to his syllables, by pharyngeal pressure, without affecting the continuity or the quality of the voice. In a recently issued little book, "The Science of Speech," this subject is again introduced. The principle of pharyngeal consonant-impulse being the key to articulation in singing, I make no apology for repeating here an exercise for cultivating this power, prescribed in the "Science of Speech."

PHARYNGEAL EXERCISE.

"Hold in the breath at the throat, and read, without issue of either voice or whisper. All the actions of articulation, including even the organic separations of m, n, l, f, th, s, etc., should be audible without throat-sound of any kind. After a little practice, this voiceless mouth-reading should be fairly intelligible to a near-by listener; although words containing only hand vowels will yield no audible effect. The next and culminating step will be to unite this crisp articulation with vocality, and so form that rare specimen of scholastic art, a good speaker."

Another short paragraph may be quoted from the same work: "All that has been said here in reference to the articulation of speech applies equally to the articulation of song. We ought to hear the singer's every syllable, and that without the slightest detriment to his vocalization. One who does not articulate his words is a mere instrumentalist upon the larynx, and not a singer."

The point to be understood is that consonant-actions are actions of the mouth alone, and that their formation does not interfere with the issue of voice. Some consonants have no other sound than that of the separation of the oral organs after contact, as in the words, "hope," "meet," "strike;" and this separation may be distinctly heard without a particle of breath escaping from the chest. Other consonants have a slight positional sound of sibilation, which may be formed, transitionally, by pharyngeal pressure on the breath within the mouth, and also without issue from the lungs.

Vocalized consonants present no difficulty to the singer, except that the fundamental articulation of each consonant should be made a part of the sound. Thus, the words, come," "nun," "long," should end with the same organic separations as the words, "cup," "nut," "lock;" i.e., the organs should fall apart to complete the articulations.

The difference between the singing-voice and the speakingvoice is that each note of the former is level in pitch from beginning to end; and that each note of the latter tapers, throughout its duration, to a higher or a lower than its commencing pitch. The progression from note to note in singing is by a series of steps, up or down the musical scale; and in speaking, by a series of slides, upward or downward. The

two characteristics are blended when a singing-note slides. from its initial pitch to a higher or a lower level; or when a speaking-note becomes level for a measurable time, at some part of its course. The best singing is free from sliding notes; and the best speaking is free from level notes.

Some persons think that the English language is unfitted, by the harshness of its consonants, for effectiveness in vocalization; but this is an error. One of the foremost concertsingers in my young days-Mrs. Aifred Shaw-offered an example of the union of articulation and music, which I have never heard equaled; and which proved the possibilities of art in this direction. Every note of her beautiful voice was musically faultless, and every syllable of the accompanying words was perfectly distinct. I might be tempted to say: "When shall we hear the like again!" but that I am convinced that no reason exists why we should not hear the like from every artist in song. The singer should first acquire the knack of articulation, without sound, and then apply that to the musical flow of voice. Of course, there must be in the singer's mind a standard to be aimed at, or he can not reach perfection. The standard is the absolutely clear articulation of every word connected with the music.

I have shown, by one brilliant example,-which has remained with me, a memory of enjoyment, for more than half a century—that this standard is perfectly attainable. Tell the rising singers of America that the verdict of this conference is unanimously for words with songs; and that henceforth they must devote themselves to perfecting this combination.

We are all familiar with the beautiful " Songs without Words" with which Mendelssohn has enriched the literature and the art of music. These show the perfection of purely musical expression, and at the same time its limitation; for every hearer makes his own accompaniment of sentiment to sound; and in a hundred hearers there may not be two whose interpretation is exactly the same. Language gives definiteness that can not be conveyed without it. In Mendelssohn's works we do not miss words; for the very purpose of the music was to suggest intellectual associations without expressing them; but singing without words, as we commonly hear it, is suggestive of nothing but defect and incompetency.

From what I have said in reference to the independence of articulation and vocality, the principle should be clear, that the two functions may be either combined or separated. The separate exercise of articulation, without sound, will be of great utility in showing the delicacy and the precision of the oral actions which the learner has to master; and the united exercise of voice and articulation, in singing, will show that consonant-actions are like the movements of fingers on a flute,

-merely modifiers of an uninterrupted current of sound, which is elsewhere formed.

Let this subject be examined without prejudice. All novelties are apt to be regarded with suspicion. The sum of all that I could add is that the articulation of English words, in song, may be as perfect as in speech, without any injurious or limiting influence on the expressive power of the voice; and that, consequently, a pure pronunciation of the language of song may be demanded from all vocalists. Attention is specially directed to the theory of the independent articulation of consonants, as a fundamental principle of all speech, whether musical or not.

The Study of Elocution as Related to
Literature.

BY GEORGE L. RAYMOND,

Professor of Esthetics, College of New Jersey, Princeton; author of "The Orator's Manual," "Art in Theory,' The Genesis of Art-Form,"

64

Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music," "Poetry as a Representative Art," etc.

[Paper read at the convention of the National Association of Elocutionists, July 1, 1897.] HE history of literature is the history of the evolution of written discourse from oral discourse. In the early ages, the styles of both orators and story-tellers grew out of the methods of speech. When the story-tellers became artists, they turned the requirements of accent and inhalation into measure and line, and thus developed verse. All verse, even of an epic, died with its composer, unless its peculiar fitness for recitation caused succeeding minstrels to echo it down the ages. A lyric died unless its rhythm sung itself into a song so full of sweetness that the world could not forget it. Even after men began to record their thoughts in writing, the ideal of style continued to be framed upon that of speech. Philosophical disquisitions were presented in the form of dialogue; and when epics and lyrics ceased to be merely recited, the poets substituted dramas which, for full effect, compelled recitation. Today, oral requirements continue to determine style in our written orations, our dramas, and the most artistic parts-the conversations—of our novels. Of other forms of composition, the same is true, though not to the same extent.

Such being the genesis of literature, what lessons can we draw from it? Most thinkers admit that no method of development manifested in the history of the race is out of analogy with that which is manifested in the history of the individual. If this opinion be justified, we have a right to infer that proficiency in

oral discourse on the part of the young is desirable, if not essential, as a preparation for proficiency in written discourse. Do facts, however, warrant this inference? Why do they not? Almost anyone who has had experience in colleges in which elocution is faithfully taught can count twice over on the fingers of one hand the students ranking high in rhetoric, when in upper classes, who had not shown interest and aptitude in elocution, when in lower classes. He can point to scores of graduates, also, of high professional and literary rank, who, throughout their college courses, manifested no ability whatever, except in elocution. This is a fact more important than many suppose. Three men of whom this is true are suggested

to me, as I now write. All are living in the largest city of our country, and are well known by reputation. The one, too, occupying the most exacting literary position, where his work is constantly submitted to most critical tests, seemed, in college, utterly devoid of the slightest germ capable of literary development. But he was a hard worker. In elocution he succeeded; and the temple of culture is entered by many doors. The instructor who induces a young man to push open one of them will force him to a glimpse that will lure him further. To apply this to our present subject, the door of literary art stands close beside that of elocution. How was it with Henry Ward Beecher? He tells us, in his "Yale Lectures," that "it was' his "good fortune in early academic life to fall into the hands of Prof. Lovell, and for a period of three years," he "was drilled incessantly, in posturing, gesture, and voice-culture." Has anyone ever been heard to say that, when in college, Mr. Beecher studied any other subject incessantly? Mr. Motley, the historian, when in Harvard, was probably a student in all departments. But to one study, he and Wendell Phillips together devoted themselves with special assiduity. This was elocution.

" In

All facts, even when only approximately universal, illustrate principles behind them. It is easy enough to perceive a general reason for a connection between a knowledge of elocution and of literary art. The latter is printed to be read; and words, to be read easily, must be selected and arranged for that purpose. This is true, even when they are not to be vocalized. reading without utterance aloud," says Alexander Bain, in his Rhetoric, "we have a sense of the articulate flow of the voice as it appeals to the ear." If this be so, the deduction is unavoidable that the man who, himself, knows how to read well will be the most likely to know how to select and to arrange words so that they can be read easily by others. He will be the most likely to know just where to introduce the accents causing rhythm, the pauses enabling one to breathe, and the important words emphasizing the sense; to know where to hasten the movement by short sentences and syllables easy to

pronounce, and where to retard it by long sentences and syllables hard to pronounce; to know how to balance epithets and phrases, when ideas are to be contrasted, or to parallel them when they are to be compared; to know how to let proof, if decisive, unwind like a cracking whip-lash, at the end of a periodic sentence or climax, or, if indecisive, unravel into shreds at the end of a loose sentence or an anticlimax; to know how to charge his batteries of breath with consonants and clauses that hiss, whine, roar, or rattle, and give thought the victory over form, through rhyme that is loaded with reason, and rhythm that repeats the thought-waves pulsing in the brain, or only to waste his energies in cataloguing names for things that never waken realization of what they can not picture, that never rouse imagination save as they first lull to dreams, and that never stir one vivid feeling except of gratitude when their dull details are ended.

What has been said is true as applied not only to the writer but also to the critic of writing, not only to him whose compositions are to influence others but also to him who is to be interested in the best that others can produce. How can one be expected to appreciate that which has caused writers like Shakespeare, Milton, or Tennyson to put their thoughts into verse, if his ear have never been made acquainted by nature or by training with the relations and the meanings of sounds. Upon such a man, all the time and the care that these poets have expended in arranging their words in another form than prose have been wasted. As Prof. J. R. Seeley, lecturer upon modern history in Cambridge University, Eng., says, in his essay upon "English in Schools:" "It is more than a hundred years since Bishop Berkeley propounded the question whether half the learning and talent of England was not wholly lost because elocution was not taught in schools and in colleges. The same question might be repeated now, so slow are we English people in taking a hint. * * * I think that by this means, more than any other, may be evoked in the minds of the young a taste for poetry and eloquence. This taste is very universal. Generally, when it appears wanting, it is only dormant; because no means have been taken to cultivate the sense of rhythm, and to make the delightfulness of speech understood." To the same effect, F. W. Newman says, in his article on "A University Curriculum:" "If a systematic reading class of the noblest poetry, under the guidance of a judicious elocution master, be added, no lack of taste for our poetry need be feared."

There are other reasons, not so commonly observed, why a study of elocution is beneficial to the production and the appreciation of literature. They may be considered under two heads: First, those connected with the character of literature as an art: