Some years ago, a delightfully interesting book was written by Sir
Charles Bell on the human Hand. There might be fully as interesting a
work written on the mechanism of the human voice, in which would be
equally demonstrated the power, wisdom, and goodness of the Creator.
We offer a few observations on the subject. Until recently, there were
mysteries difficult to explain concerning the wonderful inflections in
the voice. Now, it is thoroughly understood how words are produced,
and how the throat is able to send forth a wide variety of charming
notes in singing. We begin by mentioning that Dr Mandl has devoted
himself to the study of the organs of speech, and from his work on the
_Larynx_ we give some interesting particulars. Investigators have long
been occupied with researches; but until they had seen the larynx of
a living being one thing only was proved, that the voice was formed
in the glottis. For fifty years of this century they were trying by
mirrors and other appliances to examine the interior of this organ,
but without results. Suddenly an inspiration came into the head of a
celebrated singer, whose name awakens charming remembrances among old
amateurs. This was M. Manuel Garcia. Ignorant of all the trouble which
surgeons had taken in order to observe the movements of the throat in
the act of singing, he conceived the idea of looking at himself. By
the help of two mirrors, the one reflecting the image on to the other,
he saw the whole of his larynx depicted. In ecstasy before the glass,
he determined to pursue the accidental discovery which had been so
long dreamed of. But the autumn had set in, and the sun's rays, which
were necessary to success, did not lend their aid. London with its
fogs forced him to try artificial light, the results of which were
unsuccessful, and therefore he could only profit by fine days; yet he
soon recognised how isolated sounds were produced. In 1855 the Royal
Society received some communications from him on these curious studies.
The subject was at once taken up with great activity, especially in
Vienna, where success was far from equalling the hopes of the doctors.
The caprices of solar light and the defects of artificial threw them
into a state of despair. By all means they must improve their mirrors.
Czermak, the Professor of Physiology at Pesth, taking an example from
the instrument used in examining the eye, the ophthalmoscope, had
recourse to a concave mirror which concentrated the light. From this
time there was no difficulty but to perfect the lenses. Czermak having
acquired great skill in the use of his laryngoscope, visited the
principal cities of Germany, where his demonstrations deeply interested
surgeons and physiologists. He was warmly received in Paris in 1860,
where he shewed not only the whole length of his larynx, but also
the interior of the trachea or windpipe as far as its bifurcation; a
spectacle truly astonishing to those who witness it for the first time.
It is not possible to examine the organ of the voice with the same
facility in all; a man must have had some experience before he can do
it.
A slight sketch of this organ will perhaps make the subject clearer.
From the breast there rises to the middle of the neck the passage for
the air between the lungs and the mouth; at one end it is divided into
numerous branches, called the bronchial tubes; at the upper end, like
the capital of a column, is seen the larynx, resembling an angular
box; strong cartilages make it very resistent; and the interior is
lined with a mucous membrane forming folds, named the vocal lips. These
separate, lengthen, or shorten in the formation of various sounds.
The largest of the four cartilages rises in an annular form, and
protects the whole structure. It is but slightly shewn in the neck of
the female, but strongly marked in the man, and is popularly called
Adam's-apple. Like everything else, the larynx presents individual
differences. A fine development is an indication of a powerful voice.
As the child grows up, there is a sudden alteration and increase of
size; but it always remains smaller in the woman than in the man; the
angles are less sharp, the muscles weaker, the cartilages thinner and
more supple, which accounts for the sharp treble notes in their voices.
Singing demands a different kind of activity in the organs from
speaking. In society, where education requires a submission to rule,
singing belongs to the domain of art; but in a primitive state all
nations have their songs. Musical rhythm drives away weariness,
lessens fatigue, detaches the mind from the painful realities of
life, and braces up the courage to meet danger. Soldiers march to
their war-songs; the labourer rests, listening to a joyous carol. In
the solitary chamber, the needlewoman accompanies her work with some
love-ditty; and in divine worship the heart is raised above earthly
things by the solemn chant.
A strong physical constitution and a perfect regularity in the
functions of the organs used in singing, are inappreciable advantages.
They should be capable of rendering an inspiration short and easy, the
expiration slow and prolonged; there is a struggle between retaining
and releasing the air, and with the well-endowed artiste the larynx
preserves its position, notwithstanding the great variety of sounds
which it emits. But the evolutions of the parts are multiplied, the
vocal lips vibrate, and the configuration of the cavity modifies the
sounds which are formed in the glottis, and determine the tone of the
voice. The most energetic efforts of the will cannot change this tone
in any sensible manner. Professors injure their pupils by prescribing
the position of the mouth, from which perhaps they themselves derive an
advantage.
It is interesting to watch the play of the organs by the help of the
laryngoscope, and see the changes which succeed one another in the low
and high notes. At the moment when the sound issues, the glottis is
exactly closed; then the orifice becomes a very long figure, pointed
at the two extremities. As the sound rises, the vocal lips approach
each other, and seem to divide the orifice into two parts; then as the
highest notes are sounded, there is but a slit the width of a line. The
vocal lips change like the glottis; they stretch out, harden, thicken,
and vibrate more and more as the voice rises. Women, who have a smaller
larynx and shorter vocal lips, can sing higher notes than men, with a
tone less powerful, but sweeter, more uniform, and melodious.
The ordinary limits of the voice comprehend about two octaves of the
musical scale: it can easily be increased to two and a half; but some
reach the very exceptional range of three, and three and a half.
Thus at the commencement of this century, Catalani astonished every
one who heard her, as a sort of prodigy. Suppleness and intensity
may be acquired by practice, as has been proved in the case of many
singers: the voice of Marie Garcia was harsh, but it became at last
the delicious one of Madame Malibran. In general, the natural gift is
manifested without culture; the child endowed with this great charm
warbles like a bird for amusement; a lover of art passes by, listens
with surprise, and promises glory and fortune to the rival of the lark.
Thus the famous Rubini won his triumphs. Occasionally the singer has in
a moment lost all power, and an enchanting voice will disappear never
to return; such a misfortune befell Cornelia Falcon.
Those who have watched the formation of vowels and consonants can
describe very precisely the positions which the lips, tongue, and
palate take in articulation. Yet almost identical sounds can be
produced with different positions. As we all know, the teeth are
a great help to pronunciation, but a person who has lost all his
teeth can modify the play of the lips and tongue and express himself
intelligibly. Actors imitate the voice of public characters so as to
make the illusion complete. The ventriloquist can make his voice issue
as if from a cavern. When misfortune has deprived a man of the whole
or part of his tongue, he can still hold a conversation, though the
sounds are never particularly agreeable. All this shews that there is
nothing absolute in the actions which form words, though in general the
same organs play similar parts. Those who were born deaf have ceased
to be dumb by interpreting the movements of the mouth with wonderful
certainty: they guess the words of the speaker instead of hearing
them, and so learn to speak by imitation, their speaking, however,
being seldom well modulated. There are now several institutions where
the poor creatures who have been deprived of one of their senses can
acquire a means of communicating with their companions without the
tedious intervention of writing. The master indicates to the child how
he must open his mouth, place his tongue and lips; he then draws the
pupil's hand over his own larynx, so that he may feel the movement.
Those who, like the writer, have seen this reading from the lips, will
be struck with the surprising delicacy of the impressions made on the
eye which has been thus cultivated.
In comparison with the human voice, that of animals seems poor indeed.
The barking of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the bleating of sheep,
cannot be called language, in the proper sense. Yet the larynx of
these creatures is on the same plan as that of man. Among monkeys the
resemblance is perfect. To all appearance the impossibility of speaking
is due to the formation of the lips and tongue. In 1715 Leibnitz
announced to the French Academy that he had met with a common peasant's
dog that could repeat thirty words after its master. In spite of such
an authority, we must always say when we most admire the intelligence
of this faithful companion: 'He only wants words.' So well endowed
with memory, affection, and intelligence, he can only express his joy
by sharp, short expirations of air through the glottis. Howling is a
prolonged note in the pharynx, excited by deep grief or pain. Yet they
in common with many other animals can communicate with each other in
a marvellous manner when they wish to organise an expedition. A dead
bullock was lying in a waste far from all habitations, when a solitary
dog, attracted by the smell, came and fed upon it; immediately he
returned to the village and called together his acquaintances. In less
than an hour the bones were picked clean by the troop.
Opportunities for studying the language of wild animals are rare: they
fly from man, and when in captivity they become nearly silent, only
uttering a few cries or murmurs. Travellers have sometimes been able
to watch the graceful movements of the smaller African apes. Living
in the branches of trees, they descend with great prudence. An old
male, who is the chief, climbs to the top and looks all around; if
satisfied, he utters guttural sounds to tranquillise his band; but if
he perceive danger, there is a special cry, an advertisement which
does not deceive, and immediately they all disperse. On one occasion a
naturalist watched a solitary monkey as he discovered an orange-tree
laden with fruit. Without returning, he uttered short cries; his
companions understood the signal, and in a moment they were collected
under the tree, only too happy to share its beautiful fruit. Some kinds
possess a curious appendage, a sort of aërial pouch, which opens into
the interior of the larynx and makes a tremendous sound. These howling
apes, also called Stentors, inhabit the deepest forests of the New
World; and their cries, according to Humboldt, may be heard at the
distance of one or two miles.
If it be ever possible to observe the play of the larynx of animals
during the emission of sounds, the subject will be a very curious
one. The difficulty seems almost insurmountable, as their goodwill
must be enlisted; yet M. Mandl, full of confidence in his use of the
laryngoscope, does not despair. After man, among animated nature,
the birds occupy the highest rank in nature's concerts; they make
the woods, the gardens, and the fields resound with their merry
warbles. Cuvier discovered the exact place from which their note
issues. They possess a double larynx, the one creating the sounds,
the other resounding them: naturalists call the apparatus a drum.
Thus two lips form the vocal cords, which are stretched or relaxed
by a very complicated action of the muscles. This accounts for the
immense variety of sounds among birds, replying to the diversity in the
structure of the larynx.
The greater number of small birds have cries of joy or fear, appeals
for help, cries of war. All these explosions of voice borrow the sounds
of vowels and consonants, and shew how easy and natural is articulation
among them. Those species which are distinguished as song-birds have
a very complicated vocal apparatus. For the quality of tone, power,
brilliancy, and sweetness, the nightingale stands unrivalled; yet it
does not acquire this talent without long practice, the young ones
being generally mediocre. The parrots which live in large numbers under
the brightest suns, have a love for chattering which captivity does
not lessen. Attentive to every voice and noise, they imitate them
with extraordinary facility; and the phenomenon of their articulating
words is still unexplained. It is supposed that there is a peculiar
activity in the upper larynx. As a rule, they attach no meaning to what
they say; but there are exceptions. When very intelligent and well
instructed, these birds--such as Mr Truefitt's late parrot, an account
of which appeared in this _Journal_ in 1874--can give a suitable answer
to certain questions.
Our notes on this interesting study come to a close. Man is well served
by his voice; words are the necessity of every-day life; singing is its
pleasure and recreation, whether the performers are human beings or
birds.