natural avenues to our existence by teaching that we breathe through
the trachea alone, in consequence of the muscle of the diaphragm
forming an air-tight partition between the upper and lower compartments
of our bodies; being ignorant of the fact of that other great tube of
the œsophagus, also opening into the oral cavity, performing the same
functions for the abdomen which the trachea does for the thorax. In
place of all these millions of openings through which we inspire and
expire, science teaches that we breathe through a single tube, into
and out of an _air-tight sack_,--a mechanically impossible proceeding.
By some ill-defined process, air is supposed to find its way into the
thorax and out again after depositing its oxygen in the blood-vessels.
Meanwhile, the balance of our body is left to shift for itself, not the
slightest particle of fresh food ever finding its way into any portion
thereof, except indirectly through the blood-vessels. To my simple
and untaught understanding it appears that if such a state of affairs
really existed--no matter how rapid the circulation of the blood--the
entire hemisphere of the abdomen would be given over to putrefaction in
an exceedingly short space of time.
Breathing, however, as we do, through the œsophagus, in like measure
with the trachea, and through every other opening in our epidermis in
addition, our body is constantly, uninterruptedly, permeated with fresh
air in its every avenue, vessel, capillary tube, cell, etc., which
sustains us by its life-giving qualities, and takes away with it the
constantly accumulating refuse.
The muscle of the diaphragm has been the air-tight door to the cell
of the condemned, whose portal has been guarded by ignorance and
every oppression, suppression, fear, superstition, anxiety, bigotry,
narrowness, prejudice, etc., that the human mind is capable of. It has
given us over to self-accusation as a natural and vital element. It
has shut us up into the narrowest limits, and kept us from communing
with the universe and the spirit of the universe. It has excluded from
us the grace, the beauty, the light, the liberty, the eternity of the
_spirit_, and prevented us from recognizing ourselves as integral parts
of the universe and of the causes which sustain it and sustain us. It
has prevented us from communing with them as free agents _in our own
name and by our own right_, without interference or the intercession of
any person or agency whatsoever, in the past or the present.
Have I placed too great a value on the discovery of the "voice of the
œsophagus"?
I feel convinced that the further exposition of my observations will
justify me in all I have said.
DIAPHRAGMS
As the trunk has its diaphragm, dividing thorax and abdomen, so do
all dual hemispheres representing a faculty or function have their
diaphragms, performing duties of an analogous nature. _Every_ opening,
in fact, has its diaphragm. Where there is none visible, it is formed
by contraction, whenever needed, and but for the time being. All
these various diaphragms, more particularly the one specially bearing
that name, are of the greatest importance in connection with vocal
utterance,--the sounds of the vessels of the abdomen being produced by
an expansion of the thorax and consequent contraction of the abdomen,
those of the vessels of the thorax by an expansion of the abdomen and a
consequent contraction of the thorax.
For the purposes of vocal utterance, inspiration into the thorax
produces an expiration from the abdomen by way of the œsophagus,
accompanied by vocal sound, while an inspiration into the abdomen
produces an expiration from the thorax by way of the trachea,
accompanied by vocal sound; the special _mode_ of inspiration
regulating the special sound to be produced.
This proceeding has reference to outgoing sounds only. For ingoing
sounds the opposite proceeding takes place; an expiration from the
thorax producing an inspiration into the abdomen, and an expiration
from the abdomen an inspiration into the thorax, both accompanied by
sound. Every original inspiration into thorax or abdomen, of course,
must have been preceded by an expiration from these parts, while every
original expiration must have been preceded by an inspiration into the
same. The utterance of every sound, therefore, requires at least three
movements on the part of the respiratory organs. But for the action of
the diaphragm, such sounds could not be produced.
All these various diaphragms fall or recede for inspiration, rise or
advance for expiration; the function of a diaphragm being exercised
in conformity with the manner in which it is approached. This may be
done by way of the œsophagus or the trachea, _i. e._, from the side
of the hemisphere of the abdomen, or from that of the thorax. The
outward movement of the abdomen during respiration, therefore, is not
caused by a pressure brought to bear on its contents by the diaphragm,
but it advances and recedes in conformity with a direct process of
inspiration and expiration by way of the œsophagus and the trachea; the
œsophagus and trachea sustaining each other and acting reciprocally
and in conjunction. This presumed pressing forward and subsequent
receding of the entrails, in consequence of the descent and ascent of
the diaphragm, presents a spectacle as repugnant as it is impossible
of execution; the extension of the abdomen, more particularly in
connection with special sounds, being so great that no pressure
whatever brought to bear upon the entrails could possibly produce it.
In place of this theory, now so generally entertained, the simple fact
obtains that the diaphragm descends in consequence of an influx of air
into and subsequent expansion of the thorax, causing a contraction of
the abdomen and an efflux of air from the same; that it ascends in
consequence of an influx of air into and expansion of the abdomen,
causing a contraction of the thorax and an efflux of air from the same.
[Illustration]
IMPRESSION AND EXPRESSION
All vocal expression is but an echo, the echo of a thought. Thought
_must_ precede vocal expression. It is not possible to produce a vocal
sound, not the simplest, without thought. There is no such thing as a
voice _ipso facto_, no more than there is music in a musical instrument
unless it is called forth by the hand of the player. Try it. Come upon
a sound suddenly, around the corner, as it were, and then express
it. Do not give it a moment's time for its development; that is, do
not give thought time to mould a form for it, but try to utter it in
embryo, so to say, the very moment you think of it, and you will not be
able to do it. You will not produce any sound whatever.
It is as necessary to form a mould for a sound as it is for any
shaped and moulded material article. Out of this mould it comes
forth in conformity with the form we have given it: harsh, abrupt,
discordant--rhythmical, beautiful, soulful. Such as the thought is,
so will be the expression. In ordinary conversation this proceeding
is automatic and mechanical, in elocution or song more or less
volitional and artistic. That is to say, for ordinary speech it acts
automatically, for artistic utterance it acts designedly. Materially,
the mould is convex, shut, for ingoing; concave, open, for outgoing
sounds. It expands for the former, it contracts for the latter. Vocal
sounds are a product of matter as well as mind; the act itself which
produces them being a connecting link between matter and mind. The
soul calls on the body to aid it in giving form to its desires and
intentions; the body instantly obeys and assumes the form from which
the expected sound or action is to arise.
No matter how great a soul may be, unless it can give form and
consequent utterance to its greatness, it will be helpless, far more so
than the simplest soul capable of giving expression to its simplicity.
Confined to our own limits, like the congenital deaf, our faculties
become dwarfed and useless. We do not know ourselves, do not know our
own souls. We must expand, go out into the world and take it in, if we
want to grow and give our faculties a chance to develop.
The greater our horizon, the more we can take in, the more we can
give out. Our soul is scarcely ours when enchained; the greater its
liberty, the more it belongs to us. Hence our just pity for the
congenital deaf, and our desire to assist them in their efforts at
expression. Those among them who are being, or have been, tutored,
receive their impressions through their eyes in the form assumed by
the speaker's mouth; the eye assuming the function of the ear. The
form assumed by their teacher's mouth, however, not being perfect, a
perfect impression cannot be made. Hence the expression of the deaf
is in conformity with the impression they have obtained: mechanical,
material, soulless. The exterior lines of the mouth of the teacher, or
any other speaker's from which the deaf draw their inspiration, are
those of the material side of the medal. Failing to see the reverse
side thereof, namely, the interior of the mouth, which is its spiritual
side, the lines of the latter make no impression upon them. These
fine lines on the interior side of the speaker's mouth, representing
the rhythm, the soul of the voice, not being seen, fail to make that
impression from which alone a soulful expression could arise.
That an _impression_ may be made through the eye will scarcely require
a defense, in view of the fact that in reading aloud or in singing
from notes the _entire_ impression is made through the eye. The reader
or singer, knowing the _value_ of every sound, is impressed by the
sight of a letter or a note as he would be by the sound itself. Not so
with the congenital deaf, who, being ignorant of such value, cannot
reproduce it. Nor will it be contended, I suppose, that the deaf
knowingly, designedly, or volitionally attempt to imitate the forms
assumed by the teacher's mouth, but it will be admitted that this is
done spontaneously, and that vocal sounds with them arise from this
imperfect mechanism, thus involuntarily reproduced.
With the congenital deaf, with persons attempting to speak a foreign
language, etc., the material form, as well as the spiritual impetus,
being imperfect, the expression will be in conformity therewith. In
how far and in what manner these investigations may become helpful to
the deaf will be a matter for the not distant future to develop. That
they will eventually become of the greatest aid to them I have every
reason to believe. Those who have made a study of matters of this kind
understand the difficulties surrounding the same. These difficulties
are increased manifold where the ear of the scholar absolutely refuses
to come to his own and his teacher's aid.
There are forms in which vocal sounds move, well defined and capable of
material representation, which are not fully expressed by the shape of
the teacher's mouth, nor are they thus expressed by impressions taken
by the aid of the camera. Regarding the latter, it is necessary to note
that photographic representations of vocal sounds are the result of
the combined action of the voice of the œsophagus and of that of the
trachea, of material and immaterial factors. Just in how far the latter
are capable of being thus represented must, as yet, remain a matter of
conjecture.
An attempt at reconciling photographic representations of vocal sounds
with the oscillations of the vocal cords is, at most, a one-sided
proceeding. To arrive at any correct conclusion at all, it would be
necessary to take the vibrations of the "vocal lip" and the frænum into
equal consideration.
Regarding our capacity for improving the natural physical and psychical
capabilities of the musical instrument of the voice, that depends upon
the manner in which we play upon it. As it yields to the slightest
pressure of the air, either for good or for evil, we must, above all
things, learn how to guide the tip of our tongue in touching its
aërial strings or keys, which are far more sensitive than those of any
instrument ever produced by the hand of man. It takes years to attain a
mastery over the simplest musical instrument; yet it is often expected
that the instrument of the voice should yield to the most careless
efforts made in the most wilful and indiscriminate manner.
The _thought_ of a sound, after _producing_ an impression, _guides_
the tongue in _releasing_ such impression. Unless the tongue touches
or moves towards the exact spot which will effect such release, the
expression or the sound will not be forthcoming. That the impression,
as well as its release, should be properly made, it is necessary to
_think_ of the sound which is to be produced, in the most precise and
correct manner. I cannot sufficiently impress upon the reader's mind
the importance this simple lesson conveys. If he will shape his manner
of vocal utterance, especially his mode of singing, in conformity
therewith, he will be able to improve his voice to a far greater
extent than he would by following any or all of the realistic methods
now in vogue. This _thinking_ of the correct sound must be carried on
for the _next_ syllable during the _production_ of the previous one;
and care must be taken not to think of more than one syllable at one
and the same time. Unless this is done, no pure sound will ever be
produced, the impression made by thinking of a second or third syllable
overlapping that for the next following; thus producing a muddle and
a discord. Rhythm being the basis for all perfect vocal utterance,
a rhythmic impression must be made in order to obtain a rhythmic
expression. This cannot be done when the former is not preserved in its
entire purity until it is released.
All of us, either during our ordinary speech or during our efforts
at artistic expression, are guided by the process just described;
unknowingly, unwittingly, properly or improperly, for good or for evil,
pursuing this same course. I cannot enter upon these matters to any
greater extent at this time, as it will be necessary to first treat of
other matters with which they are intimately connected.
THE PHONOGRAPH
In trying the experiment of coming upon a sound unawares, simply
endeavor to divest yourself of all thought, and then suddenly, without
any preparation whatever, say "a," or "b," or "it," or any word you
wish, and you will not be able to produce such sound or sounds--or,
in fact, any sound whatsoever. Or, you may get some one to, of a
sudden, produce sounds embodied in letters before your eyes; and you
will find you will be unable to utter them instantly. While you cannot
thus produce a vocal sound, or vocal sounds embodied in words, you can
produce _simple_ sounds without preparation. As they belong to but
one hemisphere, and are consequently not the product of a compound
impression, they may be uttered the very moment we think of them. While
they are being uttered, our organs of speech are "shut," far more so
than they are for _vocal_ sounds.
Consonant sounds cannot be uttered "vocally" without a vowel sound.
When they appear in a syllable their _accompanying_ vowel sound carries
them and permeates them. When they appear singly we add a vowel sound
to them. We say: "ar," "be," "en," "ka," etc.; unless we do so we
cannot pronounce them. Without such accompanying vowel sound they would
be inert.
"Simple" _consonant_ sounds are unaccompanied, not "leavened," by
a vowel sound. "Simple" _vowel_ sounds, on the other hand, are
unaccompanied by the element which constitutes consonant sounds; while
"vocal" _vowel_ sounds _are_ accompanied thereby.
The word "surd," used in connection with non-vocal sounds, does not
express the meaning of what I call "simple" sounds, as all sounds may
be either "vocal" or "simple," while "surd" applies only to special
sounds.
The necessity of making an impression for vocal utterance also prevails
in connection with motion. You cannot lift your right foot or your left
arm, or make any given motion whatever, the very moment you think of
making it. It requires some preparation; though you may lift _part_
of a limb without preparation. A part of a limb in this sense may
be compared to a _simple_, the entire limb to a _vocal_, sound. The
thought must make an impression by expansion or contraction, which,
when released, will express the desired motion; no matter whether such
motion is made unconsciously or deliberately. It is more difficult to
watch this proceeding in connection with sight; the operations of light
being so rapid that the expression seems to be simultaneous with the
impression.
Contraction and expansion for motion are of the same order as they are
for vocal utterance. In fact, both are so closely connected that we
cannot utter a sound unless it is accompanied by a motion. In stopping
the motion accompanying a sound, we stop our ability of uttering such
sound. I shall have occasion to call attention to numerous conditions
under which it will be impossible to utter sounds, either separate or
connected, by stopping the motion necessary to produce such sounds. It
is all due to the fact that we are homogeneous beings, _whose powers
are interdependent upon one another_.
The effect of the teacher's _voice_ upon his or her scholar's
organization is of a _similar_ order to that made by _thought_ upon
the teacher's own organization. That it is not of the _same_ order is
due to the fact that the organization upon which it is made is but
rarely constituted the same, is not as highly organized and developed
or "schooled," as the one from which the voice emanated. The impression
made by the singing-teacher's _voice_ is of the same order as that
made upon the deaf by the _features_ of their instructor which are
representative of his voice. We are living, breathing _phonographs_.
Every impression we receive through any of our senses must be made in
a material manner before it can have its immaterial expression. We
engrave upon living tissue, instead of on rubber or wax.
I repeat that, to obtain a pure sound, the _thought_ underlying such
sound or sounds must be _purely, clearly defined_. We cannot obtain
a clear impression from a seal whose engraving is blurred, or when
the sealing-wax is not in a proper condition of softness, or when the
hand is not steady which makes the impression. The same conditions
prevail with vocal utterance. Thought makes the impression; the æther,
passing through its narrowed passages at a rate as swift as thought,
creates the sound. The impression is made as _thought_ progresses, the
expression as _sound_ progresses. While the _impression is thoughtful,
the expression is thoughtless_. While we think for a sound during
the impression, we do not think for it during its expression; _but
we think, during the latter, for the next sound_. If this were not
the case, consecutive speech would be a matter of impossibility. The
artist's thought is embodied in the creation of the model for his
statue from which a mould is made. The casting of the statue, equal to
its expression, is mechanical, thoughtless.
In this connection the brain is of the same order as the tablets of
the phonograph. For ordinary use, however, the lines engraved upon it
are evanescent; they disappear again with the sound or thought which
releases them. Impressions, however, of a deeper nature remain--some
forever. The thought or sounds they represent, the same as the lines
on the tablets of the phonograph, are released but for the time being
and while such thought and sounds (through association) are recalled
to memory. The thought and sounds are evanescent, but the lines which
represent them remain for further use, the same as the lines on the
tablets of the phonograph and the strings of a musical instrument. If
we could read aright the lines which the voice makes on the tablets of
the phonograph or on the negative plates of the photographer, we would
obtain a correct insight into their character. These studies, when
fully developed, may lead to a comprehension of these hieroglyphics,
the same as the Greek translation on the Rosetta stone furnished the
cue to the comprehension of the hieroglyphics of the Egyptian monuments.
STUTTERING, STAMMERING
What is all this I am writing?
It is an endeavor at giving expression to an impression obtained of
a great subject imperfectly understood. The general ideas underlying
it all are on the lines of truth, but the contours are evanescent,
the lines representing special features ill-defined, while the finer
shadings are almost entirely wanting. It is a stuttering, a stammering,
in matters my mind is too narrow to grasp, incapable of comprehending
in all their bearings, impotent to take in in their ultimate relations.
Still, I am doing what I can with such material as nature has placed
at my disposal. Thought failing to make a clear impression, my pen, I
fear, cannot give a clear expression to it all.
Regarding the subject of stuttering proper, I must still preface it
with some remarks of a general nature. The influx and efflux of
streams of air into and out of our system, called breathing, is of a
very complicated nature. While we designate the same by the general
terms of inspiration and expiration, these streams are of as multiform
a nature as the ethereal fabrics they are intended to weave, whose weft
they form, and whose warp is of a more material nature. Call these
fabrics what you please--actions, speech, feelings, passions, fancies,
sensations, etc. While these streams form innumerable separate systems,
they are all subject to one and the same law--rhythm. The more perfect
the rhythm the higher the development and consequent performance.
While we always breathe, or should breathe, in the same rhythmic order
(the octave) for the sustenance of life in general, we unconsciously
breathe in various other measures for an endless number of other
purposes. Our dual nature, and the duality of the manner in which we
breathe, as a rule enable us to go through these various performances
without a disturbance as to the harmonious character of our existence.
It is a great orchestral performance by instruments of various kinds
and orders, each performer playing his own notes, specially adapted
to his particular part and instrument; yet all coming together in one
harmonious _ensemble_. This fact finds expression, clearly defined, in
the various measures in which metre and rhythm are clad for poetry and
song. The introduction into our system of a rhythmic flow of streams of
air for the various purposes of vocal utterance is conditioned upon a
rhythmic flow of thought.
To perfectly render a poetical conception by words either spoken
or sung, the performer's _mind_ must be in accord with the rhythm
underlying such conception. In that case only will he breathe
and, consequently, speak or sing in the requisite manner for such
production. I should have prefaced all this by saying that, in the same
manner as inspiration and expiration succeed each other in regular
rotation, so do the ordinary measures of long and short (¯˘), or
short and long (˘¯), in simple forms of poetry, succeed each other in
regular rotation; long (¯), or stress, always standing for expiration,
short (˘), or repose, for inspiration. _As a matter of fact, however,
inspiration is of longer duration than expiration._
All other forms are artistic, and are produced by a mode of thinking,
and consequent breathing, as variable as the subject may suggest or
demand. For ordinary speech, while the rhythm is not of the same order
as that for poetry, a rhythmic order of some kind must be, and always
is, observed. That the rhythm is not noticeable is due to the fact
that, while inspiration and expiration in prose writing and ordinary
conversation follow each other in regular rotation, they are not always
accompanied by sound. Hence the rhythmic irregularities of speech
exist only in appearance and in the inartistic manner in which speech
is generally, and prose writing often, produced. A person who speaks
and writes his language _well_, speaks and writes it rhythmically,
always. Good style is synonymous with correct rhythmical expression,
superinduced by correct breathing; rhythmic expression depending
entirely upon rhythmic impression, and the latter upon rhythmic
thought, accompanied by rhythmic breathing.