VOICE AND GESTURE.
Voice and gesture form the immediate link between the speaker and his
audience. The value of good quality in both is sometimes over-estimated,
though it is always considerable. A good voice, well managed, gives
powerful and vivid expression to thought, but cannot supply the absence
of it. Neither is such a voice indispensable. Many instances of high
success against vocal disadvantages might be mentioned; but these only
prove that other excellencies may atone for a single defect. We can
never be indifferent to the charms of a good voice, that modulates with
every emotion and responds to the finest shades of feeling. It has much
of the pleasing quality of music.
But this harmony cannot be evoked by merely mechanical training. To
teach the pupil just what note on the musical scale he must strike to
express a particular emotion, how much of an inflection must be used to
express joy or sorrow, and how many notes down the scale mark a complete
suspension of sense, is absurd: speech can never be set to music.
But let it not be inferred from this that voice cultivation is useless.
The more perfect the instrument for the expression of thought can be
made, the better it will be fitted for its high office. An orator may
profitably spend a little time daily for years in training the voice,
for it is a faculty he must continually employ, and none is more
susceptible of improvement. The passion evoked in animated speech will
demand for its adequate expression almost every note and key within the
compass of the voice; and unless it has previously been trained into
strength on each of these, it will fail or grow weary. The proper kind
of preparation operates by exploring the range of the voice, testing its
capabilities, and improving each tone. This work is not imitative or
slavish. It is only like putting an instrument in tune before beginning
a musical performance.
To give full elocutionary instruction here would be aside from our
purpose; but a few useful modes of practice may be pointed out.
Good articulation is of prime importance. Nothing will contribute more
to secure this valuable quality than the separation of words into their
elements of sound and continued practice on each element as thus
isolated. Phonetic shorthand affords a good means for making such
analysis, or the same purpose may be accomplished by means of the marks
of pronunciation found in any dictionary. As we practice these elements
of sound we will discover the exact nature of any defect of articulation
we may suffer from, and can drill upon the sounds that are difficult
until they become easy. When we have thus learned to pronounce these few
elements—not much above forty in number—and can follow them into all
their combinations, we have mastered the alphabet of utterance. It will
also contribute greatly to strengthen the voice and make it pliable, if
we continue the same practice on these elements at different degrees of
elevation on the musical scale until we can utter each one in full,
round distinctness, at any pitch from the deepest bass to the shrillest
note ever used in speech. This will bring all varieties of modulation
within easy reach.
Practice on these elements is also a very effective mode of
strengthening weak voices. By pronouncing them one by one, with
gradually increasing force, the degree of loudness we can attain at any
pitch, will be greatly extended. The amount of improvement that may be
made would be incredible if it were not so often exemplified. Every
teacher of elocution can testify of students, the power of whose voices
has thus been multiplied many fold; and almost equal advantages may be
reaped in persevering private practice.
Following on the same line, we may learn to enunciate the elements, and
especially the short vowels, in a quick, sharp tone, more rapidly than
the ticking of a watch, and with the clearness of a bell. This will
enable the speaker to avoid drawling, and be very fast when desirable,
without falling into indistinctness. Then, by an opposite process, other
sounds, especially the long vowels, may be prolonged with every degree
of force from the faintest to the fullest. Perseverance in these two
exercises will so improve the voice that no hall will be too large for
its compass.
The differing extension of sounds, as well as their pitch and variations
in force, constitute the _perspective_ of speech and give it an
agreeable variety, like the mingling of light and shade in a
well-executed picture. The opposite of this, a dull, dead uniformity,
with each word uttered in the same key, with the same force, and at the
same degree of speed, becomes well-nigh unbearable; while perpetual
modulation, reflecting in each rise and fall, each storm and calm of
sound, the living thought within, is the perfection of nature, which the
best art can only copy.
All vocal exercises are of an essentially preparatory character. In the
moment of speech details may safely be left to the impulse of nature.
Supply the capability by previous discipline, and then allow passion to
clothe itself in the most natural forms. There is such a vital
connection between emotion and the tones of voice, that emphasis and
inflection will be as spontaneous, on the part of the disciplined
speaker, as breathing. Rules remembered in the act of speaking tend to
destroy all life and freshness of utterance.
When bad habits have been corrected, the voice made supple and strong,
confidence attained, and deep feeling evoked in the speaker’s breast,
there will be little need to care for the minutiæ of elocution. The
child that is burnt needs no instruction in the mode of crying out. Let
nature have her way, untrammeled by art, and all feelings will dominate
the voice and cause every hearer to recognize their nature and
participate in them. In this way we may not attain the brilliancy of
theatric clap-trap, but we will be able to give “the touch of nature
that makes the whole world kin.”
If carefully guarded, the faculty of imitation may be of great service
in the management of the voice. The sounds that express sympathy and
passion are heard everywhere, forming a medium of communication more
subtle and widespread than any language of earth. From the example of
great orators we may learn what true excellence is, and become able to
reproduce some, at least, of their effects. It would be hurtful to
confine our attention too long to one model, for true excellence is
many-sided, and if we continually view only one of its phases we are apt
to fall into slavish imitation—one of the greatest of all vices. By
having many examples to look upon, and using them only to elevate our
own ideal, we will escape this danger. The models before us will urge us
to greater exertions and the whole level of our attainments be raised.
There are abundant faults to mar the freedom and naturalness of
delivery, and the speaker who would be truly natural must watch
diligently for them and exterminate them without mercy. The sing-song
tone, the scream, the lisp, the guttural and tremulous tones, the
rhythmical emphasis which falls like a trip-hammer at measured
intervals, are specimens of common, bad habits that should be weeded out
as fast as they push through the soil; and if the speaker’s egotism is
too great to see them, or his taste not pure enough, some friend should
point them out. Even the advice of an enemy conveyed in the unpleasant
form of sarcasm and ridicule may be profitably used for the purpose of
reform and improvement.
Should a conversational tone be employed in speaking? This question has
often been asked, and much difference of opinion evoked, but it may be
satisfactorily answered. The language of conversation is the language of
nature in its most unfettered form, and it should, therefore, be the
_basis_ of all speech. The same variety and character of intonations
used in it should be employed in every variety of oratory. But
conversation itself varies widely with varying circumstances. The man
talking with a friend across a river will speak less rapidly but more
loudly than if he held that friend by the hand. In speaking to a number
at once, the orator must, in order to be heard, speak more forcibly and
distinctly than in addressing one only. With this explanation, it may be
laid down as a safe rule that a speech should _begin_ in a
conversational manner. But should it continue in the same way? A deep,
full tone—the orotund of the elocutionist—will make a stronger
impression than a shrill, feeble utterance. And as conversation becomes
earnest even between two persons, there is the tendency to stronger and
more impressive tones. This same tendency will be a sufficient guide in
speech. A trained man giving utterance to a well-prepared speech, upon a
theme which appeals to his own emotions, will adopt those oratorical
tones which form a proper medium for eloquence, without a single thought
given to that subject during the moment of delivery. Begin as a man who
is talking to a number of his friends upon an interesting subject; then,
as the interest deepens, let go all restraint. As passion rises like an
inflowing tide, the voice will be so fully possessed by it and so filled
out and strengthened as to produce all the effect of which its compass
is capable. It will deepen into the thunder roll when that is needed,
and at the right time will grow soft and pathetic.
But above almost every other error that the speaker can commit, beware
of thinking that you must be loud in order to be impressive. Nothing is
more disgusting than that interminable roar, beginning with a shout, and
continuing to split the speaker’s throat and the hearer’s ears all
through the discourse. This fault is not uncommon in the pulpit,
especially among those who desire a reputation for extraordinary fervor
and earnestness. But it is the worst kind of monotony. The loudness of
tone, that applied at the right place would be overpowering, loses all
power except to disgust and weary an audience. It expresses no more
thought or sentiment than the lashing of ocean waves conveys to the
storm-tossed mariner. Have something to say; keep the fires of passion
burning in your own soul; learn the real strength there is in the
reserve of power; and the cultivated voice will not fail in its only
legitimate office—that of making the clear and adequate impression of
your thoughts and emotions upon the souls of others.
Elocutionary manuals properly devote much space to the consideration of
gesture, for the eye should be addressed and pleased as well as the ear.
But we doubt whether the marking out of special gestures to be imitated
can do much good. A few broad principles like those formulated by the
celebrated French teacher, Delsarte, may be profitably studied and made
familiar by practice upon a few simple selections. After that the
principal use of training is to give confidence so that the speaker may
be in the full possession and instinctive use of all his powers. Fear
often freezes the speaker into ice-like rigidity; and hearers are apt to
feel the same deadly chill when listening to some one whose dominating
sentiment is the fear that he may do something ridiculous, or fail to
win their favor.
The secondary use of training in gesture is to discard awkward and
repulsive movements. Timidity and fear may be overcome by a firm
resolution, and the object is well worth the effort. Bad or ungraceful
actions are far better in the case of a beginner than no action at all.
The saying of Demosthenes, that the first, the second, and the third
need of an orator is “ACTION,” does not fully apply to the modern
speaker. He needs many things more urgently than action, even when that
word is taken in its widest sense. But action is important, and when
graceful and expressive, it does powerfully tend to arrest attention,
and even to help the processes of thought on the part of the speaker
himself. We have heard several eloquent men who scarcely moved during
the delivery of an address, but never without feeling that good
gesticulation would have been a great addition to their power. It is
unnatural to speak for any considerable period of time without moving.
None but a lazy, sick, or bashful man will do it. Let the laziness be
shaken off, the sickness cured, and the bashfulness reserved for a more
fitting occasion! A man who is too bashful and diffident to move hand,
head, or foot in the presence of an audience should in consistency
refuse to monopolize their time at all!
Practice will usually overcome this fault. When a man has stood a great
many times before an audience without receiving any serious injury, and
has a good purpose in thus claiming their attention, and something which
he thinks they ought to hear, he will forget his fears and allow his
mind to be engrossed, as that of a true speaker should be, with the
subject he has in hand. Then all his gestures will have at least the
grace of unconscious and spontaneous origination.
But when fear has been overcome so that the speaker is not afraid to use
his hands, he needs to enter upon a determined and comprehensive
campaign against bad habits. If anything is truly natural—that is, true
to the higher or universal nature—it will be beautiful; but early
examples are so often wrong and corrupting that it is hard to say what
nature is: Nature may be a bad nature—the reflection of all that is low
and sordid as well as that which is high and ennobling. That nature
which is in harmony with the sum of all things, which is the image of
the Creator’s perfectness, must be right and good; but we must not too
hastily conclude that any habits of our own have this high and
unquestionable source. Hardly a speaker lives who does not at some time
fall into unsightly or ridiculous habits. The difference between men in
this respect is that some steadily accumulate all the faults they ever
have contracted, until the result is most repulsive; while others, from
the warnings of friends or their own observation, discover their errors
and cast them off.
A mode by which the solitary student may become acquainted with his
faults, and from which he should not be driven by foolish ridicule, is
by declaiming in as natural and forcible a manner as possible before a
large mirror. Thus we may “see ourselves as others see us.” Repeated
practice in this manner will enable you to keep the necessary watch upon
your motions, without so much distracting attention as to make the
exercise before the glass no trustworthy specimen of ordinary habits. In
speaking, you hear your own voice and thus become sensible of audible
errors, but the glass is required to show improper movements that may
have been unconsciously contracted. It is not advised that each speech,
before delivery, should be practiced in front of the mirror. It is
doubtful if such practice would not cherish a self-consciousness worse
than all the errors it corrected. But the same objection would not apply
to occasional declamations made for the very purpose of self-criticism.
By these two processes—pressing out into action as freely as possible
under the impulse of deep feeling, and by lopping off everything that is
not graceful and effective—we may soon attain a good style of gesture.
When the habit of suiting the action to the word is once fully formed,
all anxiety on that subject may be dismissed. The best gesticulation is
entirely unconscious.