III. Planes There are several planes upon which a passage may be rendered. I will speak of four: 1. Commonplace. 2. Animal or Physical. 3. Intellectual. 4. Ideal. 1. Commonplace. The commonplace is one which is familiar to all intellectual, or rather, thinking people. In fact, it is the plane upon which most people speak, not excepting the majority of Readers, Lecturers, Teachers, and Preachers. The Exhorter and the Political Speaker are exceptions. They, as a rule, step one step higher, and reach into another plane, although a very small degree higher. This commonplace plane, which is so objectionable to the listener, and has brought no little degradation upon the subject of the Spoken Word, is one in which the speaker merely pronounces the words from a book, giving them little or no color, no feeling, showing but slight appreciation; or repeats words which he has committed to memory, word for word, line for line, paragraph for paragraph, sometimes drifting into a mood, which will give him a sort of singsong interpretation, and is exceedingly lulling and pacifying to the listeners, usually putting them to sleep. 2. Animal or Physical. The animal or physical plane, in which men are using "sledge hammers to drive tacks" might be explained as the plane which touches the pocket-book or self. In this "much speaking" there is a tendency to self-emulation or self-aggrandizement, either of which is a very low plane. When we hear the stump-speaking politician haranguing an audience upon some petty point, drifting away "in the intoxication of his own exuberance" of loudness and noise, one may sigh in the language of Oliver Wendell Holmes: "Oh, for the poultice of silence, to heal the blows of sound." In some degree, this physical or animal force is one of the most valuable assets to the speaker, but without the guiding hand of intelligence and the up-lifting arms of soul, the man's speech will be wafted on the air to fade like the mists before the sunlight of Reason into the realm of forgetfulness and nothingness. As one ascends the great mountains, he finds the air becoming more rarefied; so, the ascent in the Art of the Spoken Word: as we rise to the intellectual plane, we come to a level which is most valuable and has everything to do with the truthfulness of that which we interpret. Nevertheless, if the individual concentrates fully and has an excellent appreciation of his idea and is able to dissect it and place each particular idea under the scalpel-knife of intellectual dissection and vivisection, it will fall inert and dead on the understanding. Therefore, the wholly intellectually interpreted passage has its use, and every poem or article of prose should be thus handled at the beginning; but not for the entertainment and instruction of the general public. 4. Ideal. In observing the usual idealist, we find an individual too reticent, too retiring, and apparently too rarefied for the average audience and society with whom he is obliged to associate from time to time. It is a plane which leads Humanity into a realm or atmosphere which will eliminate all grosser experiences, in so far as they are personally concerned. For, dwelling in this ideal atmosphere, they do not allow the lower conditions or things to touch them; they simply throw them off and hold fast to the hand which sustains and bears them up. This condition is most excellent for the individual who is able to forego all associations of the world, and remain shut off in some secluded spot, dwelling wholly in thoughts which uplift and sustain the ideal. Therefore, to render a passage truthfully, one must absolutely forsake the commonplace plane; he must also be a good, healthy animal having sufficient physical force so as to show no signs of weakness; then his intellect must be well trained with definite, positive, and spontaneous convictions, and he must have a steadfast faith in God and his message, then his ideal suggestions will be full and free, lifting voice, face, all into a truthful and harmonious rendering. IV. Music with Speech No one has ever found it possible to successfully blend any two arts; and occasionally we find a painter who through his weakness and lack of understanding, attempts to blend sculpture with painting. Many attempts have been made in this direction and all have seemed to be despicable failures. We may combine, but not blend. It is unfortunate indeed, to hear a reader attempting to interpret some narrative in which he endeavors to suggest a song that was sung; and at the point of his representation the individual attempts through a poor, and untrained voice, or even a trained voice, to sing the song that was presumably sung by the character in the selection. Immediately the majority of the audience begin to criticise either the speech or the song, and justly so, for the speaker, in attempting to do any trickery or yellowcuting on this plane, calls attention upon himself rather than to the subject where the auditors should be held. Again other readers will move along by routine until they come to a precious spot which some artistic writer has suggested should be sung or attuned to an instrument, and at this stage in a selection, you will hear in the wings or back of the platform, a voice pipe up and sing the songor a violin—or a piano; and sometimes both play the tune in the background, while the individual, very much out of tune, drags out the words as one might a cat by the tail. Apropos of such so-called "interpretation" I was particularly interested, and not a little amused at the presentation of Edgar Allen Poe's poem, "The Bells." The young lady, although very graceful in her movements, proceeded not only to swing around, representing the different bells, but also tried to imitate them with her voice, thus representing great activity of bending, gesticulating, and sawing of the air. Before she had finished I felt like quoting again Oliver Wendell Holmes: "Oh, for the poultice of silence, to heal the blows of sound." The matter of representing speech such as is illustrated from time to time in schools of expression and oratory, as in rendering old Ballads and when they reach the chorus, most of the leading teachers attempt that which is labelled by some, "representative expression" or "representative oratorical expression." This labelling system is a dangerous one, and while one may occasionally strike the keynote and give a fair suggestion of the thing to be presented, there remains nevertheless, an ever present ill taste in the intelligent mouth of the understanding listener. This form of speech is one that requires the most careful, concentrated understanding of the thing to be presented, and it can only by handled by "one who knows." My advice to the novice would be to refrain from any rushing in "where angels fear to tread." In rendering the poem entitled "The Bell Buoy," or "The Bugle Song" or Longfellow's "Clock on the Stairs," it would be well on the part of the untrained and ignorant individual to refrain from attempting to represent "The Bell Buoy," "The Bugle," or "The Old Clock." THE BUGLE SONG Alfred Tennyson. The splendor falls on castle walls Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill, or field, or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, V. Alliteration Every student or interpreter of literature should practice enough on alliteration so as to enable him to speak rapidly any passage or passages without running the vowels and the consonants together; for the one essential thing above |