Читать книгу THE ART OF PUBLIC SPEAKING - J. BERG ESENWEIN DALE CARNAGEY - Страница 8

One day Ennui was born from Uniformity.

--MOTTE.

Our English has changed with the years so that many words now connote

more than they did originally. This is true of the word _monotonous_.

From "having but one tone," it has come to mean more broadly, "lack of

variation."

The monotonous speaker not only drones along in the same volume and

pitch of tone but uses always the same emphasis, the same speed, the

same thoughts--or dispenses with thought altogether.

Monotony, the cardinal and most common sin of the public speaker, is not

a transgression--it is rather a sin of omission, for it consists in

living up to the confession of the Prayer Book: "We have left undone

those things we ought to have done."

Emerson says, "The virtue of art lies in detachment, in sequestering one

object from the embarrassing variety." That is just what the monotonous

speaker fails to do--he does _not_ detach one thought or phrase from

another, they are all expressed in the same manner.

To tell you that your speech is monotonous may mean very little to you,

so let us look at the nature--and the curse--of monotony in other

spheres of life, then we shall appreciate more fully how it will blight

an otherwise good speech.

If the Victrola in the adjoining apartment grinds out just three

selections over and over again, it is pretty safe to assume that your

neighbor has no other records. If a speaker uses only a few of his

powers, it points very plainly to the fact that the rest of his powers

are not developed. Monotony reveals our limitations.

In its effect on its victim, monotony is actually deadly--it will drive

the bloom from the cheek and the lustre from the eye as quickly as sin,

and often leads to viciousness. The worst punishment that human

ingenuity has ever been able to invent is extreme monotony--solitary

confinement. Lay a marble on the table and do nothing eighteen hours of

the day but change that marble from one point to another and back again,

and you will go insane if you continue long enough.

So this thing that shortens life, and is used as the most cruel of

punishments in our prisons, is the thing that will destroy all the life

and force of a speech. Avoid it as you would shun a deadly dull bore.

The "idle rich" can have half-a-dozen homes, command all the varieties

of foods gathered from the four corners of the earth, and sail for

Africa or Alaska at their pleasure; but the poverty-stricken man must

walk or take a street car--he does not have the choice of yacht, auto,

or special train. He must spend the most of his life in labor and be

content with the staples of the food-market. Monotony is poverty,

whether in speech or in life. Strive to increase the variety of your

speech as the business man labors to augment his wealth.

Bird-songs, forest glens, and mountains are not monotonous--it is the

long rows of brown-stone fronts and the miles of paved streets that are

so terribly same. Nature in her wealth gives us endless variety; man

with his limitations is often monotonous. Get back to nature in your

methods of speech-making.

The power of variety lies in its pleasure-giving quality. The great

truths of the world have often been couched in fascinating stories--"Les

Miserables," for instance. If you wish to teach or influence men, you

must please them, first or last. Strike the same note on the piano over

and over again. This will give you some idea of the displeasing, jarring

effect monotony has on the ear. The dictionary defines "monotonous" as

being synonymous with "wearisome." That is putting it mildly. It is

maddening. The department-store prince does not disgust the public by

playing only the one tune, "Come Buy My Wares!" He gives recitals on a

$125,000 organ, and the pleased people naturally slip into a buying

mood.

_How to Conquer Monotony_

We obviate monotony in dress by replenishing our wardrobes. We avoid

monotony in speech by multiplying our powers of speech. We multiply our

powers of speech by increasing our tools.

The carpenter has special implements with which to construct the several

parts of a building. The organist has certain keys and stops which he

manipulates to produce his harmonies and effects. In like manner the

speaker has certain instruments and tools at his command by which he

builds his argument, plays on the feelings, and guides the beliefs of

his audience. To give you a conception of these instruments, and

practical help in learning to use them, are the purposes of the

immediately following chapters.

Why did not the Children of Israel whirl through the desert in

limousines, and why did not Noah have moving-picture entertainments and

talking machines on the Ark? The laws that enable us to operate an

automobile, produce moving-pictures, or music on the Victrola, would

have worked just as well then as they do today. It was ignorance of law

that for ages deprived humanity of our modern conveniences. Many

speakers still use ox-cart methods in their speech instead of employing

automobile or overland-express methods. They are ignorant of laws that

make for efficiency in speaking. Just to the extent that you regard and

use the laws that we are about to examine and learn how to use will you

have efficiency and force in your speaking; and just to the extent that

you disregard them will your speaking be feeble and ineffective. We

cannot impress too thoroughly upon you the necessity for a real working

mastery of these principles. They are the very foundations of successful

speaking. "Get your principles right," said Napoleon, "and the rest is a

matter of detail."

It is useless to shoe a dead horse, and all the sound principles in

Christendom will never make a live speech out of a dead one. So let it

be understood that public speaking is not a matter of mastering a few

dead rules; the most important law of public speech is the necessity for

truth, force, feeling, and life. Forget all else, but not this.

When you have mastered the mechanics of speech outlined in the next few

chapters you will no longer be troubled with monotony. The complete

knowledge of these principles and the ability to apply them will give

you great variety in your powers of expression. But they cannot be

mastered and applied by thinking or reading about them--you must

practise, _practise_, _PRACTISE_. If no one else will listen to you,

listen to yourself--you must always be your own best critic, and the

severest one of all.

The technical principles that we lay down in the following chapters are

not arbitrary creations of our own. They are all founded on the

practices that good speakers and actors adopt--either naturally and

unconsciously or under instruction--in getting their effects.

It is useless to warn the student that he must be natural. To be natural

may be to be monotonous. The little strawberry up in the arctics with a

few tiny seeds and an acid tang is a natural berry, but it is not to be

compared with the improved variety that we enjoy here. The dwarfed oak

on the rocky hillside is natural, but a poor thing compared with the

beautiful tree found in the rich, moist bottom lands. Be natural--but

improve your natural gifts until you have approached the ideal, for we

must strive after idealized nature, in fruit, tree, and speech.