598

THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.

Ex-Senator John J. Ingalls, in an article on “ Oratory” contributed to a Chicago newspaper, referred to the art of elocution in terms of condemnation—terms which we, who profess the art. have long ago come to expect from those who examine it superficially or judge it by its failures Said the ex Senator of Kansas: “ No speaker eminent at the bar, in the sacred desk, or on the platform, observes the rules which the elocutionary teachers of ambitious and aspiring youth inform their pupils are indispensable to eloquence.” The public speakers who do* not observe the fundamen­tal rules of elocution are hopelessly bad in their delivery, and they are valued for other gifts than that of expression. These men do not ascribe their success to the faults that have hindered them; they know that intellect and imagination have triumphed in spite of a muffled monotone, an indistinct enunciation and a laborious delivery. Their efficacy as speakers would have been greatly increased had they been properly trained in elo­cution. The positive philosophy of this century has effected all the arts, and particu­larly the art of expressing the mind through the body—the art of elocution. Look at literature in all its phases, and literature may be tersely defined “ the expression of life.” Both in our own country and Europe the imagination which creates is gradually giving way to the inquiring scientific mind which analyzes. To illustrate this idea is the purpose of Mr. YV. D. Howells’ latest work, “ Criticism and Fiction.” Realism is the direct result of the positivist philosophy. This realism is carried to such an extent, especially in French and Russian novels, and in the art of acting, that extreme realism is described by one class of critics as naturalism. I have no intention to go into a literary discussion, though literature is moving on parallel lines to the art of expres­sion. I am anxious, however, to dwell on the naturalistic impulses that are now actu­ating the world of acting—impulses which must communicate themselves to the world of elocution, students and teachers; impulses with which we ought to be in active sym­pathy if we are to keep abreast of the art progress of the nations.

“All art,” said Mr. Nelson YVheatcroft, “is nature better understood.” A child having no mannerism—that is, I mean, petrified peculiarities—has no occasion to be taught elocution, especially if it be in a good school of acting. I can easily see that teaching might check the originality of that child. It might give her self-conscious­ness, that unpardonable sin which so many of us older people frequently commit, that faule from which no work or study will ever completely free us. Now, a child brought up on the stage might become a great and unaffected actress, other things being equal. Miss Terry, Mrs. Kendall, and several other of our actresses were brought up in this way (Joseph Jefferson and Ristori are also examples), and in naturalness they are unsurpassable. Signora Duse’s life was like theirs, only that her parents and grand­parents were actors before her, and her aptitude for the boards (not speaking of her particular genius) came as naturally as a young duck’s inclination for water. The teaching of pantomime should precede the teaching of elocution. Take a young woman of eighteen or tw'enty; she can not speak or walk or stand with the natural­ness of a child of six or seven. Elocution takes her, and if it fulfills its-duty that young woman is given freedom where she is constrained, grace wherein she is awk­ward, is taught to breathe instead of choking herself; she is not taught new or arti­ficial habits, she is only taught to rid herself of false ones. If she is a diamond she will then begin to sparkle; if she happens to be a common bit of clay she is a little better fashioned, but intrinsically not more valuable than she was before.

“What is elocution?” said Miss Cushman to an aspirant to the stage who asked for advice on elocution. “ I don’t know what it is,” said the great actress; “ no one ever taught me elocution. God gave me a mouth with which I can make a whisper heard in the end of the largest hall; then what use have I for elocution?”

Very true; elocution had nothing to teach Miss Cushman, though she had much, no doubt, to teach elocutionists; but how many actresses in her profession could truth­fully repeat her words? The exception proves, it does not disprove, the rule. Blind Tom needed no music-teacher, but the number of music-teachers has not been dimin­ished since his phenomenal precocity astounded the world.