Duality of Voice

by Emil Sutro

SIGNIFICANCE OF THE WORD "SCHOOL" IN CONNECTION WITH THE ART OF SINGING

Having established the fact that the rhythmic movements for English and German vocal expression are directly opposed to each other, the one being represented by the iambic, the other by the trochaic measure, there is still a wide field open for investigation as to the idiomatic expression of other languages. This it should not be difficult to determine; personally, I cannot devote the necessary time to this subject even as far as I might be able to do so in connection with other languages of which I have some knowledge. The differences in other tongues, of course, must be embodied in either of the two measures named, as these embrace all others. Whatever may constitute a nation's idiomatic expression must spring from a variation of either of these. While the precedence is given to the abdomen in some and to the thorax in others, the point of gravitation, which according to its location calls for the special manner in which we inspire into and expire from either the one or the other, establishes such variation in the idiomatic expression of all tongues.

All that is said about an Italian, a German, or any other "school" (with the exception, perhaps, of what may constitute the difference between what is called "the old and the new Italian school," and which covers issues of a nature foreign to these investigations) has its proper significance right here: There is no "school" in the sense in which this word is ordinarily used. There are nations and there are languages belonging to such nations. Each nation's language is that nation's "school," and no one nation can go to school with any other nation.

Peasants and the mass of the people generally in Italy, France, Germany, etc., do not visit academies to study vocal art, yet their mode of expression is precisely the same as that of the best vocal artists of these respective countries. I do not mean to say, of course, that the raw material their voices is made up of is as rarefied and artistically trained, but that the composition, the fundamental element thereof, is of precisely the same order as that of their most finished artists. This raw material, on the other hand, in every instance, varies from that of people belonging to every other nation.

The best thing, therefore, to be done, to bring such vocal material as nature has endowed one with up to its greatest perfection, is to have it "schooled" by artists belonging to one's own nation. There may be a time coming, and the same may not be far distant, when methods may be taught by which one may become acquainted with the spirit, and learn the exact mode of the technical expression, of other nations besides one's own. It will then become possible to comprehend these foreign methods and to profit by comprehending them. As long as the principles upon which they are based, however, are not understood, any attempt at singing according to the same will be futile as an accomplishment or an art, and hurtful to the voice of the person making the attempt.

Such person will only injure his or her own natural mode of expression, without acquiring the foreign mode.

The idea of learning a certain mode of expression, the Italian, for instance, for singing, and applying it to all tongues, is futile and contrary to all reason. We might, with as much show of reason, say that by learning to pronounce one foreign tongue we may apply that knowledge to the pronunciation of every other foreign tongue.

The true state of affairs, and the only one to follow, is, and always will be, this: First, and above all, learn to use your own tongue thoroughly, for all purposes of vocal expression. Then learn the use of other tongues for vocal expression in those other tongues only. You cannot apply the technical mode of Italian expression to English vocal utterance any more than you can apply the technical mode of English expression to Italian vocal utterance. An attempt at so doing is quite as preposterous in the one case as it is in the other.

Besides, for the purpose of singing in his own tongue, an Anglo-Saxon does not and should not want to acquire any other mode, as he is by nature in possession of one of the best modes of expression. There is none intrinsically purer, none possessed of more vigor or power of expression. There are those with greater softness combined with purity, but lacking strength, as the Italian; and those with more soulfulness combined with strength, but lacking purity, as the German. This native element of purity allied to strength in the Anglo-Saxon, more especially in the English-American, mode of expression is primarily the cause of the high position in the artistic world of the American singer. I ascribe the superiority of the "American" mode of expression over the "English," when untrammelled as in song, in part to the greater personal liberty, the greater want of conventionality, the vast extent of our territory, and our almost constantly clear and unclouded sky; all these being conditions that assist the free exercise of one's natural endowments. To reach the best results in the art of singing, the body as well as the soul must be, as far as possible, untrammelled in any direction. While the idiomatic expression of the English language here and abroad is the same, the social restraint and the conservatism of the English as a nation act against the best outcome of their gift of song, which demands for its best expression freedom from conventionality or any other constraint.

Each nation is at its best in its own tongue. Our orators are equal to any there are in the world. They do not speak according to the Italian, the German, or any other school. If they did, they would utterly fail and make themselves ridiculous. Why do people, then, want to "speak" in this more expansive and soulful manner, called "singing," in these foreign modes? I know the answer will be that singing and speaking are things quite apart, having no affinity in their mode of production. I shall show, as I have already partly shown, that they are of precisely the same order, though different phases of that order; that they cannot be separated; in so far as the elements which belong to speech also belong to song, and those which belong to song also belong to speech; but that they are used in an inverse order in the former as well as in the latter.

Listen to a person breathing just before falling asleep, in a slow, rhythmical order; material objects retire into the background and assume a semi-spiritual shape. This is a similar condition to the one we are in and in which we breathe during the production of song. [By the by, sleep can be induced by thinking of a song, that is, by mentally singing it]. No two nations, however, breathe just alike in that condition, any more than they do during their waking moments; the mode of breathing during sleep being a reversion always of the one which obtains during our waking moments. Our mode of breathing, however, always determines our mode of vocal utterance. We can reverse our voice, as we do in whispering, but it is always the same voice, as a garment is the same when we turn it inside out.

Do you know, by the way, that the English whispering voice is the German speaking, and the German whispering the English speaking voice? Try it, and you will find it so. Go on whispering; that is, continue to use your voice in the same mechanical manner, but instead of for whispering, use it for speaking aloud, and you will have the exact mode of the other tongue. An Anglo-Saxon, in so doing, will be able to speak German aloud, but not English; a German will be able to speak English, but not German.

Thinking and speaking are of one and the same order. Thought makes the impression of which speech is the expression. If this were not the case, it would not be possible to pass from thinking to speaking or from speaking to thinking at once, and without an effort. To produce English speech, we must think English in a material way, that is, anteriorly, and in so doing produce an instrument from which English material or speech sounds emanate. To produce English song, we must think English in a spiritual way, that is, posteriorly, and in so doing produce an instrument from which English spiritual or song sounds emanate. We cannot think English in either of these two ways and produce German or Italian sounds for speech or song; nor can we produce the latter sounds in any other manner than by thinking, either materially or spiritually, in these languages, and in the proper idiomatic manner inherent therein.

How can an English-speaking person, physically and spiritually formed for English expression, and for no other expression, produce proper Italian sounds? She will think Italian in an English way; and, while singing Italian words, produce them with an English expression. That is not singing Italian, however, but English. Is it likely that she will succeed in acquiring the Italian mode of expression while her teacher himself is ignorant of just what that mode consists in, and in what it differs from the native mode of vocal expression of his scholar? You might as well attempt to produce on a violin the sounds of a violoncello or some other instrument.

To illustrate the power of the natural voice, it will but be necessary to call attention to what occurs in almost any concert wherein one of America's own daughters, now "prima donna assoluta," is the main performer. She sings a grand aria, the work of an Italian master, highly artistically and perfectly rendered. Musicians are delighted; the public applauds. She reënters, and now the donna, changed to a simple American, sings one of England's or America's own songs. The audience, which before had been languidly listening, at the first notes of this song is stirred, electrified, and now listens intently. When she ceases to sing, there is a storm of applause, as to almost shake the house. Where the artistic sense alone had been engaged before, the hearts and the souls of her hearers have now been touched. Yet I have seen the eccentric Von Buelow deliberately take out his handkerchief after such a demonstration and wipe the "desecration" of the "ditty" from the keys of the piano which had accompanied the song, before he deigned to dignify it with one of his "classic" renderings. No doubt he had much contempt for it all: the song, the singer, and the public. The treasures of that "ditty," however, were of an order similar to those hidden within the breast of every one composing that audience. The pearls, floating through the room from the lips of one of its own daughters, had, with a sympathetic touch, stirred it to its very depths, while the foreign "aria" had left it comparatively cold. Supposing an Italian singer were to sing an English "aria" in the English language to an Italian audience, and, after that, were to produce one of her own simple Italian songs, would not the effect be the same? Would Italians, in fact, care to listen to her English interpretation, no matter how artistically rendered?

It is an entirely different thing, however, for German or Italian singers to come here and sing their own songs in their own native tongue. Though foreign, the production is genuine. They sing what belongs to them, that in which they live, breathe; they sing their own soul. Such a performance we can comprehend and appreciate, even as we view a foreigner with interest, and honor him for that which is great and good in him, and for which he is distinguished. We can soon feel what is genuine and also that which is not; the former being nature's own production, the latter imitated, forced—unnatural. Italians do not sing English or German songs; why should Germans and English-speaking people sing Italian and French songs, to the exclusion, very often, of their own?

It was but recently that I heard a German choral society sing German songs to a delighted American audience. Then came something weird, strange; it was German, yet the words were not German. Looking at the programme, it turned out to be the famous plantation song, "'Way down upon the Suwannee River." The audience looked bewildered; there was no applause, though, judging by the attitude of the singers, they had expected to make this the grand hit of the evening.

The last performance of the great festival of the United German singers in Philadelphia, in 1897, was the production of the "Star-Spangled Banner." Everything in the appearance of the singers showed that this finale was to be the crowning act of the entire festival. All the singers, male and female, participated, and "Old Glory" was waved in the air during the performance. But, as I had feared, it was a complete failure. Instead of the vast audience spontaneously rising to its feet and being carried away by enthusiasm, it remained cold and indifferent, and there was no applause commensurate with what it would have been had the performers sung the words with the true ring in them and the true English accent. The same thing would happen if the "Marseillaise" were sung in France, or the "Wacht am Rhein" in Germany, by foreign singing societies, no matter how excellently schooled, and how artistically rendered.

A similar experience was had by Madame Brinkerhoff, who relates the same in The Vocalist of December, 1896, as follows:

"To show how language is imbedded in the timbre of the voice, I will relate an incident of last season. On the first night of the representation of the 'Scarlet Letter,' by Damrosch, sung by German singers, I was not surprised or in the least displeased at hearing this beautiful opera sung with the German timbre of voice; but after listening to a whole act, I heard no German words; I listened in vain for the shaping of their consonants and vowels, although I heard the German sounds or timbres. So I asked the lady seated next to me what language the people on the stage were singing. 'German,' she replied. I said: 'But I hear no German words. Will you kindly listen and tell me when you hear German words?' She listened and replied, 'No, I do not hear German words, but I thought before it was German.' She asked me if it was English. We could not decide it until the lights were turned on, and looked at the programme, which read, 'sung in English.'

"This summer I asked a distinguished singer and teacher of Philadelphia in what language the 'Scarlet Letter' was sung in that city. She replied, 'Oh, German, of course.' 'Did you hear it?' I asked. 'Yes, and I enjoyed it very much, and it was sung in German,' she replied. 'It said in English on the programme,' I said. 'Well, if I was fooled, a great many more were fooled—beside myself, all our party thought so too. What are you going to do about it?' Gounod says: 'I did not like Italian singing; their tones were attacked so differently from the French method of singing that it was unpleasant at first, but I went again and again, for I could not stay away. I enjoyed it so much.'"

This is what Frau Johanna Gadski had to say in an interview printed in Werner's Magazine:

"I have never had any lessons in acting. The director of the Choral Opera told me at the outset that it was better to act by feeling when singing than by instruction. If one studies only acting and singing, one is not always natural. That is the reason why one who does not speak German does not understand the German people and their spirit, is not a German, and cannot sing the Wagner rôles. One must have the German spirit. Sometimes you write here in your papers that German singers cannot sing. I think they sing German rôles very well. One must sing, act, and, above everything, feel at the same time, and then one can speak to the heart of the listener."

Singing in a foreign tongue is, and must be, and always will be (until these things are more thoroughly understood), to a large extent, simply mechanical. Until then, the soul-stirring depth (der Zauber) of the native composition will always be wanting. The Anglo-Saxon race has been altogether too dependent upon European continental nations for its examples, its support, and its development in all branches of art. This has been more particularly the case in regard to music and song. Though German music, for obvious reasons, which give Germans the preponderance on this field of art, ranks first among nations, still there should be among English-speaking nations a greater native development thereof in harmony with the national expression.

Song, above all, must be national; it must be in harmony with the genius of a nation to attain its highest development. It is too closely allied to a nation's speech to be separated therefrom without doing violence to both its music and its meaning. The music and the words must go together; their union is as indispensable as it is indissoluble. While we have excellent vocal material in this country, it lacks the proper food for its nourishment. There is no want of poetic compositions. No nation has their superior, or has them in greater abundance. We have the words and the singers; but there is a woful lack of a higher class of compositions for singing. The latter are not at all commensurate with the abundance and the superiority of the talent that is awaiting their appearance.

With compositions on a par with its vocal talent, this nation might rank first among nations in the art of singing. It must stand on its own footing. It must sing its own songs and must be taught by its own teachers. This dictum may provoke indignation in "foreign" vocal teachers. Though I regret the possible consequences to them, this cannot be helped. Science is synonymous with knowledge, and knowledge with truth, and "the truth must be told if the heavens should fall."