The Young Priest's Keepsake Part 7
At the threshold of our subject we are met by the question--What is rhetoric? Mr. Power gives the answer--"The resources of rhetoric are natural resources, and rules for composition are only records intended for the guidance of those who have not discovered the originals for themselves. The first speakers had no rules and no experience to draw upon but their own. In course of time speeches came to be reported, and then the secret of their eloquence disclosed itself. All the qualities of the orator were then observed; the highest and the best were chosen and combined and erected into an art, which was named Rhetoric. This art was designed to _aid_ speakers and not as a means of _fettering their natural ability_." Cicero has put almost the same thoughts in different words--"I consider that, with regard to all precept, the case is this; not that orators by adhering to them have obtained distinction in eloquence, but that certain persons have noticed what men of eloquence have practised of their own accord, and formed rules accordingly; _so that eloquence has not sprung from art, but art from eloquence_." This is not only sound theory, but sound sense. It shatters a time-worn fallacy and gives hope and encouragement to the student. Every man can become an orator in a greater or a less degree. The powers slumber within him; and the teacher's duty is not to create but awaken, draw out, develop and guide these inborn gifts.
Now, the question is--By what standard shall the speaker be trained? The master-hand of Shakespere has framed a set of rules that will stand for all time as the most pregnant piece of wisdom ever penned on the art of elocution. Though Hamlet's advice is addressed to actors, there is scarcely a line which the young orator can afford to ignore. He would do well to commit the entire piece to memory.
[Side note: Shakespere's advice to speakers]
"Speak the speech, I pray you, as I p.r.o.nounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand thus: but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your pa.s.sion, you must acquire and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a pa.s.sion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; who, for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Termagant; it out-herods Herod: pray you, avoid it. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'er-step not the modesty of nature; for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of which one, must, in your allowance, o'er-weigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players, that I have seen play--and heard others praise, and that highly--not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of christians, nor the gait of christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably."
[Side note: Avoid extremes]
It will be well to observe that throughout this advice the poet is careful to warn us against extremes--neither to tear a pa.s.sion to rags nor to be too tame--he insists on moderation. Even in the very tempest of pa.s.sion one must not lose self-control nor make extravagant use of the hands. The "overdone" and the "come tardy off" are the two poles to be shunned.
"Speak the speech as I p.r.o.nounced it." By placing the two words "speak" and "p.r.o.nounce" in contrast, Hamlet leads us to infer that in reading the play over for the actors his princ.i.p.al care was to give perfect articulation. "Speak the speech as I _p.r.o.nounced_ it."
"Trippingly on the tongue." Evidently the slow, thick utterance of the mumbling speaker, to the roof of whose mouth the words seem to cling, was not unknown in Shakespere's day. As a remedy against this he tells them to "speak it trippingly." No word in the English language could so clearly convey the case. Nimble, airy resonance is suggested by the very sound of the word "trippingly."
[Side note: Two errors]
Having given this advice he hastens to warn them against the opposite extreme: "But if you mouth it." He wants no boisterous notes of artificial pa.s.sion: he would as lief the town-crier spoke his lines. The office of that humble functionary demands not the graces of finished elocution, only strong lungs with which to shout; hence a piece of delicate pathos or varied pa.s.sions would probably receive scant justice at his hands. But even the town-crier is tolerable--he is nature's product-- compared with the workmanship of nature's journeymen--those who strut and bellow. "They imitate humanity so abominably" that their delivery touches the extremest limit of all that is reprehensible in elocution.
[Side note: Gesture]
"Suit the action to the word, the word to the action." Here we have the fundamental law for the use of gesture.
Gesture is not an artificial action standing apart from, or added to, the words. It is thought seeking spontaneous, visible, outward expression through the movements of the hand or eye or features just at the moment when that same thought is receiving articulate birth on the tongue. Its purpose is to make the words grow large, as it were; to expand and emphasise their meaning; hence the wisdom of the advice--"Suit the action to the word, the word to the action." If the action distract the listeners'
attention from the word its purpose is defeated.
Now that we have an idea of what elocution is, and a.n.a.lysed the wisest set of rules ever framed for its government, we turn to the mechanical agencies by which it is produced--breathing, resonance, inflection.
[Side note: How to inhale]
When a person draws in the air through the mouth, the cold, unpurified stream strikes directly on the back of the roof, causing dryness and irritation. To avoid this the preacher, except when actually engaged in speaking, should inhale through the nose. The advantages of so doing are considerable. The air inhaled through the nasal organs is drawn over the roof of the mouth and soft palate, and thus warmed by contact with the blood-vessels; so that it is rendered innoxious by the time it reaches the throat. Again, any particles of dust or other impurities it might contain are caught by the filterers or hairs situated in the nasal cavities for that purpose. Thus it reaches the tender vocal chords both warmed and purified. To these may be added another advantage: it is more becoming to inhale with closed lips--the picture of a speaker gasping open-mouthed is not a graceful one.
[Side note: How use the lungs]
We now come to the important question--How shall I increase my vocal powers? As is well known, there are two methods of inhaling and expelling the air from the lungs. One is by means of the rising and falling of the ribs. This is called "the costal method." The other is by the contraction and distention of the midriff or diaphragm. The diaphragm is the movable floor to the thorax or box that encloses the lungs. This is called "the diaphragmatic method." Now, since G.o.d has furnished us with both methods, He evidently intended that we should use both, as we use our two eyes or our two ears. They are given, not as alternative, but as simultaneous instruments of action. The weakness in many a speaker's voice, its want of volume and its failure when a sustained effort is demanded, is due to the fact that he breathes by means of his ribs alone, throwing all the pressure on the upper portion of the lungs, not asking the large areas to contribute anything. He thus robs himself of breathing capacity, and consequently of voice power.
[Side note: Diaphragmatic breathing]
To get a perfect mastery over the "diaphragmatic" method and make it as serviceable as possible, practise breathing while lying on your back, filling the lungs to the utmost, and exhausting them as completely as possible. Inhale rapidly and exhale slowly. Then reverse the order; inhale slowly and exhale rapidly. Again let "slow" and "rapid" alternately make both movements.
By this exercise you acquire flexibility of the midriff muscles, you enlarge the cubic dimensions of the breathing area, you distribute the burden generally; and when the occasion comes to send your voice over four thousand heads you will discover that the reserve fund of voice and strength acquired by this practice is at your service. This plan bears that highest and safest sanction--_in practical experience it has proved a genuine success_.
[Side note: A clergyman's sore throat]
The ailment known as "a clergyman's sore throat" is too common and too serious to be pa.s.sed over--the raucous, husky voice sawn across the throat, the congested blood-vessels, the strained muscles, the throat lining as raw as a beefsteak. Here you have evident results of some unnatural effort. What is it? In ordinary conversation we employ the throat, back of the mouth and vocal chords mainly: very little demand is made on the lungs. The voice we use is the "head voice." Now, when called on to fill a large building, the centre of stress should instantly be shifted from the mouth and throat to the lungs. On them the whole weight should be flung--then you produce the "chest voice." It is the want of this transference of strain from the throat to the lungs that causes the misery called "a clergyman's sore throat." Men endeavour to fill a large building with precisely the same set of organs that they use when speaking by the fireside. The strain intended for the broad-based, strong-fibred lungs is kept on the delicate vocal chords, palate and throat. These were never built for that purpose, and nature kicks against the outrage. The throat becomes congested, parched, torn and raw; the voice grows husky, cracked, and finally ends in a scream. Here is the genesis of the fatal "clergyman's sore throat" explained.
[Side note: An ill.u.s.tration]
a.n.a.logy makes this clearer still. Our back teeth were built for the purpose of grinding; hence their broad crowns, strong shafts, and firm roots; the teeth in the front of the mouth were intended for tasks not at all so arduous. Tamper with this arrangement; transfer the laborious work of mastication to the front teeth, and see how nature will punish you. This ill.u.s.trates the outrage committed when the strain and effort that should be shifted to the lungs are allowed to rest on the slender organs intended for the entirely different purpose of modulation.
[Side note: How acquire a chest voice]
One question remains--How can a person cultivate a chest voice?
How bring the voice directly from the lungs without in the least distressing the throat? This is all important. The young speaker should practise for a short time daily the method of lifting, first, words and then sentences straight from the lungs without making the least possible demand on the throat or vocal chords, stealing each word out of the depths of the lungs, afraid, as it were, of awakening the upper organs. When he has acquired this habit of speaking words and sentences, let him practise a verse or two of declamation. In a short time he will be surprised at his progress in acquiring a chest voice. In public speaking it will become his ordinary voice; for not only does the established habit a.s.sist him, but the organs daily develop and fit themselves to his purpose, and he learns to transfer the stress from his throat to his lungs as easily and quickly and instinctively as the pianist pa.s.ses his fingers from the treble to the base notes on the keyboard.
The test of any theory is--How has it worked in practice? The method of voice production here recommended has given the writer advantages that it would be difficult to overestimate. Lungs naturally weak grew to three times their former size and strength; his voice increased in depth, richness and resonance; though constantly speaking in large churches for years, he has never known what hoa.r.s.eness, sore throat or huskiness is.
A method that to him has been worth untold gold may not be without advantage to his readers.
[Side note: Resonance]
We must, however, have more than speech; we must have musical speech. This is acquired by resonance and inflection.
To send a stream of air from the lungs and vocalise it on its outward pa.s.sage is not enough; by this you produce only a tiny, impoverished voice that conveys no force and awakens no emotion.
There is something wanting; that something is--Resonance. It supplies richness and effectiveness to the stream of sound.
[Side note: An ill.u.s.tration]
The difference between speech stripped of resonance and accompanied with it is best ill.u.s.trated by a simple experiment.
Take a violin-string in your hand: touch it, and mark the sound produced--how weak and thin. Now, attach the string to the violin: touch it again, and see how the resonating instrument converts the feeble sound of the detached string into a sonorous wave of vibrating music. Now, the vocal chords are placed in the throat midway between two resonators--the chest and the head.
These are to the chords what the body of the violin is to the string. When the stream of air has pa.s.sed the chords it is already accompanied by the vibrations of the chest, but the head is the main contributor. The residual air in the upper portions of the throat, mouth and nasal cavities is thrown into vibration.
Here the importance of the subject reveals itself. The art that can convert a screech into pleasing cadences of soft sound is no trifle. Nasal resonance must not be confounded with nasal tw.a.n.g.
The one is produced by vibrating the air in the cavities, the tw.a.n.g by expelling it from them. The part played by each organ in voice production may be briefly summarised:--The lungs send out a stream of air; the vocal chords, princ.i.p.ally, modulate it; the head and chest give it resonance.
Now, that it is clearly evident G.o.d intended us to speak and sing to the accompaniment of these aerial orchestras concealed in the head and chest, the only remaining question is--How we shall use them?
[Side note: Advice how to avoid screech]
Take care never to exhaust these reservoirs of air; if you do the result will be screech and shout. No matter what demand is made on you, be sure to hold a reserve supply of residual air: set it vibrating, and your voice on its outward pa.s.sage will receive an enrichment of volume, force, and music.
[Side note: Inflection: its necessity]
"Go slowly and articulate well" are not sufficient. "Inflect your language" must be added. A student should practise a.s.siduously till his sentences become as flexible as a cutting whip, capable of being bent to every mood and of lending themselves to every pa.s.sion. In pathos his words should sink almost to a sob, tearful in their plaintiveness; in denunciation they should rise, muttering the voices of the storms; and in narrative the proper pitch is ordinary middle tone.
[Side note: French and English want inflection]
It is in this want of inflective grace that English, and more especially French, speakers lose so much of their force. Both read admirably and articulate with precision, but the unvaried straight line tone, so suited to reading, will not serve the purpose when we not only wish to make people understand, but also endeavour to move their pa.s.sions.
[Side note: The secret power of a good story-teller]
Recall a good story-teller or speaker of whom you never wearied; go back in memory and see how much he owed to the power contained in the inflected voice--the varied tones that sank or swelled as suited the mood or pa.s.sion.
As you sat by the winter's fire your flesh was made to creep and your hair stood on end in terror while you furtively stole a glance around looking for the apparition described in the weird ghost story. The secret power that somewhere lay enthralled you.
Was it not in the husky whisper or the hush of restraint? Let that speaker tell the same story in the middle pitched narrative tone, and lo! the spell is vanished. If the thunder thrills that rocked and vibrated through his voice were taken from Demosthenes, would he have ever driven Eschines into exile?
[Side note: Two advantages of inflection]
The practice of varied cadences in speech has two genuine advantages--_it saves the speaker from fatigue and the hearers from weariness_.