PN %M&®fiM LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. V HH* H 6 — t^igpifxu Shelf L$H£* UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Uniform with this Volume. HOW TO TAKE CARE OF OUR EYES. With advice to Parents and Teachers in regard to the management pf the Eyes of Children. By Henry C. Angell, M.D. Third Edition. i6mo. Price 50 cents. " If any one thing in the human organism demands special and intelligent care, almost every one will agree that the eye holds that important place. Dr. Angell understands the subject in all its bearings, and in the manual here presented gives information and advice which, if thoroughly carried out, will be of incalculable benefit. Parents, teachers, and those who have the care of the eyes of children, will find here the whole history of the eye, the delicacy of its organization, the diseases to which it is subject, and the remedies to be applied for different Condi- tions. The volume is to be commended for its plain and easily comprehended style, its freedom from scientific technicalities, and the satisfactory manner in which its important suggestions are presented." — Providence Journal. ON THE RIGHT USE OF BOOKS. A Lecture. By William P. Atkinson, Professor of English and History in the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. i6mo. Cloth. Price 50 cents. " Full of good sense, sound tas^Sc, and quiet humor. ... It is the easiest thing in the world to waste time over books, which are merely tools of knowledge like any other tools. ... It is the function of a good book not only to fructify, but tp inspire, not only to fill the memory with evanescent treasures, but to enrich the imagination with forms of beauty and goodness which leave a lasting impres- sion on the character." —N. Y. Tribune. " Contains so many wise suggestions concerning methods in study and so excellent a summary of the nature and principles of a really liberal education that it well deserves publication for the benefit of the reading public. Though it makes only a slight volume, its quality in thought and style is so admirable that all who are interested in the subject of good education will give to it a prominent and honorable position among the many books upon education which have recently been published. For it takes only a brief reading to perceive that in this single lecture the results of wide experience in teaching and of long study of the true principles of education are generalized and presented in a few pages, each one of which contains so much that it might be easily expanded into an excellent chapter." — The Library Table. Sold everywhere by all Booksellers. Mailed, postpaid, by the Publishers, ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. ■ ' Reading as a Fine Art. BY ERNEST LEG0UVE, OF THE ACADEMIE FRANCAISE. TRANSLATED FROM THE NINTH EDITION BY ABBY LANGDON ALGER. „ -"7 r- BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1879. ~N Copyright, 1878, By Roberts Brothers. Cambridge : Press of John Wilson &° Son. TO THE SCHOLARS OF THE HIGH AND NORMAL SCHOOL. For you this sketch was written : permit me to dedicate it to you; in fact, to intntst it to your care. Pupils to-day, to-morrow you will be teachers ; to-morrow, generation after generation of youth will pass through your guardian hands. An idea received by you, must of necessity reach thousands of 7ninds. Help me, then, to spread abroad the work in which you have some share, and allow me to add to the great pleastcre of having numbered you among my hearers the still greater happiness of calling you my assistants. E. LEGOUVE. Paris, April, 1877. TABLE OF CONTENTS. Part jft'rst Chap. Pagb I. First Steps. — How I learned to read . 7 II. Should we read as we talk? 18 III. Technical Part of the Art of Reading. The Voice 25 IV. The Art of Breathing ' 32 V. Pronunciation 39 VI. Stuttering 43 VII. Punctuation 47 Part Seconti. reading made eloquent in poetry and prose. I. Readers and Speakers 51 II. Reading as a Means of Criticism ... 61 III. On Reading Poetry 67 IV. A Reading at the House of a Great Actress 81 V. Closing Words , 94 READING AS A FINE ART. o>€ o, and particu- larly the French e have medium sounds not marked by the accents, grave, acute, or circumflex. How explain to a foreigner that the e in cette, for in- stance, is neither as open as in tete, as clear as in colere, nor as sharp as in betail? The accent is yet more difficult of comprehension, for the Italian language is very rich in accent ; French, very poor. The French glide over the syl- FIRST STEPS. IS lables, merely emphasizing the last. The Italians, on the contrary, consider the accent — its due weight and place — among the chief beauties of their language. How was I to rid my spokeswoman of this feeling ? How accustom her, for instance, to run lightly over the first three syllables of S emir- amis y pausing only on the last, when the Italian Semiramide requires such stress on the ra ? After much thought, I had the part of Beatrice written out in a very big black hand, the lines widely spaced. Then I covered the pages with three sorts of signs in red ink : — ^ The horizontal lines were to blot out every e mute, a letter not pronounced in French, but which an Italian is always tempted to use. So I wrote : " Madame, faite-s moi \% plaisir." The perpendicular lines, placed over vowels whose medium sound is unknown in Italy, recalled to the artist's eye the special intonation which I had taught her ears and lips. The curved lines, starting from the first syl- lable and falling on the final one, said to her : " On, on, no stopping midway!" Her Italian instinct was constantly leading her to linger on one part or other of the word . . . but there was the immova- ble red line ! ... In this way, — thanks to this system of musical notation, thanks to weeks of l6 READING AS A FINE ART. work, but above all, thanks to the wonderful intel- lect and yet more wonderful power of will of this artist, — we succeeded, not in removing her accent (that I neither hoped nor attempted), but in leaving nothing but the flavor of the fruit; just enough to be striking without being strange, interesting without being ridiculous. Here, you see, I passed from the role of scholar to that of master, which was but another method of learning : for there is no better way to learn than to teach ; and every dramatist must needs turn elocution-teacher. Our mouth-pieces are often beginners, with nothing but a pretty face or sweet voice to recommend them : still, they are so exactly the person of our play that we would not exchange them, and needs must turn us to the task of breathing a soul into the fair statue. But the last and worst trial of all is the day when the author reads his piece to the managers and company, — a task as important as it is hard. The fate of his play is in his own hands, I might say in his voice. It is nothing more nor less than a first performance, without costume, scenery, or actors, — one person playing every part; and between reading and acting a play lies a vast difference. The actor has but one part to fill ; the reader, all. The actor is a soloist in the orchestra ; FIRST STEPS. 17 the reader, the whole orchestra. I know no more difficult task* no more invigorating system of gym- nastics. And if to this, forty years of incessant collaboration with the most distinguished actors are added, it is plain that I have a right to call myself the pupil of the Theatre Frangais. Lastly, my third master was the College of France, where, in 1848 and 1866, I delivered a course of lectures on the " Moral History of Woman," and on " Parents and Children in the Nine- teenth Century." Brought for the first time into direct and constant communication with the public, I learned the rules imposed and the resources furnished by a large audience. Here I finished my education ; not that I was or am a master of the art of reading, — I have known too many true artists to arrogate that name to myself, — but I passed my examination, and was licensed to prac- tise. It then occurred to me to collect these scat- tered observations, and I hastened to confide my plan to a friend. 1 8 READING AS A FINE ART. CHAPTER II. SHOULD WE READ AS WE TALK? In the spring of 1868, there lived not far from me a man of whom I might say, as Mme. de Sevigne said of Montaigne : " What a country neighbor he would make ! " M. St. Marc Girardin, — for of him I speak, — though of a sceptical turn, was the warm- est of friends, best of advisers, and most delight- ful of talkers. To him T submitted my idea, and, after hearing me attentively, he said : " My friend, you may execute brilliant variations and bravuras on your theme, which will call down hearty ap- plause ; but teach a lesson, never ! Reading is not an art ; it is the natural exercise of a natural power. There are people who read well, and people who read ill ; but the former's talent is a gift, a charm, a grace, what you will, but not an acquired art. It is not to be taught. The exercise of this natural power may call for certain useful sugges- SHOULD WE READ AS WE TALK? 19 tions : Hygienic rules, such as, ' Do not talk or read to excess, any more than you would walk or eat to excess/ Common-sense rules, such as, ' Do not read too loud or too fast.' Rules of good taste, such as, ' Strive to understand, and to make your hearers understand, what you read/ But beyond these brief instructions, there are no direct rules for reading, such as constitute an art. The art of reading is summed up in a single sentence : ' Read as you talk.' " . I had great faith in M. Girardin's taste, and knew his perfect sincerity ; but here I had my own convictions, and perceived the feeling under- lying his words, perhaps unconsciously to him- self : " I, St. Marc Girardin, read very well, and I never was taught ; therefore, no one requires teaching." Accordingly, I replied : " My dear friend, there is a grain of truth in what you say, as there always is in the words of a clever man of the world, who talks of a subject which he has not studied." This rather provoked him ; but. I continued calmly : " Undoubtedly, much depends in reading upon natural talent. It is not like many other arts and trades, absolutely forbidden to those who have not served an apprenticeship. Some men 20 READING AS A FINE ART. read gracefully and pleasantly without study. You are an example of this, for you read effectively ; you are always applauded : but you do not read — excuse my frankness — you do not read weir Upon this he smiled slyly, and said : " What ! I don't read well?" " No ! and the proof of it is that, if any one else read as you do, he would read very badly." " Explain yourself," he exclaimed, laughing, " Nothing easier. I have heard you read extracts from Lamartine, Corneille, and Victor Hugo, in your lectures at the Sorbonne ; and I 've heard you read your own essays at the Academy. The difference was immense." " In what way ? " "The verses of the great masters, read by you, were much applauded. Why ? Because you brought all your intellect and superior mind to bear on the reading ; because you have a ringing voice and an air of conviction, — all personal qual- ities which hide your faults." "Well, what are my faults, if you please ? " " Your voice has certain tones which offend by their very excess. Your delivery is often some- what declamatory and bombastic, — a failing not SHOULD WE READ AS WE TALK ? 21 displeasing to your youthful listeners. But change the audience, and give your manner to some one without your intellect and authority, and he would not please, just because he imitated you too well. Now nothing is good which may not safely be copied. Therefore, you read with talent, but not as one knowing how to read — even your own addresses, which no one else could read as well as you do, for there your faults become good points, being a part of your personality. Let me illustrate my meaning. Jules Sandeau wrote a charming speech in answer to Camille Doucet, which he begged me to read for him. l Heaven forbid!' said I. " Why ? You would read it much better than I." " Yes ! but I should not read it so well. Your speech is a part of yourself. To be sure, I should not make the same mistakes that you would. I should not drop my last syllables, I should make more of the witticisms ; but I should not have your easy attitude, your indolent voice, your indifferent manner, — all which are charming in you, because natural, but which would be disagreeable in me, because acquired. Your speech is fat and fair; I should read it like a thin, dark-haired man : read it yourself." 22 READING AS A FINE ART. " He took my advice, and his success proved me right. But had he read another man's production thus, it would have been sheer treason." " A pretty story," said St. Marc Girardin, " but I don't see what it leads us to. I understand your tale, but don't see what moral you want to draw from it." "Another example may help you. M. Viennet had great fame as a reader, — well deserved when he read his own verses. His hoarse voice, queer gestures, little tuft of hair standing erect like a cock's comb, his jolly intonation, were the exact picture of his style of talent, vivid and somewhat vulgar as it was ; add to this, that he had an immense admiration for every thing that was his own, which gave his delivery of his own verses a spirit and fire that warmed his audience. I was once asked to read a poem by M. Viennet at the Academy, and refused, saying that neither the piece nor myself could succeed, as I lacked the chief element of M. Viennet's success, — a pro- found conviction that what I read was a master- piece of art ! " This harmless little epigram amused St. Marc Girardin, and he cried gayly : " The conclusion ! the conclusion ! What do you conclude from that ? " SHOULD WE READ AS WE TALK? 23 " I conclude that we should never say a writer reads well because he is applauded for reading his own writings, his very faults often helping his success. I conclude that we must except certain rare spirits, certain exceptional natures like your own, who can dispense with rules, they evade them so gracefully ! Art is not for you ; you need it not ! But I also conclude that the majority of mankind require to be taught to read, and that this knowledge, which may be useful even to superior beings, — for one may have more science without having less talent, — is indispensable to others.'' " But what does this science consist of ? How do you define it ?" " The art of speaking and reading correctly." " Correctness presupposes rules. What are these rules ? " "They are of two sorts, material and intellectual ; for the art of reading depends at the same time upon the exercise of a physical organ, the voice, and of a spiritual organ, the intellect. Shall we take up the voice first ?*' " With all my heart," said St. Marc Girardin. " Then I will write down the results of my obser- vation ; for in such a matter we must be exact." But, alas ! The war broke out ; I wrote nothing, 24 READING AS A FINE ART, until three months ago, when, at the request of M. Bersot, — a man who does honor to the cause of public education, — I made this epitome of my ex- perience for the pupils of the High and Normal School. THE VOICE. 25 CHAPTER III. TECHNICAL PART OF THE ART OF READING. THE VOICE. The technical part of the art of reading is devoted to two objects, — the voice and the pronunciation; sounds and words. The vocal apparatus resembles the optic and auric apparatus, differing from them in one essen- tial point ; i. e. y sight and hearing are involuntary. No sooner are our eyes open and there is light, or our ears open and there is a noise, than we see and hear, whether we wish to do so or not. The voice on the contrary is under the control of the will ; man speaks only when he chooses. There is a second difference : we cannot see or hear more or less at pleasure, except by interposing some veil or obstacle between the external world and ourselves. But not so with the voice ; we speak fast or slow, loud or low ; we regulate the measure of vocal action as well as the action itself. 26 READING AS A FINE ART. Hence, the natural inference is that we cannot be taught to hear or see (I refer to mere material action), and that consequently there is no art of seeing or hearing ; while we may learn to talk, lan- guage being susceptible to changes resulting from the will. One word will suffice to explain this difference. The vocal apparatus is not only an apparatus, it is an instrument, like a piano. Now what is the characteristic feature of the piano ? The key-board is composed of from six and a half to seven octaves, divided into three classes of notes, — upper, lower, and middle, — whose tones correspond to strings of various sizes. The voice has its key-board also, divided into two octaves instead of seven, but hav- ing its three species of notes like the piano, and its chords of differing size ; and we can never play upon the voice properly without study, any more than we can on the piano. Let me go even farther. On leaving the hands of a good maker, the piano is a complete and per- fect instrument, the sound issuing from it as mu- sical as it is harmonious, when called forth by an artist's fingers. But the little piano given us at birth seldom reaches such perfection. There are missing chords, squeaky keys, false notes ; so that THE VOICE. 27 before we can become good pianists we must turn makers and tuners, and set our instruments in order. The three varieties of voice, known as high, low, and medium, are all indispensable to artistic read- ing ; but they should be very differently used, their strength being quite unequal. The medium voice is the strongest, most flexible, and natural of the three ; indeed, the famous actor Mole once said, " Without the middle register, no reputation. ,, In fact, the medium voice, being the ordinary one, is used to express all the truest and most natural emotions : the lower notes often have, great power, the upper notes great brilliancy ; but they should never be used unseasonably. I might compare the upper notes to the cavalry in an army, to be reserved for sudden, bold attacks, triumphant charges ; the lower notes, like the artillery, are used for feats of strength ; but the true dependence of the army, the element on which the tactician chiefly relies, is the infantry, — the medium tones. The first rule in the art of reading establishes the superior value of the middle register. The upper tones are much more fragile, are liable to wear out, or become shrill and discordant if too much used. Sometimes this abuse of the upper notes affects 28 READING AS A FINE ART. . the very judgment of a speaker. M. Berryer once told me how he lost an excellent case by uncon- sciously beginning his plea on too high a key. Fatigue soon spread from his larynx to his head, his thoughts became involved, and he lost a part of his brain power, simply because it never occurred to him to descend from the lofty perch to which his voice had climbed at the outset. Nor is abuse of the lower notes less serious ; it produces monotony and a certain dulness and deadness of quality. Talma, when young, was much given to this failing. His voice, though pow- erful and eloquent, was rather sombre ; and it was only by dint of hard study that he raised it from the depths where it naturally lingered. Apropos of this, let me relate an anecdote of my father, who, as I said before, was a fine reader, — much of his success at the College of France, where, he taught, depending on this talent. He often introduced quotations from the great poets of France in his lectures, which won universal applause. This ap- plause, to which he was naturally susceptible, gained him many envious foes, and at last a criticism ap- peared, as follows : " Yesterday, M. Legouve read two scenes from Racine in his sepulchral voice. ,, This fell under the notice of one of his friends, M. THE VOICE. 29 Parseval Grandmaison, who immediately said : " Dear me, Legouve must be very much vexed at this ; I '11 go to see him." He found my father on the sofa in a most melancholy mood. " Oh ! it 's you, is it, my dear Parseval ? " " Yes. Are you ill, Legouve ? You look sad." " No ! there 's nothing the matter ; a slight sore throat. Tell me, Parseval, what do you think of my voice ?" " Why, I think it 's beautiful, my boy." " Yes, yes ; but what do you consider its char- acter ? Do you call it a brilliant voice ? " " Oh, no ! no ! not brilliant ! I should rather call it sonorous ; yes, that's it, sonorous." " Perhaps it would be better to call it a grave voice ? " " Grave be it ! but not melancholy ! No ! no ! not melancholy! And yet there is a certain — " " But you don't call it cavernous ? " "Not at all! Still — " " Oh ! I see," cried my father, " that you agree with that wretched critic, who calls my voice sepul- chral ! " The moral of this story is, that from that day forth my father strove to give his lower notes a rest, and to blend them better with the upper and 30 READING AS A FINE ART. medium tones ; and thus he acquired that variety of sound which is at once charming to the listener, and easy for the reader. But this intermixture of tone is not the only vocal exercise. The voice must be cultivated in various ways. Cultivation strengthens a weak voice, makes a stiff one flexible, a harsh one soft, and in fact acts upon the speaking voice as musical exercises on the singing voice. We sometimes hear that great artists — M. Duprez, for instance — made their own voices. The expression is incorrect. No one can make a voice who has not one to start with, and this is proved by the fact that the voice is perishable. No voice would ever be lost, could it be made at will ; but it may be changed ; it may gain body, brilliancy, and expression, not only from a series of gymnastics adapted to strengthen the whole organ, but from a certain method of attack- ing the note. Additional notes may also be gained by study. On one occasion, the famous Malibran, when singing the rondo from " Somnambula," fin- ished her cadenza with a trill on d in alt, running up from low d, thus embracing three octaves. These three octaves were no natural gift, but the result of long and patient labor. After the concert, some one expressed his admiration of her d in alt, to which THE VOICE. 31 she replied: "Well, I 've worked hard enough for it. I 've been chasing it for a month. I pursued it everywhere, — when I was dressing, when I was doing my hair ; and at last I found it in the toe of a shoe that I was putting on ! " Thus we see that art will not only aid us in governing, but also in extending our kingdom. 32 READING AS A FINE ART. CHAPTER IV. THE ART OF BREATHING. The second great lesson in learning to read is how to breathe. Many may think that if there be a natural and instinctive action upon earth with which art has nothing to do, it is the act of taking breath. To breathe is to live, and we breathe un- consciously as we live ; and yet no one can read well without breathing properly, and no one can breathe properly without study : indeed, it is one of the rarest accomplishments in a reader. Let me explain myself. When we breathe in every-day life, the air enters and leaves the lungs like a strearn, flowing continuously, insensibly, and equably. But this gentle passage of the air through the throat does not suffice to set the vocal chords in vibration, and they are mute like the keys of an untouched piano : the air must strike them a sharp blow before they will resound, as the fingers strike the THE ART OF BREATHING. 33 keys of the piano. Some of my readers may have heard an yEolian harp : it stood in a doorway or window ; if there was no air it was silent ; but let the air be condensed into wind, and the strings wake to music. A similar phenomenon occurs every time that we' speak. We condense and com- press the air contained in the lungs, force it into the throat, and this shock produces speech. But this requires more air than the ordinary act of breathing, and we can no longer use the simile of a flowing stream : we must compare the breath to water gushing from a pump, spurting out faster and faster at every stroke of the handle. The usual conditions of breathing are now set aside. The scant supply of air stored away for ordinary breath-taking is insufficient for the energetic act of speech : a balance must be struck between what we have and what we should have. We must go to headquarters, to the atmosphere itself, and de- mand the necessary amount of air. This demand is called inhalation ; the act of breathing being divided into two parts, — inhalation and expiration. To inhale is to gain a supply for future need ; to exhale, to expend that provision. Each of these is an act in itself. The act of in- halation consists in drawing breath from the very 3 34 READING AS A FINE ART. base of the lungs, from the diaphragm ; for if we breathe from the upper part of the lungs only, we obtain too small a supply of air, which is soon ex- hausted, and if we have a lengthy passage to read we are in the condition of a traveller in the des- ert who starts with his water-skins but half full, — breath fails us ; we are obliged to pause and take in a fresh stock, which is fatiguing both to our- selves and to others, as we shall presently see. The first duty of the reader, who is to fill a long programme, is to take a deep breath at the start, to be sure that his lungs are well furnished. Then comes the second and most difficult part, — expen- diture of this breath. A bad reader does not take breath often enough, and spends it too freely ; he throws this precious treasure out of the window, as it were, squandering it as a spendthrift his gold. The result is that the speaker, reader, actor, or singer, as the case may be, is continually at the pump, giving sudden gasps, which are most dis- agreeable to his audience. An accomplished singer of my acquaintance had this failing ; he was con- stantly taking breath, and the bellows-like sound mingled with his singing was unendurable. He finally perceived and corrected his mistake, proving that it may be cured. M. Stockhausen, an eminent THE ART OF BREATHING. 35 artist, astonished all the Swiss guides by never losing breath in climbing the steepest mountains. " My secret is a simple one," said he ; " I under- stand the art of breathing." The great singer, Rubini, was a thorough master of the art. No one ever heard him breathe. The following anecdote of Talma may serve to explain this seeming mystery. While a young man, Talma played Diderot's " Pere de Famille," and on reaching the famous speech, " Fifteen hundred pounds a year and my Sophy," he burst out, stormed, raged, and finally hurrying behind the scenes in a state of complete ex- haustion, sank against the wall, panting like an ox. " Fool ! " said Mole, who was standing by, " and you pretend to play tragedy ! Come to me to- morrow, and I '11 teach you how to be impassioned without getting out of breath." Talma went ; but whether the master lacked patience or the pupil docility, the lesson did him little good. At that time there was an actor at the theatre named Dorival ; thin, ugly, and weak-voiced, he was nevertheless quite successful as a tragedian. " How does that fellow manage ? " thought Talma. " I am ten times as strong, and yet I fatigue myself ten times more. I must ask him his secret." 36 READING AS A FINE ART. Dorival baffled his querist by this bitter-sweet reply, which has a smack of envy in it : " Oh ! you are so successful, M. Talma, that you need no lessons." " I '11 make you give me one, though/' muttered Talma; and the next time that Dorival played Chatillon in " Zaire," the young man hid himself — guess where ! in the prompter's box, where he could hear and see without being seen. There he watched and studied to such good purpose, that, after the great speech in the second act, he left his post, exclaiming, " I've got it! I've hit it /" He saw that Dorival's whole art lay in his genius for breathing, which led him always to take breath before his lungs were quite empty ; and, to conceal this repeated inhalation from the public, he strove to place it before a, e, or o, — that is, at places where, his mouth being already open, he could breathe lightly and imperceptibly. We see what an immense part the breath has to play in elocutionary art ; its rules are the only inviolable ones. An actor launched on a stormy passage, carried away by passion, may forget the laws of punctuation, confound commas and periods, and hasten headlong to the conclusion of his phrase; but he must always be master of his breath, even THE ART OF BREATHING. 37 when he seems to lose it ; an accomplished actor is never out of breath except in appearance and for effect. Talma reduced these rules to a striking maxim : " The artist who tires himself is no genius. ,, I hear my reader's objection : " This art may be very useful to an actor ; but we are talking of read- ing, not the theatre." Yes, but the reader needs it yet more than the actor ; for, long and important as the latter' s part may be, he always has times of forced rest. He is silent when others speak ; and his very gestures, added to his words, help to make them true and touching. But the reader often goes on for an hour without pause, the immobility of his body obliging him to draw all his power from his will alone. Consider, therefore, whether it is use- less for him to understand the management of that precious breath which alone can carry him tri- umphantly and untired to the end. Here is a curious example of the science of econ- omy applied to the breath. Take a lighted candle, stand in front of it, and sing a: the light will scarcely flicker ; but, instead of a single tone, sing a scale, and you will see the candle quiver at every note. The singer, Delle Sedie, runs up and down the scale before a flame, and it never wavers. This 38 READING AS A FINE ART. is because he permits only the exact amount of breath to escape which is requisite to force the sound straight forward ; and the air, being thus occupied in the emission of the note, loses its quality of wind, and is reduced to its quality of sound. You or I, on the contrary, waste a great deal of breath, and send the sound right and left, as well as forward. From this elocutionary rule we may deduce a moral lesson : In every act of life, spend no more than the exact amount of energy required! Every mental emotion is a jewel. Let us hoard them up for fitting use. How many peo- ple waste, in impatience and petty strife, the treas- ure of anger, so sacred when it becomes righteous wrath ! Now, for a few final and most necessary sugges- tions to readers. To breathe easily, choose a high seat. Buried in an easy-chair, it is impossible to breathe from the base of the lungs. I would also say, Be careful to sit erect. No one who stoops can breathe otherwise than ill. Lastly, if possible, have a support for your back. Often, when reading in public, I have checked incipient vocal and cere- bral fatigue simply by leaning well back in my chair. The moment that equilibrium was restored, I breathed freely, and my head grew clear. PRONUNCIA TION. 39 CHAPTER V. PRONUNCIATION. We now pass from the world of sounds to the world of words ; we stopped at vowels, and will now add to them consonants, which are the true frame- work of the word : a word may be reconstructed from its consonants as Cuvier reconstructed an unknown animal from its bones. The union of vowels and consonants constitutes pronunciation, for no consonant can be pronounced without the addition of a vowel ; and the vowel by itself forms a sound which may be uttered, but not a distinct word. Clear speech, correct diction, the very life of language, depend upon good pronunciation ; so that it is most important to study and attain it. All who read in public should strive to give each vowel its appropriate accent and emphasis, for otherwise the effect of the best sentence ever penned may be lost. 40 READING AS A FINE ART. In regard to consonants, the science of pronun- ciation is the science of articulation, the most diffi- cult and most useful art imaginable. Few people are born with perfect articulation ; in some it is harsh, in others lisping, in others thick and indis- tinct. Practice, constant and systematic practice, is the only remedy for these defects. Let me give you a simple but excellent exercise, which every one can try, and which is the result of obser- vation. Suppose that you have a weighty secret to confide to a friend, but you are afraid of being overheard, as the door is open into the next room, where people are sitting. Do you go close up to your friend and whisper in his ear ? No ; you dare not, lest you be surprised in that suspicious attitude. What then will you do ? Let me quote the words of that king of teachers, Regnier. You take your stand directly opposite your friend, and as softly as possible, speaking in an undertone, you trust to distinctness of articulation to convey the words to his eye as well as to his ear, for he watches as well as listens to you. Articulation thus does double duty ; it plays the part of sound itself, and is accordingly obliged to sketch out the words ac- curately, and to emphasize each syllable, that it may penetrate the mind of the hearer. This is an infal- PRO NUNC I A TION 4 1 lible cure for faulty or harsh enunciation. Practise this exercise for a few months, and your vocal gym- nastics will make the articulatory muscles so strong and supple that they will respond to every turn of thought. Moreover, this method of M. Regnier has been adopted for teaching deaf mutes to speak. The teacher sketches the words on his lips ; no sound, no voice ! nothing but articulation : the deaf man reads from his master s lips ! Articulation plays an immense part in the do- main of reading. Articulation, and articulation alone, gives clearness, energy, passion, and force. Such is its power that it can even overcome deficiency of voice in the presence of a large au- dience. There have been actors of the foremost rank, who had scarcely any voice. Potier had no voice. Monvel, the famous Monvel, not only had no voice, he had no teeth ! And yet no one ever lost a word that fell from his lips ; and never was there a more delightful, more moving artist than he, thanks to his perfect articulation. The best reader I ever knew was M. Andrieux, whose voice was not only weak, but worn, hoarse, and croaking. Yet his perfect enunciation triumphed over all these defects. Sometimes a lucky hoarseness teaches an actor 42 READING AS A FINE ART, the varied resources of articulation. M. Bouffe was once playing one of his great parts, — Father Gran- det in "The Miser's Daughter," — -and on reaching the most affecting scene in the play, where the old miser finds that he has been robbed, the actor began to shriek and rant as usual ; but in a few moments the sound died on his lips, and he was compelled to finish in a low voice ! The result was that he was a thousand times more natural and more touching, because he was forced to make up for lack of sound by distinct articulation. No one can speak without a voice ; but the voice alone is so far from being enough for oratory, that there are readers, speakers, and actors, whose very wealth of voice is an embarrassment to them. They cannot enunciate ; sound swallows up their words, vowels devour consonants, and they talk and read so loud, make so much noise about it, that no one can hear them. Sometimes, too, fashion forbids distinct articulation, and it becomes pedantic. An old fre- quenter of the Theatre-Frangais tells me that during the last sixty years fashionable pronunciation has been changed three times. To serious-minded men, however, there is but one true fashion, namely, to pronounce distinctly enough to be understood, but not so much so as to be remarked. STUTTERING. 43 CHAPTER VI. STUTTERING. Stuttering is an especial evil, obstinate of cure, and appertaining to both mind and body. When due solely to physical malformation, it naturally comes within the province of medicine ; when result- ing from intellectual causes, it enters into the field of the elocutionist. The tongue often stammers, and stammers habitually, because the mind stam- mers ; because the character stammers ; because the person is never quite sure of what he wants to do or say ; because he is timid, choleric, or hasty. Impatience, timidity, and lack of mental precision are the chief causes of that species of stuttering which is susceptible of cure : let the victim accus- tom himself to speak slowly, to be master of himself and his ideas, and he will cease to stammer. A distinguished singer of my acquaintance stammers slightly when he talks, but never when he sings. Why is this ? Because, when he sings, he is sure 44 READING AS A FINE ART. of his ground ; exercise, practice, and habit have made him master of his voice and diction so soon as he joins words to music ; but let him speak, and his natural timidity makes his tongue hesitating and uncertain. The artist vanishes, the man re- mains, and the stammerer reappears. Physical stuttering, dependent on the organs of speech only, can be cured by medical aid alone. It generally affects all letters impartially, though sometimes a stutterer has special enemies in the alphabet ; that is to say, there are certain letters before which he always hesitates, as a horse pauses before certain obstacles. I can cite a curious fact illustrative of this point. Twenty years ago, M. Scribe and I wrote a play called " Fairy Fingers/' in which there was one part written for a stam- merer. The character was meant to be funny, but not ridiculous ; and I even desired it to be touching. M. Got gladly accepted the part ; but, when he came to study it, found himself much puzzled to know how to make it interesting and affecting without ceasing to be funny. At last, he came running in to rehearsal with a radiant face. He hurried up to me, exclaiming : " I Ve hit the secret ! I shall stutter only over two consonants, / and d. Thanks to this plan, suggested by my recent study of stam- STUTTERING. 45 mering, I shall prevent the part from being mo- notonous, rid myself of the insufferable bore of stuttering all the time, and only keep just enough of the trick to be interesting and piquant. But," he added, merrily, " it will make more work for you, my dear author ; you will have to add a few more p's and d's to my part. I'll mark the places where I want them." This was done, and his success was fully equal to his expectations. I doubt if organic stammering be curable. Phy- sicians have made many attempts ; I never saw a complete success. Temporary alleviation, or cessa- tion, apparent cures? — yes! but a real cure? — never ! Certain specialists advertise the number of their marvellous cures, but a scene which I once witnessed makes me rather incredulous in regard to reformed stutterers. I once went to a ball given by a doctor famed for this very specialty, who has done noble service for the art of speech by his theoretical labors. " Sir," said I to a gentleman standing by, " will you be my vis-a-vis in the next dance ? " " Cer-cer-certainly." " Oh ! he stutters," thought I. Refreshments were soon passed, and I said to another young man, " Please hand me an ice." 46 READING AS A FINE ART. " Wi-wi-wi-th pl-pl-easure." " Ah ! he stammers, too ! " I turned and saw an old school-friend, who ex- claimed : " Hullo ! is it you ? Don't you re-re-re- remember how I used to st-st-st-stutter at school ? " " Yes. ,, "Well, I came to M. Co-Co-Co-lombat [our host], and from that time forth I've been entirely cur-cur-cur-ed! " It now remains for us to consider the subject of punctuation, if we would complete our survey of reading as a material art. P UNCTUA TION. 47 CHAPTER VII. PUNCTUATION We punctuate with words as we punctuate with the pen. A self-satisfied young man once went to M. Samson for lessons. Samson inquired, " You wish to take reading-lessons ? " " Yes, sir." " Are you in the habit of reading aloud ? " " Yes, sir ; I have recited a great many scenes from Corneille and Moliere." " In public ? " " Yes, sir." " Successfully ? " " Yes, sir." "Please read the fable of 'The Oak and the Reed,' from this volume of La Fontaine." The scholar began: "'The Oak one day, said to the Reed — ' " 48 READING AS A FINE ART. "That will do! Sir, you don't know how to read ! " " Certainly not, sir," replied the scholar, somewhat annoyed ; " if I did, I should not come to you for advice. But I don't see how in a single line — " " Please read it again." He repeated : " ' The Oak one day, said to the Reed — ' " " I said you didn't know how to read." "But" — "But," said Samson, calmly, "do we ever join adverbs to substantives, instead of to verbs ? Was there ever an oak named ' One Day ' ? No ; very well, then why do you read, i The Oak one day, said to the Reed ' ? Say, * The Oak (comma), one day said to the Reed.' " " That 's true ! " cried the astonished youth. " So true," replied his master, with the same quiet manner, "that I have just taught you one of the most important branches of the art of reading aloud, — the art of punctuation." "What, sir, do people punctuate in reading?" " Why, of course they do ! Such and such a pause denotes a period ; such and such a half-pause, a comma ; such and such an accent, a question- mark : and much of the clearness and interest of P UNCTUA TION. 49 your story depends on this skilful distribution of periods and commas, which the reader indicates without mentioning, and the listener hears, although they are not expressly named. " Written punctuation varying in every age, spoken punctuation must also vary. Suppose that a tragic poet of our day should use Corneille's phrase, " Let him die ! " 1 he would put one, if not two, big ex- clamation-points after it. Corneille simply put a comma, which speaks loudly. It shows that to Corneille this line was no piece of noisy oratory, but an involuntary cry, instantly amended by the next line, which Voltaire thought weak because he could not feel its exquisite delicacy. The Roman exclaims, " Let him die ! " But the father adds, " Or let proud despair relieve him ! " Ellipses, or stars (***), are a modern invention. There is not a solitary example of them in the liter- ature of either the seventeenth or eighteenth century. They are much used in dramatic works, Scribe being one of their chief inventors. They suit the feverish, hurried action of his plays, being the punctuation 1 From "Horace" (The Horatii). This line is world-re- nowned. Voltaire says that " there is nothing comparable to it in the literature of antiquity ; and that the whole audience was so car- ried away by it on its first hearing as to drown the weak line fol- lowing it in storms of applause." 4 SO READING AS A FINE ART. of a man in great haste, carried along by the rush of events, — the punctuation of a man who thinks that his meaning will be taken for granted. It is exceedingly hard to punctuate in this style, in reading. It is now evident that I was right when I said that reading was an art, and had its special rules ; for we have laid down rules for the production of the voice, for breathing, for pronunciation, artic- ulation, and punctuation, — that is, for every thing relating" to the material part of the art of reading. We will now advance to its intellectual side. READING MADE ELOQUENT IN PROSE AND POETRY. o>«