by making the respective parts rigid. Regarding this matter of _making
parts rigid_, I want to make the following explanation, illustrating
the physiological process going on in so doing.
While a part is rendered inactive, placed _hors de combat_, so to say,
by the application of mechanical pressure, the same result can also
be obtained by making such part rigid. To accomplish this, it is but
necessary to positively _think_ of such part, to associate your mind
with it, which is equal to an act of expiration when it relates to the
abdomen, and inspiration when it relates to the thorax. By positively
_thinking_ of the abdomen, which is equal to an expiration therefrom,
you will be unable to utter the stress or _rise_ of the voice, which is
the product of an expiration from the stomach; by positively thinking
of the thorax, which is equal to an inspiration into the same, you will
be unable to utter the _fall_ of the voice, which is the product of an
inspiration into the chest. The reason is obvious: _We cannot utter
sound in the same direction in which we breathe; sound and respiration
always following opposite directions._
For the purpose of making satisfactory experiments in this respect,
as, in fact, in every other respect in connection with these
investigations, it is necessary that inspiration or expiration, as the
case may be, should be _continuous_, that is, that either the one or
the other should be persisted in until a result is obtained; namely,
until an apparent increase or decrease in the size of the part of the
body under consideration, or an inflation or depletion of the same,
will be perceptible. Though it may be difficult at first, a person will
soon learn to distinguish between an increase or a swelling of a part,
which means inspiration into the same, and a decrease or a shrinking or
diminution thereof, which means expiration from the same.
[Illustration]
PHYSIOLOGY OF THE VOICE IN RELATION TO WORDS
In the further pursuance of the questions heretofore under
consideration, I shall now enter upon a theme of a still more subtle
nature. The question of metre, rhythm, accent, etc., is one which is
involved in much mystery; nor can I find that many persons entertain
precisely the same ideas as being expressed by these terms.
_Accepting as a fundamental principle the fact that our various
spiritual conditions are based upon our ability to extract the
necessary inspiration therefor from the air, which bears the same
relation to our spiritual existence that the earth does to that of
our body (in furnishing it with such elements as it requires for its
maintenance), I contend that we breathe for speech in as many different
modes as there are parts or elements in its composition._ This
proposition does not necessarily conflict with the fact that we also
draw elements from the air, as analytical chemistry has proven, which
serve for the construction of matter; such elements, however, instead
of being strictly material, as they have every appearance of being,
are, in reality, the spiritual complements of the matter they help to
form; matter and spirit going hand in hand in our entire composition.
In reading poetry, or giving expression to the same in song (I repeat),
we do so in a fourfold manner:
First: as to metre or time (the "measure" of time).
Second: as to the rhythm or the music pervading the voice, produced by
its rise and fall, also called cadence, or the idiomatic expression of
a language.
Third: as to accent.
Fourth: as to emphasis.
The _metre_ is produced by an artistic mode of breathing (in addition
to our ordinary and permanent mode), marked by regular repetitions of
a given order of inspirations and expirations which can be "measured"
as to the time consumed in their enunciation, and are therefore, not
incorrectly, called "feet."
The metre is a product or outcome of the _will_, a force which presides
over material-spiritual issues. It changes with our inclinations
and moods, and is expressive thereof. We can pass from one metre to
another at will, as the occasion may require. It is the _material_
part of speech, as we can measure it and account for it as to time
in space, supposing time to be incorporated. The metre expressive of
joy, for instance, being quick, that of sorrow slow; the former, if
incorporated, would take up less space than the latter, in the same
proportion as it consumes less time in being uttered.
The _rhythm_ is that characteristic quality which distinguishes one
language from another, the basis upon which it is built and around
which all its elementary words cluster; its fundamental principle,
its idiomatic expression, the music pervading its every syllable; the
inflection, the rise and fall, the cadence of the voice; the spirit of
a language, which is permanent and unchangeable.
The rhythm is an outcome of the _mind_; an influence which presides
over _spiritual-material_ issues. As _harmony is the first law of
nature_, so is that harmony which pervades our native tongue the law
upon which our individual and national characteristic expressions and
actions are based. We exercise it intuitively. It is innate in, and
unalterably connected with, our native tongue. It cannot be eliminated
therefrom, or put into it by a foreigner, except when acquired in
childhood, or by the study of such principles as I have attempted to
lay down in this book. It is inborn in every language as its spirit,
and is as enduring as that language itself. It is not subject to change
by the dictates of the will.
The _accent_ represents that element which distinguishes between the
character and meaning of words, and has no reference to parts thereof
or their relation to other words; the same word being pronounced in as
many different ways and with as many different _accents_ as it denotes
different senses or meanings; while _different words, embodying the
same idea, are uttered with precisely the same accent_.
The accent or intonation is an outcome of the _soul_; an influence
which dominates over our spiritual nature and over _spiritual issues_.
"The rose by any other name would smell as sweet." It is equally true
that any other name given to the rose would be pronounced by the same
indefinable intonation as its present name, with that same embodiment
of the mystery of the soul signifying the flower called "a rose."
The _word_ "rose," which is the same, or nearly the same, in so many
different languages, though possessing the same _spiritual_ elements in
them all, varies as to measure and rhythm in every one of them.
If the influence of the soul, embodying an idea in a word, through the
intonation we give it, were not the same for _all_ languages, it would
not be possible to translate poetry, and retain, to some extent at
least, that which is commonly called "the rhythm" of the original; nor
would it be possible to sing a song in another language, and retain,
even approximately, the spiritual elements of the original. We would
not be impressed with it, would not be _thrilled_ by it.
_The intonation of a word, expressive of the soul in the embodiment
of an idea, is a bond which unites all humanity_; not alone the human
souls of any special day and generation, but of all days and all
generations. But for the fact that the Greek soul is in us to-day,
that the native intonation of _their_ words is native with us and with
_all_ mankind, their _dead_ tongue would be _absolutely_ dead for us.
We could find no meaning in it, no beauty, no spirit, no soul. Think
of the melody pervading the soul of Homer and emanating from _his_
lyre still living and finding an echo in _our_ souls! Think of the
harmony pervading the soul of Schiller or Tennyson continuing to live,
and pervading the souls of the latest generations! Nor could Luther's
famous translation of the Bible or its beautiful English version ever
have been produced, and after production have made the same impression
on the mind, or been read with the same expression of the voice, as the
words of this same Bible made upon the minds, and were expressed by the
voice, of its original composers, but for the fact _that words of the
same meaning_, _in every language_ (aside from metre and rhythm), _are
pronounced precisely the same_. It is this universal comprehension of
their beauty which gives immortality to the strains of great singers,
whether they appear in their original form or are translated (that is,
if well translated) into foreign languages, or are set to music and
sung either in the one or the other.
If the performances of creating original compositions and their
translations were of a mere mechanical order, or were explainable from
a mechanical standpoint, no such soul effects could ever be produced.
The word, as such, is a _mechanical_ contrivance; but its intonation
is of the soul, being an emanation of the idea it represents. If our
ears were so schooled that by _their "intonation" we could comprehend
the meaning of words_, we could understand every language upon simply
hearing it spoken.
The people of all nations, through their eyesight, form the same
conception of an object; the same being impressed upon all minds in the
same manner. When a picture thus impressed upon the mind (brain) is
reproduced by, or is translated into, vocal utterance, it continues
to remain the same with all people. This does not refer to impressions
made by material objects alone, but extends to immaterial subjects as
well. Hence, knowing the meaning of a word in one language, we can at
once conjure up the idea it represents in all languages.
The sight, however, not only impresses our minds through the eye with
a given picture, but, as there is a correlation existing between all
our faculties, it also impresses the voice with a given inflection,
expressive of such impression upon the mind, and of no other
impression; any given sight or mental conception of any kind always
producing an inflection of the voice corresponding therewith. The vocal
expression of an idea might thus be called an _audible_ "photographic"
reproduction of the impression made by the original object upon the
eyesight, and, respectively, upon the brain, or it might be called a
phonographic reproduction thereof, supposing that the picture of an
object could be impressed upon the wax and could thus become audible.
How such a reproduction may be made from an _immaterial_ subject
would be more difficult to comprehend. Of the fact, however, that
an impression from abstract subjects _is_ made, and that an audible
expression of such impression is produced through the voice, and that
this is the case with all people alike, I expect to furnish positive
proof in a future publication. The fact of our not being accustomed
to distinguish in this manner between various expressions through
inflections of the voice is no proof that they do not exist.
The soul impresses every word with a seal of its own, characteristic
of the idea it embodies, there being as many accents or inflections of
the voice as there are _separate ideas_, or, rather, _groups of ideas_.
I beg leave to copy the following from the _Saturday Evening Post_ of
April 8, 1899:
"Mr. Kipling recently told an interviewer: 'We write, it
is true, in letters of the alphabet; but, psychologically
regarded, every printed page is a picture book; every word,
concrete or abstract, is a picture. The picture itself may
never come to the reader's consciousness, but deep down below,
in the unconscious realms, the picture works and influences
us.'"
The accent is not subject to the will any more than the rhythm. The
will can do _this_, however: it can give greater weight, force, and
expression, and a wider scope, to the correlated forces of metre,
rhythm, and accent, through the
_Emphasis_ which it infuses into them. Through the emphasis, inlet
upon inlet is opened, an additional stream of fresh air is infused
into them, flooding the spiritual system. Valve upon valve is then
opened to let it out. Hence, emphasis is not an "element" of speech
proper, but an amplification, an addition to existing elements, rather,
impregnating them with the life of the heart, the feelings, the
emotions.
In distinguishing in this manner, as I have in the above, between
the will, the mind, and the soul, I consider them parts of a great
spiritual system intimately connected with corresponding parts of our
physical system, but lay no claim as to the correctness of the _terms_
I have used. On the contrary, I feel that they are inadequate, and, at
most, a makeshift for more fitting expressions. There is a dearth of
expressional terms, and I am doing the best I can with such as are at
my disposal.
In the same sense, also, I distinguish between material-spiritual,
spiritual-material, and spiritual issues; and consider them the
outcome, respectively, of the will, the mind, and the soul.
I wish it were in my power to at once fully explain, as far as I am
able to offer any explanation at all, how it is _mechanically_ possible
to express these four elements of metre, rhythm, accent, and emphasis
(so widely differing from each other) at one and the same time, by four
different modes of breathing, carried on simultaneously, in addition
to our regular mode of breathing. The _perfection_ of elocution and of
singing is to carry on all these various processes simultaneously in as
perfect a manner as the subject and the occasion may demand.
I can explain the preceding, in part at least, as follows:
Verse is generally marked by the signs of long and short. While they
denote time or metre in the first instance, they are also used to mark
what is called "rhythm." Yet, while metre and rhythm are _apparently_
of the same order, they are, as a matter of fact, invariably of an
inverse order.
We cannot produce two distinctly different expressions while breathing
in one and the same direction. While we breathe for metre in one
direction, we breathe for rhythm in the opposite direction.
Regarding that mode of breathing expressive of the soul, and pertaining
to words in conformity with their _meaning_, and which, in the absence
of any more significant word, I have called the "accent," it is of an
altogether different order and does not conflict with these other modes
of breathing.
Having stated that rhythm and accent are involuntary productions, and
that metre alone is subject to the will, we must look to the metre,
measure, or time for our guide in our artistic vocal performances. To
this, emphasis must be added, as being likewise subject to the will.
As every language has its own time, or tempo, and cannot be properly
produced except in conformity therewith, it appears to me that it
should be the first aim of vocal science _to ascertain the exact nature
of such tempo_ for every separate language. _When the correct time is
kept, all other component parts of speech fall into line correctly
and involuntarily._ Just what the proportionate tempo is for English
as against German vocal utterance, I am unable to say, but it is much
quicker for the latter than it is for the former.
There is a duality existing between metre and rhythm: the former is
voluntary, the latter involuntary. Thus, also, is there a duality
between emphasis and accent, of which the former is voluntary,
the latter involuntary. Every voluntary factor, not only in vocal
utterance, but every voluntary factor in any artistic performance of
whatsoever nature, being sustained by an involuntary counter-factor;
the same as voluntary and involuntary muscles complement and sustain
each other.
Not only every artistic performance, but I dare say _every_ act or
action of any kind, is of a dual nature. Every separate duality, again,
being sustained by a counter-duality, every performance is sustained by
four different factors.
When an act is of a material nature and belongs to the hemisphere of
the abdomen, it is sustained by four counter-factors belonging to
the thorax. When it is of an immaterial nature and belongs to the
hemisphere of the thorax, it is sustained by four counter-factors
having their seat in the abdomen. Thus every act or action consists of
eight movements, or an _octave_ of movements.
SIGNIFICANCE OF THE WORD "SCHOOL" IN CONNECTION WITH THE ART OF SINGING
Having established the fact that the rhythmic movements for English
and German vocal expression are directly opposed to each other,
the one being represented by the iambic, the other by the trochaic
measure, there is still a wide field open for investigation as to
the idiomatic expression of other languages. This it should not be
difficult to determine; personally, I cannot devote the necessary time
to this subject even as far as I might be able to do so in connection
with other languages of which I have some knowledge. The differences
in other tongues, of course, must be embodied in either of the two
measures named, as these embrace all others. Whatever may constitute
a nation's idiomatic expression must spring from a variation of either
of these. While the precedence is given to the abdomen in some and to
the thorax in others, the point of gravitation, which according to its
location calls for the special manner in which we inspire into and
expire from either the one or the other, establishes such variation in
the idiomatic expression of _all_ tongues.
All that is said about an Italian, a German, or any other "school"
(with the exception, perhaps, of what may constitute the difference
between what is called "the _old_ and the _new_ Italian school," and
which covers issues of a nature foreign to these investigations) has
its proper significance right here: There is no "school" in the sense
in which this word is ordinarily used. There are nations and there are
languages belonging to such nations. Each nation's language is that
nation's "school," and no one nation can go to school with any other
nation.
Peasants and the mass of the people generally in Italy, France,
Germany, etc., do not visit academies to study vocal art, yet their
mode of expression is precisely the same as that of the best vocal
artists of these respective countries. I do not mean to say, of course,
that the raw material their voices is made up of is as rarefied and
artistically trained, but that the composition, the fundamental element
thereof, is of precisely the same order as that of their most finished
artists. This raw material, on the other hand, in every instance,
varies from that of people belonging to every other nation.
The best thing, therefore, to be done, to bring such vocal material as
nature has endowed one with up to its greatest perfection, is to have
it "schooled" by artists belonging to one's own nation. There may be a
time coming, and the same may not be far distant, when methods may be
taught by which one may become acquainted with the spirit, and learn
the exact mode of the technical expression, of other nations besides
one's own. It will then become possible to comprehend these foreign
methods and to profit by comprehending them. As long as the principles
upon which they are based, however, are not understood, any attempt at
singing according to the same will be futile as an accomplishment or an
art, and _hurtful_ to the voice of the person making the attempt.
_Such person will only injure his or her own natural mode of
expression, without acquiring the foreign mode_.
The idea of learning a certain mode of expression, the Italian, for
instance, for singing, and applying it to _all_ tongues, is futile and
contrary to all reason. We might, with as much show of reason, say that
by learning to pronounce one foreign tongue we may apply that knowledge
to the pronunciation of every other foreign tongue.
The true state of affairs, and the only one to follow, is, and always
will be, this: First, and above all, learn to use your own tongue
thoroughly, for _all_ purposes of vocal expression. Then learn the use
of other tongues for vocal expression in those other tongues only. You
cannot apply the technical mode of Italian expression to English vocal
utterance any more than you can apply the technical mode of English
expression to Italian vocal utterance. An attempt at so doing is quite
as preposterous in the one case as it is in the other.
Besides, for the purpose of singing in his own tongue, an Anglo-Saxon
does not and should not want to acquire any other mode, as he is by
nature in possession of one of the _best_ modes of expression. There
is none intrinsically purer, none possessed of more vigor or power of
expression. There are those with greater softness combined with purity,
but lacking strength, as the Italian; and those with more soulfulness
combined with strength, but lacking purity, as the German. This
native element of purity allied to strength in the Anglo-Saxon, more
especially in the English-American, mode of expression is primarily
the cause of the high position in the artistic world of the American
singer. I ascribe the superiority of the "American" mode of expression
over the "English," when untrammelled as in song, in part to the
greater personal liberty, the greater want of conventionality, the vast
extent of our territory, and our almost constantly clear and unclouded
sky; all these being conditions that assist the free exercise of one's
natural endowments. To reach the best results in the art of singing,
the body as well as the soul must be, as far as possible, untrammelled
in any direction. While the idiomatic expression of the English
language here and abroad is the same, the social restraint and the
conservatism of the English as a nation act against the best outcome
of their gift of song, which demands for its best expression freedom
from conventionality or any other constraint.
Each nation is at its best in its own tongue. Our orators are equal to
any there are in the world. They do not speak according to the Italian,
the German, or any other school. If they did, they would utterly fail
and make themselves ridiculous. Why do people, then, want to "speak"
in this more expansive and soulful manner, called "singing," in these
foreign modes? I know the answer will be that singing and speaking are
things quite apart, having no affinity in their mode of production. I
shall show, as I have already partly shown, that they are of precisely
the _same order_, though different phases of that order; that they
cannot be separated; in so far as the elements which belong to speech
also belong to song, and those which belong to song also belong to
speech; but that they are used in an inverse order in the former as
well as in the latter.
Listen to a person breathing just before falling asleep, in a slow,
rhythmical order; material objects retire into the background and
assume a semi-spiritual shape. This is a similar condition to the
one we are in and in which we breathe during the production of song.
[By the by, sleep can be induced by thinking of a song, that is, by
mentally singing it]. No two nations, however, breathe just alike in
that condition, any more than they do during their waking moments;
the mode of breathing during sleep being a reversion always of the
one which obtains during our waking moments. Our mode of breathing,
however, _always_ determines our mode of vocal utterance. We can
reverse our voice, as we do in whispering, but it is always the same
voice, as a garment is the same when we turn it inside out.
Do you know, by the way, that the English whispering voice is the
German speaking, and the German whispering the English speaking voice?
Try it, and you will find it so. Go on whispering; that is, continue
to use your voice in the _same_ mechanical manner, but instead of for
whispering, use it for speaking aloud, and you will have the exact mode
of the other tongue. An Anglo-Saxon, in so doing, will be able to speak
German aloud, but not English; a German will be able to speak English,
but not German.