on one of his Midlothian campaigns, was told by a working man that no sermon could properly be less than an hour in length, as it took at least that time to explain any important theological point. He bore this in mind, and not long afterwards, when addressing the Cabinet on the subject of his proposed Home Rule bill, his exposition lasted a full three hours, and was listened to ‘in perfect silence’. Of course, holding forth in the Cabinet Room required no great verbal force. But Gladstone often spoke for well over an hour in public, to audiences of 10,000 or more. How did he make himself heard? How did his vocal chords stand it? In the Middle Ages, Muslim clergy, sermonising to vast congregations in the open, were accompanied by a tall, barrel-chested figure with a powerful voice, who repeated fortissimo each phrase as uttered. This man was known as a Loud Speaker. The phrase has persisted into the electronic age. Odd to think that the diabolically amplified caterwauling issuing from pop festivals, which keeps awake decent people within a ten-mile radius, should have its verbal origins in ancient Islam.