5. The swell is simply a modification of the sustained tone. When a tone is perfectly sustained, without any change in volume, etc., we have a most valuable effect, and one very difficult to achieve, because it implies such a steady application of the breath power and such nice adjustments of all the parts concerned. To produce a tone with variations in it is easy enough, and that is what is usually given us instead of the perfectly even tone, reminding us of a straight line.

In the swell, as the name suggests, the tone should rise gradually in volume or loudness, and as gradually decline. If this can be done readily, and continued for several seconds, it will be easy to produce other effects, as the sudden swell, but such effects should come after, not before, the slower ones. A critical observer soon realizes the defects of modern technique when he listens to a singer's tones when attempting slow effects, as in a softly sustained melody. Only the well-trained vocalist can hope to sing such a melody, especially if long sustained, in a way to meet the demands of an exacting ear and advanced musical taste. It will be apparent that the swell is the basis of shading, a quality that is so highly appreciated in this refined age. He who can manage the swell perfectly has the secret of this effect in his possession as have none others.

Although we have referred more to the singer than to the speaker, in this chapter, it is to be understood that these and all other exercises suggested are of great value in forming the voice for public speaking. It is not so important, it must be admitted, for the speaker as for the singer that his tones be musically perfect, as he relies more on ideas than on tones, still, with every idea employed by the public speaker there is the inseparable feeling, or "feeling-tone;" so that the speaker, as well as the singer, is to some extent dependent on tone painting—indeed, must be, if he will be no mere man of wood, a "dry stick," to some extent, in spite of the use of appropriate language, gestures, etc. There are many avenues to the heart, and that by tones cannot with impunity be neglected by the speaker, though for his purpose the singing of tones need occupy only weeks or months, while for singers, in the case of all who would attain to a high degree of excellence, it must extend over years.

"FORWARD," "BACKWARD," ETC., PRODUCTION.

Certain expressions are in common use by teachers and singers, such as "to direct the breath forward," "forward production," "backward production," etc. No doubt such terms may serve a practical purpose, though they are often used with lamentable vagueness, but it must be understood that they do not answer to any clearly demonstrated physiological principles. There is, for example, no clear evidence that the breath can be directed toward the hard palate in the neighborhood of the teeth, as the drawings sometimes published would indicate.

It has already been many times urged that when breathing is satisfactory, breath does not escape to any considerable extent into the mouth cavity, but that the expiratory blast is used to set the air of the resonance-chambers into vibration. The changes that must be made in these cavities, to lead to certain effects, are accompanied by characteristic sensations, and these, and not the direction of the breath, are largely responsible for the ideas on which the above expressions rest.

As before shown, the soft palate is constantly being used more or less, and when it and the tongue unite in action so as to cut off the mouth cavity, or, more strictly, the anterior portion of it, from the nasal chambers, a very pronounced modification in the tone results, and, of necessity, such actual escape of breath as occurs takes place through the nose. In reality, there is a special modification of the shape of the resonance-chambers for every tone produced, and especially when the color or quality is changed, as well as the pitch. There is, therefore, not only "forward" and "backward" but also middle production, though, in reality, these terms at best but imperfectly describe, even for practical purposes, what happens.

It is to be feared that with some teachers of both singing and speaking "forward production" has become a sort of panacea for all vocal ills; but it is not, and just the reverse teaching is required in certain cases. If a voice be brilliant, yet hard, it will be improved by a more backward production, judiciously employed, and in this way the French language is often to be recommended to such singers, as it favors this backward production, with such use of the nasal resonance as mellows the tones. The tenor who has not learned the use of the nasal resonance, to give richness to the tones of his middle and upper range, has missed a valuable principle. On the other hand, for voices that are too soft, lack brightness, and fail in carrying-power, a more forward production will often improve the quality of the voice greatly. But a little consideration must convince the student that if he is to be master of his voice-production throughout, if he is to produce tones of every shade of quality, he must be able to shift that voice about in every quarter as occasion demands; in other words, all the changes possible in the resonance-chambers must be at his command. Such is the case in the very greatest singers of both sexes; and, of course, this applies equally, if not still more, to speakers.

When the voice-producer has learned to intonate surely, when the voice is "placed," and the secrets of the registers are known to him, he will do well to experiment a little, cautiously, with his own resonance-chambers, so as to widen his practical knowledge of the principles underlying the modification of tones. Why should the student of the voice remain a mere imitator, when the one who works in any other direction is, or should be, encouraged to be an original investigator? The inability of students to judge of either the grounds for or the value of the exercises and methods recommended to them by their teachers seems to the author to indicate a regrettable state of things, which teachers of every form of vocal culture should endeavor to remedy. Some teachers do not use the terms "backward" and "forward," but "darkening" and "brightening" the voice; and, of course, the result of a certain use of the tongue and soft palate is to darken or veil the quality of the voice. But the attentive reader will scarcely mistake the author's meaning in the above and other references to this subject.

It is scarcely necessary to point out that in what has been said no encouragement is intended to be given to the nasal twang, or any thing resembling it—and it is easy to so use the nasal resonance that it becomes a defect; but the value of a judicious use of the nose in singing and speaking is, we are convinced, not as well known in vocal teaching as it deserves to be.

SUMMARY.

The relation of vowels and consonants to singing and speaking. Intonation should be by vowels only, at first. Consonants are a necessary evil in singing, but all-important in the formation of words—i.e., in imparting ideas.

Every language has its own special merits and defects for the purposes of song and speech. That language which abounds in vowels is the best adapted for vocal exercises, etc.

It is a cardinal error to begin a course in speaking and especially singing with exercises based on words. Vowel sounds should be exclusively employed at first. In the formation of vowels and consonants the resonance-chambers are especially involved.

The tongue, soft palate, and lips are the most movable parts, and so have the largest share in giving color and meaning to sounds—i.e., they are the organs most important in the formation of the elements of words.

The "open mouth" should mean open mouth cavity and duly separated lips.

It is important that there be control of all parts of the resonance-chambers, and always in relation to other parts of the vocal apparatus.



CHAPTER XV.

THE ELEMENTS OF SPEECH AND SONG.

The subject treated in this chapter may be made dry enough; but if the student will, while reading the descriptions given, endeavor to form the sounds described, observing at the same time his own resonance-chambers (mouth parts) carefully in a hand-glass, and then follow up the applications made, the reader's experience will be, in all probability, like the author's: the more the subject is studied the more interesting does it become, especially if one experiments with his own resonance apparatus.

Vowels and consonants are the elements of syllables, and words are composed of the latter. However pure a vowel is, it is accompanied in its utterance by some noise; a consonant, by relatively a great deal of noise.

A noise, in distinction to a musical tone, is characterized by irregularity as regards the vibrations that reach the ear, while in the case of a tone a definite number of vibrations strikes against the drum-head of the ear within a given time; so that so far as syllables and words, even vowels, are concerned, we are not dealing with pure tones.

For the formation of each vowel a definite form of the resonance-chambers is essential. In uttering, either for the purposes of speech or song, the vowel u (oo), the mouth cavity has the form of a large flask such as chemists use for their manipulations, but the neck in this case is short. The whole resonance cavity is elongated, and the lips are protruded; the larynx is depressed, and the root of the tongue and the fauces (folds from the soft palate, usually spoken of as the "pillars of the fauces") approach. The pitch of this vowel is very low.



In ō the lips are nearer to the teeth, and the neck of the flask is shorter and wider; the larynx is somewhat more elevated than in the last case, and the pitch of the sound is higher.

When sounding a (as in father) the mouth cavity has the shape of a funnel, wide in front; the tongue lies rather flat on the floor of the mouth, the lips are wide apart, and the soft palate is somewhat raised.

In ā (as in fate) there is some modification of the last, the tongue and larynx being more raised. The pitch of this vowel is higher than is that of the more open a.

In the case of ē (as in me) the flask is relatively small, and the neck is long and narrow, the larynx much raised, the lips drawn back against the teeth, and the tongue greatly elevated, so as to form the narrow neck of the flask. The pitch of this vowel is high.



When sounding ī (as in mine) the cavity of the mouth behind resembles a small-bellied flask with a long, narrow neck, the larynx is at its highest, and the lips assume a position much as in the case of ē; between the hard palate and the back of the tongue there is only a narrow passage—a mere furrow. The pitch of this vowel is also high.

It is thus seen that every vowel has its characteristic quality and pitch, the order as regards the latter being from below upward, u, o, a, ā, e, i.

That the mouth cavity really can act as a resonance-chamber can be easily demonstrated by holding a small vibrating tuning-fork before the open mouth, and varying the shape and size of the cavity till the sound of the fork is observed to be suddenly increased in volume. The cavity then is a resonance-chamber for the fork, and thus intensifies its sound; in other words, the air in the mouth cavity vibrates in harmony with the tuning-fork.

To demonstrate in a simple manner that each vowel has its own pitch, the mouth cavity is put into the form usual in sounding the vowel, and the finger is filliped against the cheek, when a tone answering in pitch to that of the vowel in question results. The demonstration is easier with the lower-pitched, broader vowels, but the correctness of the order of the pitch mentioned above can thus be shown to be established.

Some very important principles for the speaker and singer hinge upon the above-mentioned facts. It follows, for example, that it is impossible to give a vowel its perfect sound in any but one position of the mouth parts, so that for a singer to utter a word containing the vowel ū (oo) at a high pitch is a practical impossibility. The listener may know what syllable is meant, and overlook the defect either from habit or from an uncritical attitude, but composers of vocal music should bear such facts in mind and not impose impossibilities on singers. At the same time, the vocalist, in order to satisfy a modern audience, is obliged to sound every word and every syllable as correctly as possible, even if the tone suffer somewhat thereby. It is wonderful how fully the best poets have, with the insight of genius, adapted their words (vowels) to the ideas they wish to convey, and had all composers of vocal music done the same, the path of the singer would not have been strewn with so many thorns. The difficulties in the case of the speaker are similar, but less marked, as his range is so much more limited as regards pitch.



This subject has also most important bearings on the learning of languages. One is born with tendencies toward certain mouth positions, etc., and from infancy he is constantly using the resonance-chambers in certain characteristic ways. In the course of years these positions, etc., become such fixed habits that it is difficult to change them, so that for this as well as many other reasons the learning of languages by persons beyond a certain age is a difficult matter. But to all students of a foreign tongue it is really essential to explain the physical mechanism by which the various sounds are made. The author has known an adult to struggle for months with French and German pronunciation, and get into a state of discouragement, fearing that he never would be able to learn the languages in which he wished to speak and sing, when a few moments spent in explaining just what we have written above for vowels, and what we have earlier and shall now more fully set forth in this chapter as regards consonants, have been followed by the lifting of the cloud from the mind and of a load of heaviness from the heart.

The learner should (1) hear the sound (elemental—a vowel, say) from the lips of the teacher, and actually perceive just what that sound is—i.e., he must really hear it; (2) observe the shape of the resonance-chambers; (3) try to produce the same shape of his own, and under the guidance of his ear and his eye (watching the mouth of the teacher) so utter the sound correctly. This sound should be fixed in the mind, and the ear trained by comparing it with other sounds, as the wise teacher will do, and require imitations. Any language can be pronounced correctly in a short time, if this method be followed. It is, indeed, the only one that rests on science and common sense. The student when away from the teacher, after he has once learned to form the vowels correctly, should practise with a hand-glass before him for some time, at least.

The learning of a new language is the acquiring of a new mouth, or, at all events, entirely new methods of using the old one. In reality, however, this is not so fully the case as it at first seems. In all the languages one wishes to acquire, the same vowels occur, and for the learner it is often a question of lower or higher pitch, or greater or less breadth, though all this involves the formation of new habits and the fighting of old ones, and often in the case of the adult the struggle is a long-continued and severe one. Some nations speak at a lower pitch than others, and if a foreigner enunciate ever so well, yet at the pitch of his own and not that of the new language, his utterance may seem foreign. The Germans speak at a much lower pitch than Americans, and their tongue, even when grammatically spoken by the latter, is apt to have a sort of foreign flavor. It slightly disturbs the listener, who is not accustomed to hear his mother-tongue transposed into another key, so to speak.

We have known a learner to derive great benefit from having it pointed out to him that certain of his vowel sounds would at once cease to be incorrect if their pitch were altered. Of course, in doing this, there were at once many changes made in the resonance-chambers, in order to get the changed pitch. Pitch, accent, and duration of the sound throw much light on the subject of dialect, as a little analysis of Irish or Scotch will show.

Consonants are, as we have already said, noisy nuisances for the singer, but indispensable for word-formation, and so for human intercourse. Each has also its own pitch, and investigators have come to a measurable degree of agreement on this subject.

To illustrate: Madame Seiler found that r and s are separated from each other by an interval of many octaves: , r; , s. The latter, s, cannot be sounded without more or less of a hissing sound, suggesting escape of air, which is very unpleasant to the ear, and, unfortunately, these hissing sounds are very common in English, so that the speaker or singer is called upon to use all his art to overcome this disagreeable effect. This is also prominent in whispering—i.e., the escape of breath, with its corresponding effect on the ear. Whispering is effected chiefly, if not solely, by the resonance-chambers, the vocal bands taking only the slightest part, if any at all.

The physiologist Bruecke, treating of the utterance of consonants, considered that they were formed by the more or less complete closure of certain doors in the course of the outgoing blast of air, and we have already referred to a consonant as an unpleasant interrupter, musically considered. Perhaps we should be disposed to compare them to the people that talk during the performance at a concert, did we not wish to avoid bringing such useful members of the speech community into undeserved disrepute.

Consonants, like vowels, have their own mouth positions. This follows from their having pitch, but, in addition, they require the use of the tongue, lips, etc., in a special way. The principal articulation positions are the following: (1) Between the lips; (2) between the tongue and the hard palate; (3) between the tongue and the soft palate; (4) between the vocal bands.

To indicate this, certain terms have been employed, and as they are in common use by those who treat of this subject, it will be well to explain them.

Explosives are consonants in uttering which there is complete closure with a sudden opening of the resonance-chambers in front, as in b and p.



Vibratives call for an almost complete closure of the door and a vibration of its margin, as in r.

Aspirates partly close the opening, which is at once suddenly opened again, as in f, v, etc.

Resonants close the mouth, so the sound must find its way out through the nose, as in m, n, ng.

The above may be put in tabular form as follows:

Articulation Positions. Explosives. Aspirates. Vibrates. Resonants.

1 b, p f, v, w m 2 t, d s, z, l, sch, th n 3 k, g j, ch Palatal r ng 4 h

Of course the above is only one of many possible classifications, and expresses only a part of the whole truth, for the formation of a single consonant is a very complicated process, the exact nature of which can only be very imperfectly analyzed and expressed in words.

In complexity of action the resonance-chambers are wonderful beyond any instrument devised by man, and the more one studies the subject, the greater the wonder becomes at the amount and complexity of the work done in a single day's speaking. It is also easy to understand how difficult it is to attain to absolutely perfect results. To enable one's fellow-creatures to understand him in even his mother-tongue involves an amount of effort and energy, a complexity and facility in function, that can only be reached after months of practice in infancy; but to attain to that degree of perfection that makes an artist in speaking, how much greater is the expenditure in vital capital! Is not the result when attained worth the best efforts of the most talented individual?



CHAPTER XVI.

FURTHER THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL CONSIDERATION OF VOWELS AND CONSONANTS.

The reader will now be prepared to consider the answer to be given to the question as to the vowels most suitable for practice in intonation. Plainly, a (ah) puts the resonance-chambers into the easiest and best position to form a good pure tone. The pitch of the vowel is intermediate—not very low and not high in the scale. For the higher tones, evidently, ā, e, and i are better than a (ah), much less o and u, which are quite out of the question, comparatively speaking.

However, as music must be sung with vowels in every position, it is plainly necessary to learn to sound all the vowels well throughout the scale. In fact, one might wisely, after preliminary practice on a, begin a scale below with u, then go on to o, a, ā, e, and i.

Some have recommended that the vocalist begin his scale practices with a, and when the higher middle tones are reached, that he use ā, and for head tones ā and e, an advice which is obviously sound, as it is based on scientific principles.

Sounds that are very expressive in public utterance, whether in speech or song, are l and especially r. In ordinary speech most persons use only the guttural r, in the formation of which the soft palate takes a prominent part; but for the speaker and the singer the lingual r is often much more effective. It is produced by the vibration of the tip of the tongue, and can only be formed well, in most cases, after long-continued and persevering practice.

Certain consonants tend to nasality. These are m, n, ng, and of these all persons who are disposed to this production to the point of excess must especially beware. These letters, with such people, should be given a rapid and forward production, while singers with hard and metallic voices will do well to sing syllables beginning with these consonants, such as maw, naw, ang, eng, etc.

According to the teachings of physics, the quality of a tone is determined largely by the number and variety of the overtones accompanying the fundamental tone. Practically all musical tones, whether vocal or instrumental, are made up of the ground tone and certain others less loud and prominent, and the latter are the overtones. These may be very numerous, and some are favorable and others unfavorable to excellence in quality. It has been thought, as the result of scientific investigation, that when the first octave of the fundamental tone and its fifth interval are prominent, the voice is soft, and with the fifth and seventh well in evidence, the voice is bright and clear.

It might be said that the voice-user should endeavor to keep out of his voice certain overtones, especially those which are not within the range of our modern harmonies. A harsh voice is one in which such unharmonic intervals preponderate.

The most beautiful quality of tone is produced by keeping intensity within limits, and by a sudden, elastic attack, a point on which we dwelt at some length before; but this only emphasizes the importance of all who use the voice employing, not only when beginners, but throughout their career, exercises with vowels alone. Only in this way will the association between the hearing of pure tones and their production be established.

Such exercises are also necessary to give good carrying power to the voice. If more attention were given to this point, and less to the production of mere volume of sound, it would be well for the best musical art. Naturally, the higher the pitch of tones, within certain limits, the greater their carrying power, and the reverse, of course, with the lower tones; so that it is very important that the speaker and singer use all reasonable means to produce these lower tones well, else they are muffled, and the words associated with them are not heard. This principle should be borne in mind especially by tenors and light sopranos, in whom the lower tones are not usually the best, or the easiest to produce; so that a good attack and careful and neat syllable-formation, with all attention to both vowels and consonants, should be especially studied, and, above all, in tones below about G on the treble clef. The tendency to close the mouth, especially in a descending scale, below this point, and to confound blurring with soft (piano) singing, is common. A piano tone should be formed with especial care as to attack, open mouth, etc., and all words associated with the duller, lower-pitched vowels be spoken with the greatest distinctness, both in singing and speaking. At the same time, the barytone and contralto should not boast themselves over the tenor or soprano, if they are more successful with lower tones and the words associated with them, for the latter class of singers can often revel like birds in regions not approachable by the deeper-voiced singers. Each in its own order!

It follows that if the organs of speech are used so as to produce vowels, consonants, and their combinations, with unusual and, for practical purposes, unnecessary distinctness, the actual performance, as demanded by a critical ear, will be easier. One that can run two hundred yards as readily as another can one hundred is in a better position for the shorter sprint than the other man; hence the wisdom of the singer and speaker practising first with unusual and indeed unnecessary distinctness, so far as the listener is concerned, in order that he may satisfy even the critical with ease—that all-important principle in art.

All persons must, of necessity, speak in some register, and even an ear but little cultivated can recognize that the pitch and quality of the tones of adult males, adult females, and children differ greatly from each other.

Madame Seiler has thus expressed herself on this subject:

"Women use mostly tones of the second chest and first falsetto registers, sometimes also those of the first chest register. Men speak an octave lower than women, and use mostly the upper half of the chest register. In public speaking, as well as on the stage, the second chest register is used by men, and sometimes also the lowest tones of the voice. The second falsetto and head registers are used only by little children."

It will be remembered that Madame Seiler's "second chest" corresponds to the upper chest tones of some writers, and that "falsetto" is equivalent to "middle," as generally employed.

Ordinary speech is economical, and a range of very few tones, usually not more than two to four intervals of the scale, suffices, but on the stage, and by some of our best public speakers, twice this range may be exceeded. In nature, the cat, under the excitement of a heated interview with a fellow-vocalist, may pass through an entire octave.

SUMMARY.

The shape of the resonance-chambers varies in the formation of vowels and consonants, which may be classified accordingly, or according to their pitch.

Practical implications for singing and speaking, the learning of foreign languages, the study of dialects, etc.

The importance of special attention to those words containing the low-pitched and dark vowels, especially when low in the scale, and when sung piano.

Overtones, and their bearing on the quality of the voice.

The carrying power of the voice, determined by the method of its production, is more important than its volume.

The value of practice with the use of a mirror, and of the formation of the sounds in practice with a distinctness in excess of the actual needs of the listener. Ease is essential to art.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE HEARING APPARATUS AND HEARING IN MUSIC.

So important are the ingoing sensory messages (impulses) that originate in the ear, as a guide not only in the appreciation of musical sounds but in those movements on which all musical execution, all vocal effects, whether of song or speech, depend, that we think the reader will welcome a chapter on the ear, even though it be no part of the vocal apparatus proper.

The essential mechanism used by Nature to give us the sensation of sound consists of (1) a complicated form of nerve-ending; (2) an auditory nerve leading from, and a continuation, in a certain sense, of, the latter; (3) nerve tracts and hearing centres in the brain. The whole constitutes a very complicated mechanism, but the principles on which it is constructed may be reduced to a few. Mechanical or physical principles, as well as physiological ones, are involved.

The entire apparatus has for its purpose the conversion of the vibrations of the air into the vibrations of a fluid, which thus stimulates the end-organ, and brings about those changes in the nerve which result in corresponding changes in the brain, that are associated, in some way we cannot explain, to that state of consciousness we term hearing. Complicated as is the auditory apparatus, it can be readily enough comprehended, if the reader accompany the perusal of the text by an examination of the figures introduced.

[Illustration: FIG. 60. (Beaunis). In this illustration parts are exposed to view by the removal of others. The whole of the inner ear lies within bone, which in this figure is cut away. The drum-head (membrana tympani); the Eustachian tube, extending from the back of the throat, and opening into the middle ear; the semicircular canals (which are not concerned with hearing, but with the maintenance of equilibrium); the cochlea, (snail-shell), which contains the various parts most essential to hearing, as the "hair-cells," the terminals of the auditory nerve, the latter nerve itself, and several other parts—are well shown. Should the Eustachian tube be closed owing to swelling of its lining mucous membrane, a certain amount of temporary deafness may result, because, the air within the middle ear (drum) being absorbed, and fresh air not being admitted, the outer air presses against the drum-head uncounteracted, and renders the conducting mechanism too rigid.]

Anatomists speak of (1) an outer or external ear, (2) a middle ear, drum, or tympanum, and (3) an inner ear, or labyrinth.

[Illustration: FIG. 61 (Beaunis). Diagrammatic representation of the auditory apparatus. The external, middle, and internal ear are separated by dotted lines. A, the external; B, the middle; C, the internal ear; 1, auricle; 2, external auditory meatus; 3, tympanum (middle ear), with its chain of bones, 7, 8, 9. Into it opens 5, Eustachian tube, leading from back of throat; 4, membrana tympani or drum-head, closing the middle ear off from the external ear. The most important part of the inner ear is 13, the cochlear canal, in which the "hair-cells" are found, around which latter the final branches of the auditory nerve end. Above it is the scala vestibuli and below it the scala tympani, passages filled with fluid. The openings to these canals are closed with membrane. Attached to the membrane of the oval opening is the stapes (stirrup). It is thus seen that vibrations communicated to the chain of bones from the tympanic membrane are passed on to the fluid filling the passages (scalae) of the cochlea, and thus affect the hair-cells, and so the nerve of hearing, and through it the brain. The parts indicated by 12 and 16 are important in the maintenance of equilibrium, but are not concerned in hearing.]

The purpose of the outer ear is to collect the air vibrations and convey them to the middle ear, which passes them on to the inner ear, where they produce the vibrations in the fluid therein contained and which affect the end-organ and nerve-endings, and thus initiate the essential physiological processes in the nerve of hearing. It follows that we have an instance of the conversion of one kind of vibrations, those of the air, into another kind, those of fluid, which latter furnish a sufficiently delicate stimulus or excitation of the fine hair-like extensions (processes) of the cells known as hair-cells, about which the nerves in their final smallest branches wrap themselves.



When we ourselves hear sounds when under water, we are affected directly by the vibrations of that water; in this case we, in our whole body, represent the hair-cells which are stimulated by the fluid (endolymph) which surrounds them.



The external ear, well developed in many of the lower animals, being often highly movable, is practically immovable in man, and is wholly wanting in some animals, as the frog. The circular plate one sees behind the eye of the frog is the drum-head of the middle ear.

From the drum-head, or tympanic membrane, the vibrations, which are now those of a solid, are communicated by a series of very small bones, most beautifully linked together by perfect joints, to another membrane, which closes a small hole in the outer wall of the inner ear.

The middle ear, it will be seen, is a drum with its stretched membrane like any other drum, and it too has a communication with the exterior air through a tube, the Eustachian tube, which leads from the drum into the back part of the throat. When one has a cold, the mucous membrane which lines this tube may become swollen or even catarrhal, and be so closed that no air can enter from the throat; the air already within the drum being absorbed, the outer air presses unduly against the drum-head, with the result that the whole conducting apparatus is put more or less out of condition, and a certain degree of deafness naturally results. The tension of the drum-head is regulated by a muscle attached to the bone which is connected with the inner part of this membrane.

It is now easy to understand how any unfavorable condition of the throat may affect the ear, or that of the ear influence the throat.

In the hearing mechanism of man, the inner ear, or labyrinth, well so named because of its complexity, is really situated in the inner hardest portion of the "temporal" bone. It consists of a membrane and a bony portion, the former containing the essential mechanism of hearing, the latter being chiefly protective to it. The membranous portion consists of a series of canals communicating with some similarly membranous sacs, the whole being surrounded by and filled with fluid. These latter communicate with an extension termed the cochlea, which contains a central canal in which that collection of cells is found which constitutes the end-organ, among them the hair-cells, about which the nerve ends.

This end-organ in the cochlea may be compared very fitly to the telephone which receives the message, and that portion of the brain where the auditory tract ends, to the telephone at the distant end of the path, the listener there representing consciousness. The auditory path within the brain is long and complicated, there being, in fact, many way-stations through which the message passes before it reaches the final one.

The auditory nerve proceeds first to the lowest or hindermost portion of the brain, known as the bulb, or medulla oblongata; thence a continuation of the nerve tract passes forward to a central region, the posterior corpora quadrigemina, then, by a new relay of nerve-fibres, to the highest and most important part of the brain, that most closely associated with consciousness, the cortex of the temporal lobe, where there is situated the most important of all the centres of hearing.

It will be apparent, on consideration, that "hearing" is a very elaborate result, the outcome of many physiological processes (initiated by physical ones), the initial and final being better understood than the intermediate ones.

One asks, with natural curiosity and interest, "Is the auditory apparatus of the highly endowed musician different from and superior to that of the individual with little talent for music?"

It is not easy to give a short and definite answer to this question. No special examinations of the essential parts of the ears of eminent musicians have been made, so far as we are aware, and as yet few of the brains of this class of men. It is, however, practically certain that there is a brain development peculiar to the born musician, and that this, whatever else it may be, involves a special excellence of the auditory path within the brain, rather than any unusual development of the essential parts of the ear. The individual who is a musical prodigy has, without question, a more perfect connection established between his auditory apparatus, in the widest sense of the word, and those muscular mechanisms employed in the execution of music, whether vocal or instrumental, than is the case with the average man. Usually, with this goes a wide series of brain associations or connections, we may presume, between the auditory tracts and other regions, for without this it is difficult to explain temperament and artistic perception. That they are not necessarily associated, however, is clear from the fact that some have a high degree of executive ability and little real artistic development.

It must never be forgotten, however, that whatever else music may be, it is essentially and primarily a sensuous experience. The one who enjoys music must feel its sensuous charm, and the artist who furnishes that which is enjoyed addresses himself primarily to our auditory mechanism. Executing music is hearing music, and enjoying music is hearing music, though both may involve much more than this, and herein individuals must differ greatly, owing to education, past experience, etc.; but all who have the power to really appreciate music must be capable of the sensuous enjoyment of tones. In this all everywhere find something in common; often that which we enjoy is of the most varied nature.

One thing is certain: those connections between the hearing and the motor processes we term singing or playing should be made early in life, if they are to reach that degree of facility and general excellence essential to success. We think there is good reason to begin voice-production early, as well as the practice of an instrument, though we do not maintain that the argument is as strong in the one case as in the other.

That the "ear for music" may be well developed, in the sense that one may know perfectly what is correct in time and tune, without the power to execute well, there can be no doubt, as witness the case of many composers, but the reverse does not hold. There can be no doubt that the nervous impulses that pass from the ear to the brain are of all sensory messages the most important guides for the outgoing ones that determine the necessary movements.

The author would advise every serious student of music to believe in the unlimited capacity of his own ear for improvement. The lack of "ear" of many people is due largely, if not solely, to inattention. Indeed, an excess of temperament may be a positive hindrance to musical development, both as regards appreciation and execution, for it may be accompanied by inattentive listening and consequent inadequate hearing. On the other hand, no one should, because he has a good faculty for time and tune and the memorizing of airs, conclude that he is an artist. The one faculty may exist altogether apart from the capacity for the highest art. It is a matter of history that several vocalists now before the public, and who rank in the highest class of musical artists, displayed at one period of their career a lack of perception as to pitch or rhythm that was, to say the least, very discouraging, and which, but for their force of character, would have kept them from ever being eminent.

If one have neither ear, temperament, nor artistic perception, he should not waste his energies on musical study—at least, not extended efforts; but if he have the two last, and but a moderate ear, he will do well to try to improve the lower for the sake of the higher qualities.

In children the difficulty often is due wholly to inattention.

Those who would cultivate the speaking voice are frequently discouraged from lack of "ear," and when urged to follow such exercises as have been recommended in this work, complain that they have not the "ear" to do so. To such the author would say, "Persevere; believe in your ear; learn to listen—i.e., to attend to sounds having musical qualities."

Besides, it must not be forgotten that in addition to the "ear"—i.e., the ability to appreciate relative pitch, tune, and rhythm—there is also the entirely distinct faculty that appreciates the quality of sounds. The latter is really more important for the speaker, who can succeed with a very moderate development of the faculty for time and tune, but to whom the power to appreciate the quality of sounds is essential.

No doubt the first and fundamental qualities in the make-up of a musician are the capacities to appreciate pitch and rhythm, but no result worthy the term "artistic" can be produced in which attention is not given to the quality of sounds, hence the technical and artistic should be developed together. The lack of attention on the part of a certain class of vocal teachers to the quality of the tones produced is one of the special defects in the instruction of the day.

In the early weeks of vocal training, when the student should intone only before his teacher, the former need not be left without musical culture, and it is for each teacher to give the pupil that training, at this time, which will forestall disgust and impatience at the apparent slowness of his progress. At this time much can be done to cultivate the ear in all its various powers.

And the author would like to put in a plea for the development of the appreciation of music. Whatever difference of opinion there may be as to choral singing, singing in schools, etc., there can be no question that time spent in developing the appreciation of musical art is well spent, and makes for the development and provides for the innocent and elevating sources of enjoyment of a people. If some of the time spent in bad piano-playing were devoted to the development of the power to appreciate and delight in really good music, including the sweet sounds of speech and song, the world would thereby be greatly the gainer.

The author would impress on all students of music, and of the voice as used in both singing and speaking, the paramount importance of learning early to listen most attentively to others when executing music; and, above all, to listen with the greatest care to themselves, and never to accept any musical tone that does not fully satisfy the ear. When one considers how much harshness is passed as singing or speaking, by the student, even by those who pose as public singers and speakers, one must often wonder where they keep their ears. As a matter of fact, the ideal listeners are rare, and the critical ear, like a sentinel on guard, is among students, really seldom to be met with, if one extend the term "listening" to mean giving attention equally and in the most critical way, not only to pitch and rhythm, but also to the quality of sounds, the effects of pauses, shading, etc., all of which are perceived through the ear.

If such listening requires, as it does, the closest attention, it must give rise to fatigue, so that it is clear that the lengthy practices some undertake are against the plainest laws of physiology and psychology, even if the hearing processes alone be considered; but as we have before shown, there are other reasons why such long-continued exercises as some attempt are in every way unwise; in fact, in the author's opinion, they are in the musical world a great evil under the sun.

SUMMARY.

Hearing is finally a psychological or mental condition, a state of consciousness, but is always associated with certain physiological processes, which are initiated by a physical stimulus in the form of waves in a fluid surrounding the hair-cells of the auditory end-organ; which waves may again be traced to the movements of the bones of the middle ear, caused by the swinging to and fro of the drum-head, owing to vibrations of the air produced by a sounding body.

The ear is anatomically divisible into external, middle (tympanum or drum), and internal (labyrinth). The outer ear collects the vibrations, the middle ear conducts them, and the internal converts them into a special physiological condition of the hair-cells and the auditory nerve. This condition is communicated to the other links in the anatomical hearing chain, until the highest part of the brain, or cortex, is reached. Hearing, from the physiological point of view, is the outcome of a series of processes having their development in a corresponding series of centres, or collections of nerve-cells.

The perceptions associated with the ear, in the mind of the musician, are those of the pitch, rhythm (and time), and quality of tones. The loudness of a tone is, of course, recognized by the ear also, but this is hardly a musical quality proper. In reality, like all that belongs to hearing, these perceptions are the result of a series of physiological processes, in which the ear takes an important but not the sole or even the chief part, which is to be referred to the brain.

It is practically important to recognize that these various qualities are distinct perceptions, and that the "ear" for relative pitch may exist well developed and the color, clang, or quality of a tone be imperfectly recognized, and the reverse.

The most comprehensive ear-training involves attention to each of the above characters of tones, and then uniting them in a musically perfect result. Lack of "ear" is often simply want of attention to the characters of sounds.

The auditory messages are the most important of all the nervous impulses that reach the brain, for the musician, whether appreciation or execution be considered. They are the chief guides for the outgoing nervous impulses to the muscles.

The good executant must, above all, be a good listener.



CHAPTER XVIII.

CONSIDERATION OF GENERAL AND SPECIAL HYGIENE AND RELATED SUBJECTS.

Hygiene deals with the laws by the observance of which health is to be maintained and disease prevented; but as such laws must be based on physiological principles, hygiene follows from physiology. Accordingly, throughout this work our method has been to point out the correct way as soon as the physiological principle has been laid down, so that the reason for the recommendation made would be obvious. However, it may be well if now some of the more important tendencies, errors, bad habits, and dangers to be guarded against by the singer and speaker be pointed out afresh, briefly, with some additional observations that experience has shown to be of practical importance.

Hygiene, for all persons, should, in the widest sense, refer to the whole man, his body, intellect, feelings, and will, though the term has usually been restricted to the preservation of bodily health. But, fortunately, it is being more and more recognized that man is a whole, and that one part of him cannot suffer without the others participating, so we shall pursue the broader course, and consider the general welfare of the voice-user as properly coming under consideration.

He, being a human being like his fellows, must, of course, observe the same laws for the preservation of his general health as they, but just because he comes before the public, his case is peculiar, and he must, in addition, take special precautions to avoid every form of temporary or permanent disability.

There is, of course, much in the life of a public speaker or singer that conduces to health of body and mind, such as the vigorous use of the breathing apparatus, the favorable effect of praise expressed in one way and another, etc., but even with the most successful, all this may be more than counter-balanced by other unfavorable factors. When one considers the necessary travelling, often including night journeys, the late hours, the concentrated efforts essential to success, the uncertainty of the public taste, the rivalries, jealousies, exhaustion, etc., often associated with a public career, it must be clear that no one should embark upon it without counting well the cost. For one with mediocre ability, imperfect training, voice of very limited range, power, and quality, feeble will, an imperfectly developed body, and indifferent health, to enter on a public career is practically to court failure and to ensure disappointment and unhappiness.

It is to be remembered that never was the world so exacting of the artist, and never were there so many aspirants to popular favor, so that the competition in the ranks of the actors and singers, at least, is very keen. At the same time, there is room for a certain class of persons—viz., those with good health, excellent physique, first-rate ability, self-control, sound moral principles, perseverance, industry, musical feeling, and artistic insight, with vocal organs trained like the muscles of the athlete, and, in the case of singers, sound musical knowledge and an exacting and reliable ear.

Considering that the actor, often the public speaker, and the singer are constantly being put under excessive strain, it follows that (1) such persons should begin with an unusually good physical organization—others can scarcely hope to get into the first class, even with the best abilities; and (2) because there is a tendency to exhaustion of the body and mind through emotional and other expenditure, the public voice-user must take precautions, on the one hand, to prevent this, and, on the other, to make good his outlay by special means. He needs more sleep and rest generally than others, and he should counteract the influence of unhealthy conditions on the stage or platform by some quiet hours in the open air, all the better if with some congenial friend, sympathetic with his aims, yet belonging, preferably perhaps, to another profession, and who will speak of topics other than those that are ever recurring in the life of an artist. The uninterrupted pursuit of one thing, without the mind and spirit being fed from other springs, can be good for no human being. The specialist who is only a specialist will never reach the very highest point. The artist must seek sources of inspiration and mental nutriment outside of his own line of thought, or he will suffer professionally and in his own spirit.

The reader will by this time understand why the author considers that for one who would be an artist to enter on his public career without the fullest mental equipment and vocal training is an exceedingly unwise course. Technique should be acquired before an aspirant to success steps on a public stage or platform, and this is exactly what is so seldom done in these days, and why we have so few singers, actors, and public speakers of the highest rank. Many, very many, know what they wish to express, and, in a sense, how to express it, but they have neither the formed voice nor the control of that voice by which their ideas are to be embodied. Let no one delude himself into the belief that technique will be learned in public; such is rarely, if ever, the case. Expression, style, etc., may come to the vocalist or speaker all the more readily if he occasionally goes before the public; but that such may be so, he must first have voice and technique. It is because of the neglect of this training for the acquirement of technique that so many naturally good voices are of little practical use for the public, and this explains why the ranks of the professions are crowded with inferior artists, if, indeed, artists they may be called.

The isolation of the dramatic and musical artist from his fellows generally is a great evil. Much that society complains of in the lives of artists would never exist but for this isolation, in spite of the fact that the artistic temperament is so moody and so impulsive, so little regardful of ordinary conventionalities. That it is so is partly the fault of society. It is quite true that because of journeying, rehearsals, etc., the travelling artist has little time to meet the members of the community in private life; but this state of things could be mitigated were society and the artists themselves convinced that for any class of people to live in little hives, wholly separated from their fellows, must be unfortunate for them and society. Artists as men and women are practically unknown to the world, though their false selves as represented by sensational paragraphs in newspapers are only too familiar to us. It may truly be said of the artist: "Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny." It is within the power of society to alter this, and it should do so.

Why is it that actors and singers do not prepare themselves by as prolonged and thorough a vocal training as in a past time?

Considering that there never was a period when there was the same scope for art, never a time when the public was so eager to hear and so able to pay for art, as now, never a period of such widespread intelligence on all subjects, music included, the question is a very pertinent one. We believe there are many factors underlying the technical decadence we must regret. The orchestra has greatly developed, choral singing is common in all countries, and the spirit of the times has changed. So analytical, so refined is our age, that singing sometimes becomes a sort of musical declamation, but, unfortunately, without that power to declaim possessed by the actors and often the opera-singers of a former period. A singer often attempts now to make up by an expressive reading of a song, for technical defects. We must all commend every evidence of intellectuality in music, but this does not imply that we should accept good intentions for execution—performance. Let us have every possible development of orchestral music; let every village have, if possible, its choral society, but let none enter it who have not been trained vocally.

Out of the author's own experience he could a tale unfold of the evil done to the vocal organs by those who have sung in choirs without adequate vocal training. Choristers are tempted to reach high tones by a process of their own, without any regard to registers, and with corresponding effects on their throats, some of which imply also lasting injury to the voice itself.

In choral singing there is the tendency to lean on certain singers who are natural leaders, with the result that there is little independent listening and individual culture, even if the singer could hear his own voice well, which is not usually the case. The same objections and others apply to class singing in schools, which does little for music, and tends to make slovenly singers. If some of the time given to school singing were taken up in illustrating why certain musical selections are good, and others mere rubbish—in other words, in forming the taste of the nation in the children—a valuable work would be done; but school class singing, as commonly carried out, tends rather to injure than develop voices and good musical taste.

We cannot honestly pass by the subject of Wagner's music and some of its tendencies. Wagner was an intellectual giant among men, and his works are amazingly grand, yet they unfortunately are, in a certain sense, responsible for much bad singing and not a little injury to fine voices.

First of all, Wagner's operas are, in their present form, too long. To sing these compositions night after night is beyond human powers, even in the case of those of the most perfect musical and technical training. If they were divided into two, and one half sung on one evening and the other on the next, it would be a gain for the public and the artists. It is impossible for even the musically cultivated to absorb and assimilate the whole of such an opera as "Siegfried" or "Tristan and Isolde" in one evening, and it is too much to expect any artist to sing them through without a rest.

Again, they call for such strong accents, such deep and strenuous breathing, that the artist impersonating a hero or a god or goddess is put to a degree of exertion that is too great for human powers when continued for more than a very moderate period; besides, there is a temptation to a wrong use of the larynx—a forcible coup de glotte, or attack—that is exceedingly dangerous, and has injured many voices and ruined others. The man or woman who would sing Wagner's greater music dramas should, in addition to a strong physique, be master of a wonderfully perfect technique. These operas should never be attempted by very young singers of either sex, and especially not by very young women. They are for the powerful, the mature, the perfectly trained, the experienced.

Turning to some special faults, we would warn against the "scoop," the excessive use of the portamento, or glide, so common a fault at the present time, and the vibrato and tremolo.

The two former are musical faults, so we pass them by without further consideration. Otherwise is it with the last two faults; they both result from a wrong use of the vocal organs. They are both due to some unsteadiness and lack of control, and, unfortunately, when once acquired, are very difficult to remedy. The unsteadiness may be almost anywhere in the vocal organs, but is usually referable to the respiratory apparatus or to the larynx.

A vibrato is the milder form of the evil, and is encouraged, we regret to say, by some teachers, while the tremolo is due to an extreme unsteadiness, and, so far as we are aware, is universally condemned. It is about the worst fault any singer can have. It is evident in some cases only when the vocalist sings piano, but mostly in vigorous singing, and often arises from straining, disregard of registers, etc. It may be due to the singer trying to control too large a supply of air, or from bringing a blast to bear on the vocal bands too strong for them. In every case there is lack of adjustment between the vocal bands and the respiratory organs. The remedy must be adapted to the case, but usually the singer must for a time give up the use of the voice in forte singing altogether, and gradually again learn to control his vocal mechanism.

Associated sometimes with this fault is another, which, indeed, often gives rise to the former—viz., "pumping," or attempting to vocalize after the breath power is exhausted. One should always have enough air in reserve to sing at least two tones more than what is required.

It will be observed that good singing and speaking are always physiological—i.e., they depend on the observance of well-known physiological principles; we wish we could add, principles clearly recognized by singers and teachers generally. It is to those who do that we would recommend the student of the vocal art to go at the outset of his career, otherwise much time may be lost and possibly much injury done. We distinguish, of course, between the teacher who recognizes physiological principles only practically and the one who does so consciously. The former may be an excellent and safe teacher, though, we think, not so good, other things being equal, as one of the latter type,—as yet somewhat rare.

At an earlier period we referred to the important matter of classifying the voice. It often happens that one who is a tenor is trained as a barytone, or a contralto as a soprano, and the reverse, only to discover later that a mistake has been made. If it could become the custom to have vocal consultations among teachers, as medical ones among doctors, the author is convinced it would be well. Often a patient is sent a long distance to consult a medical man, and to return to his own physician for treatment based on the diagnosis made. In these instances the doctor consulted is expected to write his views privately to the patient's doctor, and to recommend treatment. Why should the same not occur in the vocal teacher's profession? It is considered scandalous in the medical profession to "steal" another physician's patient, and why should not a similar etiquette prevail in the profession now under consideration? The teacher in doubt about a voice might thus obtain the views of another member of his profession, of longer experience, on such a vital point as the classification of a voice, and with satisfaction alike to himself and to his pupil. If the teacher or pupil were not satisfied with the diagnosis, another eminent vocal teacher might be consulted, which would only be following custom in the medical profession.

We would again remind the reader that voices are to be classified by quality, and not by range, at least not to any appreciable extent.

Of all persons, the singer should know himself. He must learn his limitations, and the sooner the better. At the outset of his career he may be able to take certain liberties with himself with apparent impunity, but sooner or later he will pay the penalty; so that we recommend him to live with all the care of an athlete in training. However it may be with other men, spirits in every form, tobacco, etc., are not for him. Both tend to irritate and relax if not to inflame the throat, not to mention their bad effects on the general health, both psychical and physical. This advice is all the more necessary when one considers the exacting nature of the professional life of the artist. Strenuous exertion tends to fatigue and exhaustion, with a natural desire to relieve them by some special means, such as alcohol. To do so is often but to make a beginning of the end. How many bright lights in the dramatic and musical professions have been prematurely quenched through indulgence in the delusive draught! If tonics, sedatives, etc., are to be taken, which should not be a habitual practice, they should be used only under the direction of a medical man, and not self-prescribed.

As the speaker and singer must often practise their art in an atmosphere that is far from pure, they will do well to carry out in a routine way some sort of mouth toilet on their return home and the next morning. Various simple mouth and throat washes may be used, such as (1) water with a little common salt dissolved in it; (2) water containing a few drops of carbolic acid—just enough to be distinctly tasted; (3) water containing listerine; (4) either of the last two with the addition of a pinch of bicarbonate of sodium to a teacupful of the fluid, when there is a tendency to catarrh.

The use of lozenges in a routine way is not to be commended, and those containing morphia, cocaine, etc., should be employed only under the supervision of a medical practitioner. Sometimes, especially in the case of nervousness, a licorice pellet or a particle of gum arabic serves a good purpose in aiding in keeping the mouth moist.

For one with a healthy throat the sipping of water is unnecessary, and the habit is one on no account to be learned, for the most admirable effect may be spoiled through the speaker stopping to sip water; there is the fatal and rapid descent from the lofty to the little.

It is much more important to avoid eating certain things which interfere with the voice than to take anything to improve it before singing or speaking. Each individual should learn just what he can or cannot with safety eat. Certain kinds of fruit, cheese, fat meat, pastry, nuts, occasionally even butter, not to mention puddings, etc., must be put on the list of what singers and speakers had better not partake of before a public appearance. But the quantity is quite as important as the quality of the food taken. About one half the usual quantity, at most, and of very simple but nourishing food, is enough for any one who would do himself justice before the public. If blood and energy be drawn off to the stomach by a large meal, it cannot be available for the uses of the artist. Moreover, a full stomach pressing up under the diaphragm greatly hampers the movements of this, the most important of all the muscles of breathing. Of course, the public singer or speaker should eat after his work is done, of what and how much he can best learn by experience.

As the author has felt called upon to condemn the use of alcohol in every form, he should, perhaps, point out that to take a cup of such a mild stimulant as tea or coffee during an interval, in the case of those who feel weary, is generally an unobjectionable, indeed, often a useful, procedure; but the less the artist coddles himself, especially while still young, the better.

We would again call attention to one anatomical fact of great importance for the explanation of certain facts of experience—viz.: that the whole respiratory tract, the larynx included, is lined with a mucous membrane, which is continuous with that covering the inner surface of the digestive organs. That is to say, the nose, the mouth, the back of the throat, the larynx, the windpipe, the bronchial tubes, the gullet, the stomach and intestines are all brought into structural connection by this common lining membrane. Moreover, these parts have to some extent the same nerve supply, and are, in fact, so related that derangement in one region must affect sooner or later, and to a variable degree according to the resisting power of each individual, other related parts. Thus it is that a disordered stomach affects the voice, that a cold may affect digestion, that a catarrh of the nose will eventually reach the vocal bands, etc.

Another principle of wide-reaching importance is that all sorts of compression must, of necessity, be attended by functional disorders, which, if long continued, will result in organic or structural changes implying deterioration of a kind that must be more or less permanent. Whatever the cause of compression of the chest or neck, the result is the same: a retention of blood in parts for too long a period—a condition of things which must inevitably be injurious.

The tissues are made up of cells, which are the individuals of the bodily community. Around these cells are found the smallest of the blood-vessels, the capillaries, between which and the tissues a sort of physiological barter is continually going on, the capillaries handing over oxygen and food supplies from the blood, and receiving waste materials in return, as the blood creeps along at a very slow rate. If, however, in consequence of pressure on a part, the blood be kept back in these minute vessels too long, there is naturally a double evil: first, the food and oxygen supplies fail—they have been used up already—and, secondly, the waste products accumulate in the tissue cells, so that there is a combination of starvation and poisoning—a sort of physiological slum life, with corresponding degradation; so that it is not at all difficult to understand why tight collars, neckbands, corsets, etc., must be unmixed evils, apart altogether from the fact that they so greatly hamper the very movements the voice-user most requires for the successful execution of his task.

All sorts of straining or forcing also involve this same evil, known to medical men as congestion. The sore throats so common with those who force, owing to methods essentially wrong, or simply to the too vigorous use of methods correct in themselves, are to be traced to the above—i.e., to this congestion, which is bad, and bad only.

If one who had a naturally sound throat at the outset finds that after vocal exercise he experiences either a soreness or an undue weariness of parts, he should conclude, if he is living under healthy conditions, that the methods he is employing are incorrect, and seek the natural remedy. Proper vocal exercise should, in those with healthy vocal organs, always improve them and the condition of the whole man. The author has met those who have been ruined vocally for life by the use of certain methods recommended by would-be professional guides. Why should not all who assume the responsibility of guiding speakers and especially singers be required by the state to show that they have not only a knowledge of music and vocal technique, but also at least a moderate amount of practical knowledge of the anatomy and physiology of the vocal organs, with some elementary information on general physiology? If the injury done by incompetent teachers were realized, we feel certain that the above proposition would not be questioned.

A common cause of congestion of the digestive organs, with which, of course, other parts sympathize physiologically, is constipation, very often the result of insufficient exercise, and injurious in many ways. Speakers and singers very generally ride to and from their engagements, so that there is special reason why they should see to it that some time is set aside for general exercise, as walking in the open air, which would of itself work against that tendency to grow fat which is the physical curse that seems to fall on artists above most others.

It seems scarcely necessary to point out how important it is for those who propose to take up the life of the stage or the platform to look to hardening themselves against catching cold, by friction of the skin, cold bathing, etc. The use of a sponge-bath of cold salt and water to the upper parts of the body, especially the neck and chest, will prove valuable in many cases, but the enervating effects of hot water should be avoided by all.

The remarks made in regard to Wagner's music on page 257 have been among the very few to which exception has been taken by my reviewers.

To those who disagree with me on the merits of the case I have nothing to say, but some have assumed that the writer was speaking out of pure theory, in real ignorance of Wagner's works. I wish to set that class of critics right.

I have spent a great many seasons in Germany, and have heard Wagner's works under a great variety of circumstances, and have heard them also in several other countries. I have also had the opportunity of getting behind the scenes in a way that falls to the lot of few, so I think I am entitled to speak with rather more than the usual authority.

My convictions as expressed in the foregoing chapter have in the interval rather strengthened than weakened. I am firmly convinced that it would be in the interests of art, the singer, and the auditor alike, either to shorten these operas, or to produce them in some way which will relieve the continuous strain. It must not be forgotten, either, that the poor overworked and greatly underpaid orchestral player often suffers severely in his nervous system from long continued Wagner playing.



CHAPTER XIX.

FURTHER TREATMENT OF PHYSICAL AND MENTAL HYGIENE.

Stammering and stuttering are allied but not identical defects. They require special treatment, the earlier the better. Much can be done by the exercise of a little patience and kind consideration, to make the subject of these infirmities feel at ease, and so manifest the defects as little as possible. It is, of course, as a general rule, very unwise to take any notice whatever of such imperfections, as they are thereby made worse. As a rule, they are best treated practically by those who have made this branch a specialty.

Those who have been badly taught, or who have overworked the vocal organs and, in consequence, may have broken down, are among the most discouraging if they be not the very worst cases that come under the treatment of the physician or vocal teacher. If the throat be out of order, a specialist should be consulted. He will likely enjoin complete rest of the vocal organs, and his advice should be implicitly followed. But usually the time comes when some sort of vocal exercises may be resumed. When this is the case, the choice of a teacher becomes of the utmost importance, more so than in ordinary cases, for further injudicious treatment may lead to the utter ruin of the voice. Assuming that medical treatment is no longer or not at all required, we recommend: (1) That all practices be only piano, or, at most, moderato, for some time; (2) that they be of very brief duration at any one period, so as to avoid fatigue; (3) that they be well within the range of the singer. The same principles apply to speakers who have broken down, whether owing to bad methods or to over-use of the voice. It is most important that strength and facility be gradually gained, and that weariness, not to say fatigue, be strictly avoided. If the general health be good, time, patience, and the utmost care in the application of the above principles, under the direction of an enlightened teacher, will in a large proportion of cases restore the voice for efficient use in at least moderate efforts. Of course, much depends on the age, general health, intelligence, etc., of the subject.

On the question of the extent to which a singer's range can be safely increased, the greatest difference of opinion exists, and very extreme views have been held. On the one hand are those who almost ridicule the idea of "making" tones, and on the other, those who maintain that the range of all young singers can be increased by proper training.

As a matter of fact, there are many singers before the public to-day whose range, either upward or downward, has been increased by many tones, in some cases almost an octave, and these singers are successful artists and sound vocalists; while others have sought to add but two or three tones to their range, and in vain. This is quite intelligible. As a rule, those of the former class have fallen into the hands of very good teachers, while yet young, have had excellent health and well-formed vocal organs, and been patient and attentive students. The acquisition has been gradual, and never forced. We have before said that if a pupil felt his throat the worse for a lesson in vocal culture, there was something wrong: either the method was incorrect in itself, or the practice was continued too long or carried out too vigorously. Of course, it is always assumed that the vocal organs are in a normal condition, and the student's health good not only generally but on the day of the practice.

It is in every case for the student himself to determine, from his own feelings, whether the attempt to reach a certain tone produces straining, and for the teacher to judge whether this be so, from the appearance of the face of the pupil, the character of the tone, etc. One thing is certain: harm, and harm only, is done by any form of forcing or straining. At the same time, as the athlete increases the height to which he can jump, or the speed with which he can run, even during a single season, it seems illogical to conclude that in no case can a singer safely reach tones that are not originally in his voice—meaning thereby that he is unable to sing them at the outset of his career. This is one of those subjects on which common sense and science unite in admonishing us to test cautiously and to progress gradually, if the purpose is to be achieved with good results for the individual and for art.

It is also unwise for a singer to attempt those selections in public the range of which taxes him to the very utmost. They lead to undue anxiety as to success, violate the principle of reserve force, to which reference has several times been made, and may lead to vocal failure, if not to injury to the throat. Though it is true that occasionally a song suffers by transposition to a lower key, if the vocalist is determined to sing a composition even slightly beyond his easy range, it is better to resort to it than to risk the possibilities mentioned above and other undesirable ones.

Everyone who purposes to follow the arduous career of the vocal or dramatic artist would do well to realize early the importance of learning the art of conserving energy, or making the most of all that Nature has given him. When a man or woman is small, and has less breath power than some others, it becomes more important that they observe the laws of contrast, rest, etc., in their public efforts. A forte has much the same effect, if it be preceded by darker, quieter tones, as if it were really louder. In like manner, a pause may often serve a very good purpose in preparing the ear of the listener for an effect that should be telling, yet a difficult one for a person of limited physical powers.

In reality, all the best art recognizes, mostly unconsciously, the peculiarities of our physical and mental nature. A continuous forte, for example, ceases to be a forte, in reality, since the ear and the mind weary under it, and all the effect of contrast is lost. As we have more than once said, good art is physiological—in harmony with the laws of the body, as well as of the mind. It follows that each one should study especially how to make the wisest, the most effective, use of his powers, for what is best for one may not be so for another.

A singer or speaker, by reason of a voice somewhat small in volume, may seem to be shut out from certain buildings. This need rarely be the case. The artist must simply the more carefully consider how he shall vary his effects, how so use his powers that they shall suffice. A loud voice may be a very bad one for the hearer, and may annoy and weary rather than please. When a building is large, nearly all effects should be increased—e.g., all pauses lengthened, the tempo taken a little slower, the contrasts made stronger, etc.,—rather than the volume of tone increased. The method of attack becomes of the utmost importance; all low or soft passages should be sung or uttered with the greatest distinctness, all final letters most perfectly finished. It is especially important for a speaker to be aware of his favorite—i.e., most easy and natural—pitch, and also that pitch which best adapts his voice to a certain building. Many forget that sound does not, in reality, travel very rapidly, and that allowance must be made for this, so that one tone shall not break on the ear before another has had time to be attended to—one idea to be grasped before another is presented.

Of all things pauses are of the greatest importance, to the listener, that he may apprehend the ideas presented, and to the speaker, that he may have time to take breath and a brief rest, and also seize the opportunity to readdress himself, so to speak, to his auditors, by the use of another accent, pitch of tone, or whatever he deems most apt to his purpose. Speakers who make suitable pauses with intention (not from lack of ideas), or from an artistic instinct, give pleasure, as well as effect their intellectual purpose, for the listener also gets his moments for rest, perceives readily what is meant, and enjoys the purely sensuous in the art far more than when the speaker's utterance rushes on like a torrent. All this applies to a certain extent to the singer, though it is but very inadequately observed—we must say, however, much better than at a former period, when "ranting," on the stage especially, was a very common fault.

In an earlier chapter attention was given to the precautions to be taken before a public appearance, especially by those who are inexperienced; and we would again emphasize the fact that those who have the best training, and have made the most perfect special preparation for the coming event, are least likely to suffer from that great disturber, nervousness; and when they are somewhat tense, the well-disciplined often recover rapidly, and frequently astonish their friends by the success of their first appearance. We strongly recommend all who can to take rest on the day preceding and following a hard evening's work, and preferably, in summer, in the open air. A quiet walk in a park, where one may think or observe or not, as he feels inclined, is an excellent thing to do, either before or after a strenuous artistic effort. If the battery is to be well charged, it must not be discharged even partially before the right moment. Amateurs and the inexperienced are particularly apt to neglect such precaution for success, and to fritter away their energies by attention to details, possibly trivial ones, up to the last moment.

Happy is he who, well prepared for his task, free from worries, unmoved by envy, jealousy, or undue ambition, can step before the public resolved to do his best for art, and who, having done it, can rest in the satisfaction that he has contributed something to the innocent and ennobling enjoyment of his fellows, and so has helped to advance those of his own generation; caring little for either the flatteries of admirers or a criticism that may be ignorant, unjust, or malignant, but feeling that the best reward is the approval of his own conscience, knowing that "Art is long, and life short."



CHAPTER XX.

REVIEW AND REVISION.

All the most important truths of any subject may be stated in a brief space. The Author proposes to make this final chapter one of a restatement of the essentials of the subject in the light of our present-day knowledge, and with a distinct relation to practice.

The object of the speaker or singer is to produce certain sounds which shall as easily as possible convey to the listener his own state of mind. It follows that he must have a clear idea of these sounds, that he must hear them mentally prior to their utterance; in other words, the psychological must precede the physiological. Voice production for the purpose of speaking and singing implies a cooeperation of the psychic and the physiological, a co-ordination of processes that are psychic, and physical, somatic or physiological.

It is well to regard the subject from as many points of view as possible, and to consider the various ways in which the same truth may be stated.

Stress must be laid on the idea of co-ordination, for processes may be independently satisfactory yet fail to lead to the desired result if they are not connected, harmonised or co-ordinated. The latter is the better term because it suggests a certain order of progress. As a matter of fact, first the psychic, then the physiological. The idea may be clear, yet from a physical defect, as in stammering, the result does not follow, though this physiological imperfection in movement may itself be the result of a psychic condition and generally is so. A clearer case is that of paralysis of the vocal organs. The ideas to be expressed may be perfectly clear in the mind yet impossible of expression. The defect is at the distal end of the combination—i.e., in the physical, somatic or bodily part of the process to express the same idea by the use of different terms. The consideration of conditions of defect or pathological states may make normal psychological and physiological ones clearer, as has been shown by the above illustrations. The practical importance of the co-ordination of processes is very great. It is not possible for one born deaf to speak because the necessary mental or psychic conditions for co-ordination do not exist—i.e., there is no sound in the mind to be expressed—not because there is any serious anatomical defect. In like manner the student of singing will produce no better tone than he has in mind no matter how much he practices vocalization. It follows, therefore, that the psychic state of the student should be kept in advance of his actual powers of execution. This he will most successfully do by listening to the best artists either directly or if this be impossible by hearing their gramophone records—all this in addition to the best the teacher can do for him by the correction of faults, giving him illustrations of better tone by his own efforts, etc. If the student has the opportunity of hearing himself by means of a phonographic record, he should not fail to do so. No one ever hears himself as others hear him.

As the mind and the brain are always associated in thought and feeling; in other words, in psychic processes, and these latter find expression chiefly through movements, in one sense a study of vocalization may be considered a study of movements. These are always brought about by the use of several muscles which act together for a definite end—i.e., they are co-ordinated. As such movements generally involve many muscles and to be effective must be exact and under perfect control, much practice is necessary, though "much" should have reference rather to the clearness of the mind in reference to what is to be attained and the means of accomplishing it, rather than to the amount of time spent over the actual performance. We may confidently assert that technique or the physical side of putting the ideas into execution, which is simply making certain movements, is successful largely in proportion to the perfection of the psychic processes involved. A clear head should precede the moving hand, or functioning vocal organs. The student should think technique before and after its actual execution. This is even yet, in spite of a great advance in recent years, the weakest part of the student's method of work. All that we know of science as well as the results of all rightly directed practice emphasizes the importance of this central truth.

Assuming that the psychic condition is satisfactory for the production of a definite tone—i.e., that it is heard mentally, what follows before it is actually produced, before it becomes a tone from the physicist's point of view? What is the chain of physical, somatic, bodily or anatomical (to use several words that express similar but slightly different aspects of the same main idea) connections involved, and what is the nature of the physiological processes; in other words, what are the parts of the body involved and how do they act? This will be clearer if we first consider the mechanism concerned and its functions in a general way.

The instrument which is played upon, which finally gives rise to the tone, may be spoken of as that connected series of cavities for which we have no single term but which are generally named the resonance chambers when regarded from the physicist's point of view. To the musician they are the instrument, to the physiologist and anatomist a set of chambers communicating with each other. Plainly all the rest of the vocal mechanism exists for them, and too much stress cannot be laid on this fact. However excellent the state of training of the part below them this is of no avail except in so far as it can affect these resonance cavities.

How is this instrument played upon and how are these cavities made actually into resounding chambers? In the answer to this, in the recognition of the relationship of the three distinct parts of the vocal apparatus lies the one great fundamental conception of the manner in which tone is produced. To understand this clearly is to comprehend in its main outlines the whole subject of voice production in a scientific way.

Before a tone is heard vibrations of the atmospheric air must reach the ear. These are set up by the vibration of the air within the resonance chambers, and this again is effected by the mechanism below them—i.e., by the movements of the vocal bands of the larynx which are due to the blast of air emanating from the lungs, this itself being brought into being by the movements of the chest, using the term in the widest sense, thus including the diaphragm, etc.

Breathing has for its object so far as phonation is concerned no other purpose than to so affect the vocal bands, that the resonance chambers really do resound. The question is how is this breathing best accomplished so that the instrument shall be most efficiently played upon? We cannot alter the anatomical structure of the instrument appreciably, but we can improve the functioning of the several parts of the whole apparatus. Breathing can be improved as regards power and control. More can be done with less expenditure of energy than originally if there be judicious training. How shall we train? As the outgoing stream of air alone affects the vocal bands, it is clear that we must aim to so apply and regulate this outflow that the desired result shall follow from the least possible expenditure of energy. How the air is got in is important only in relation to its expenditure. But the easier the supply is furnished the better. This law of the conservation of energy is one of the greatest importance, for all beings have but a limited supply of energy and our problem must ever be how best to husband this as a wise man should study how best to spend his limited income. One must not only consider what is called for in ordinary conversational speaking, or in singing in a small room, but also when the greatest possible efforts are demanded. In all cases when movements are concerned, indeed whenever activity of any kind psychic or physiological is involved the law of habit should be borne in mind—i.e., one should so think and do that a habit may be established, for a habit implies, when a good one, that there is economy of both mental and bodily energy.