Читать книгу Duality of Voice - Sutro Emil - Страница 6

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This book, in a sense, is a personal narrative, and necessarily must be so, giving an account, as it does, of observations in experiments upon myself. In making these experiments I have endeavored to treat myself impersonally, as a subject, so to say, placed at my disposal for experimental purposes; my ego having been the object as well as the subject of my investigations. In occasionally speaking of the results thus obtained in a eulogistic manner, this should not be looked upon as self-praise, therefore, but rather as an impersonal mode of describing what has come under some one's observation—this "some one" being myself. I want to place the matters I have observed before the reader in the right light, and do not hesitate to say or fear to say just what I think to be the truth. If I were to wait for others to say these things the reader who does not comprehend their latitude as I do might have to wait a long time before he could grasp the subject in its entire importance. I want to say this much as an apology and a vindication for frequent indulgences in apparent self-eulogism.

I have another motive for making such remarks; viz., the desire of rousing the scientific world from its apathy regarding these matters. These laudatory remarks may wound its pride, and possibly arouse its ire,—more especially in view of their coming from a layman,—and thus induce it to study these matters, if but for the purpose and with the view of controverting them. I would hail such an endeavor with pleasure, not having the slightest fear of its ability to successfully controvert any of the vital facts I have ascertained, and whose correctness I expect to prove by a great array of facts with accompanying proofs.

When I first began to make these studies, I made numerous notes as new features happened to present themselves to my mind. I have encountered no inconsiderable difficulty in sifting this material so as to present my experiences in as connected and consecutive a manner as possible. In this, however, I have only partially succeeded; nor have I been able to altogether avoid repetitions. For these shortcomings I must plead a want of time. For some time past, however, my experiences have accumulated so rapidly that I have ceased to take any notes whatever, trusting to my memory that these mental notes may be recalled at the proper time. No doubt some things, even of importance, have thus been lost sight of. Still, while pursuing similar studies, they may in the course of time turn up in some one else's mind.

In looking over some of my notes I have found things which I have deemed worthy of preservation. I let some of these follow in a promiscuous manner. This, it must be admitted, is not in accordance with scientific usage. But I am not a scientist, simply an amateur; and take advantage of the privileges this fact gives me. If I were to conform to strict scientific rules and "etiquette," years might elapse before I could get these matters into proper shape. It will always remain a mystery to me, however, why these things should have come to me at all—so unworthy, so unadapted to their proper exposition. In order to do them justice, they should have come to one complete master of his time, young, strong, possessed of a wide range of knowledge and a deep insight.

I will now let follow some of the matters I have spoken of:

My personality and my work must go together, until others relieve me of the latter by making it their work to the same extent that I have made it mine. You cannot separate the fiddle from the fiddler, neither having any significance apart from each other, except by the fiddler perpetuating that which the fiddle produces—the composition,—by writing it down, thus transmitting it to others. This I am trying to do by this book.

No doubt some of the things which have come under my observation in some form or other are already known to science, and are, therefore, a corroboration, or an explanation, only, of things already known. With me, nevertheless, all is original; and I may therefore justly claim that if any of these matters have been discovered before, I, at least, have re-discovered them.

If I were an institution possessing a guaranty of continued existence I might value the present lightly, knowing a future would come when these matters will be fully understood. Being a creature of the present, however, which may be turned into the past—especially at my time of life—at almost any moment, these matters should become known at the earliest opportunity; some of them being of so subtle a nature that they may require personal explanation and illustration. They have been hidden from us in the past; should they fail to be made known now, the same opportunity may not arise again for centuries.

I do not claim any special sagacity over others for having made these discoveries, and disbelieve altogether in miraculous interposition. Yet I do not want to be prejudiced in any direction.

We are surrounded by the mysterious and the miraculous; and that which is called "natural" as a rule is far more mysterious than that which is called "miraculous."

"Truth is stranger than fiction"; which is undoubtedly true. We can imagine that only of which we have at least some knowledge, but there are realms of truth beyond us of which we have no knowledge. Besides, these revelations are of so extraordinary a nature that I cannot altogether close my eyes to the fact that I may have been led on to them by agencies beyond my personal power of volition. I will cite but one reason why such an idea might be justly entertained by me.

That which originally led me on to these investigations, as already mentioned, was the simple desire to speak the English language just as native-born persons speak it. Although I eventually became aware of the fact that this was next to impossible, yet I persisted in this endeavor to such an extent that I spent far more time on it than it would have deserved had I been convinced that I would be finally successful. Again and again I said to myself, "This is a foolish, absurd, unworthy undertaking for a person of intelligence"; the next minute I was at it again, trying to utter this sound or pronounce that word in the "correct English fashion."

I want to ask, What was it that impelled me to thus persist, almost against my wish, will, and better insight? When, after many years of this almost wanton endeavor, I discovered the dual nature of the voice, I could not help but think that an influence beyond myself had been exercised to impel me to persist in these efforts, which were then crowned with a success of a different order, and far beyond any previous expectation. I then found what I had been after unknown to myself. To simply say I was "infatuated" would not explain this strange adherence to what for a long while looked like a vain and hopeless undertaking.

I am aware that for me to say, as I have just now said, "I cannot altogether close my eyes to the fact that I may have been led on by agencies beyond my personal power of volition," may expose me to ridicule in the eyes of some persons; besides being a contradiction to my other convictions. Yet I say so deliberately and am quite willing to abide by the consequences. It is a case of the duality of our nature, which impels me to take a naturalistic or biogenetic view of things in one direction, yet forces me to take a spiritualistic or abiogenetic view of them in another direction. I do not comprehend those who under all circumstances are capable of pursuing either the one direction or the other.

I might say I have been on a prospecting tour to a new country, where I found the outcroppings of numerous veins of precious ore. These veins are true fissure veins, penetrating, as they do, into the very bowels of the earth; and it will take centuries to exhaust them in all their dips, spurs, and angles.

It will be a matter of surprise that a layman, one not of the tribe which make science the pursuit of their lives, should have penetrated into these mysteries. It must not be lost sight of, however, that science, as a rule, deals with things visible and tangible, while the voice is a sensation which, regarding its origin in the ego, cannot be observed outside of the ego. One may by close observation trace the origin of one's voice to its innermost channels, and thus learn much about the subtlest characteristics of its nature, a proceeding to which it would not be possible to subject any one else's voice. The same conditions prevail in regard to other sensations which have also come under my, at least, partial observation.

Science, as a rule, has been satisfied with the observation of results, of phenomena, without attempting to penetrate into causes, which seemed to be unalterably hidden from its gaze. Special features, however, of the voice have been ably and successfully observed and described by many eminent persons. To these I have not given any attention, partly because they were beyond my sphere, and partly (not being a musician) because they were beyond my power of observation.

In looking for the voice, anatomy in its minute examinations of the larynx has but opened up a grave for us to gaze into. And what have we beheld? A skeleton of the voice's body—of its soul not a trace. This skeleton, to boot, is but a portion of the mechanism of the voice; of its other parts, equally important, science has not even known that they were in existence. Like a palæontologist or an archæologist, I have dug up these other parts or fragments from all around; some were found close at hand, others quite a distance off. I have skilfully put them together, and have thus constructed a fairly complete torso, or framework of the voice. I say "torso," though I may justly claim more than that, having again infused the soul into it which had fled from it; and, see, it has become a living thing.

That the wonderful apparatus contained in the throat is for a purpose there cannot, of course, be any doubt. It is but partly for the purpose attributed to it, however, and, until we better comprehend this part-purpose, especially in view of the fact that we have no control over its mechanism, it will be best, as far as singers and elocutionists are concerned, to surrender it to and leave it with the anatomists.

To the ultimate aim of science—the knowledge of life—I have contributed matters of a nature deemed beyond the province of the knowledge of man. Was it ever intended that they should be known? On more than one occasion I have been puzzled to know whether to go on with these investigations; whether I had a right to go on with them. Still, I was sustained by the fact that I had been led on to them. For what other purpose could this have been done but for that of making the results thereof known? They could serve no good purpose in remaining locked up within myself.

It is my belief that the ordinary course of events is never interfered with; but that great events may be inaugurated by unseen agencies and guided by unseen hands. The responsibility which has devolved upon me, incompetent and unprepared as I am, is almost too great; still, I must try to discharge it to the best of my ability.

I have no personal motive of either fame or fortune. At one time I would have been pleased with such results; now it is too late. If not in my day, some day, I trust, some one will read and comprehend; some one will not mind the trouble of investigation. It is not likely that I shall forever remain the only "seeing one."

It would have been better if I had not published a line for at least ten years. It would have taken that long to say what I want to say, properly. My time is too uncertain, however, to run such a risk. My friends are falling to the right and left by the roadside. I must be up and doing; must make a beginning at least.

We must be satisfied with reaching matters approximately, and argue by analogy to some extent; and also hope that others will take them up and push them along a little farther than we have been able to do. Perhaps in the course of time a perfect insight may be arrived at.

The community of man is a necessity; a separate existence, an anomaly. We are dependent and interdependent upon one another. Man cannot escape his fellow-man. In the remotest desert his spirit is still in communication with him. If it were not so, who would not at times want to flee all, escape from all?

I have but one fear—inability, for some reason or other, to finish my work. I feel like the heroine of a celebrated German novelist, travelling about with a trunk filled with gold, which she distributed among the deserving poor as fast as she came across them. Meanwhile she was in constant fear lest her life should ebb out before all was distributed, and its precious contents lost to those for whom they were intended. If there were any way of imparting this knowledge other than by writing it down, I would gladly resort to it. But how can I reach the few who are capable of and willing to take up these questions, except by communicating them to the many? These "few" will be found in all parts of the world, for these truths apply to all men, independent of sex, race, or country.

My cry is not for recognition. My personality might be blotted out, like that of millions of others, without its being noticed, yet, by virtue of this trust which has been reposed in me, what a loss it would be! My cry is for investigation and the coöperation of others, so that this work may be carried on independent of myself. Meantime, I cannot transfer this task to others. I must first explain all that it is in my power to explain. I can then shift it from my shoulders onto theirs. They must be educated up to it before they can take hold of it as I have taken hold of it.

When I first announced my discoveries, I gave all I possessed, supposing others would see as I saw and comprehend as I did; having no doubt but that the world would at once acknowledge their truths and accept their precepts. I have since found that the world can get along very comfortably with a vast amount of want of knowledge. I therefore made up my mind not to be quite so rash again in making it my beneficiary, not till I was better prepared for the purpose; this other book of mine having been finished rather hastily in the erroneous belief that this knowledge was at once and imperatively needed.

Since publishing this previous book I have also found, which I did not know at that time, that my very mode of investigation (by means of introspection) was new; that no one had ever looked into matters of this kind in the manner I had; besides, it seems strange that in this age of keen investigation of the most trivial matters, no one should have deemed it worth his while to look into these more important subjects.

Regarding the anatomical investigations of the larynx, and anatomical, coupled with physiological, investigations generally, let me ask a question: Supposing a palace with a million apartments, each one in succession more luxuriously furnished than its predecessor, would they avail anything to its sole inhabitant, if that inhabitant were blind?

We have obtained a fair conception of the wonderful palace, the human body, its numberless apartments and their luxurious furnishings, but do not comprehend their meaning, except in a remote and unsatisfactory mechanical sense. We are the blind that inhabit it. Most of these apartments will remain meaningless to our understanding until we ascertain what use the sovereign, the soul, which reigns therein, is making of them, not only mechanically, but spiritually as well. For the soul lives in them all, though it is supposed that it lives only in its throne-room of the brain and that it never descends from the throne set up in the same.

Just here biologists have blundered, trying to get hold of psyche by pursuing matter bereft of life; or investigating life in other beings instead of that inherent in themselves. The vivisection of all the frogs in the world will not give us the first knowledge of the frog's soul; certainly not of our soul. The knowledge of the anatomical construction of the larynx has brought us no nearer the knowledge of the mystery of the voice than that of the brain has brought us to that of the soul. We must understand the process by which the mechanism of the brain is set in motion before we can begin to understand our mode of thinking. We must comprehend the manner in which a musical instrument is to be used before we can begin to draw music from the same. And so must we understand the spirit which moves the mechanism of the voice (of which so far we have known but a single factor), if we want to understand our mode of using it.

Does any one seriously think that by photographing vocal sounds, or passing a mirror down his throat and watching the movements of the vocal cords, he will observe anything that will lead him to an intimate knowledge of nature's subtle process by which vocal sounds are produced? As well look at the face of a clock and see its hands move, and then say you have arrived at a knowledge of the hidden intricate mechanism of the works of the clock. The mechanism of the instrument of the voice is a thousand times more intricate than that of a clock. It lives, it breathes, it moves, it expands and contracts, it rises and falls, it gathers, it gives—now here, now there.

Starting from the supposition that life is too subtle, too intangible a thing to have its innermost operations disclosed by the clumsy work of our hands or the dull vision of our eyes, though increased in power a thousandfold, I matched the subtle work of my voice with the subtler of my brain, and thus, undisturbed by any extraneous agency whatever, watched the process by which, first, simple mechanical, then articulated sounds, and finally sounds linked together into speech, are produced. In so doing I traced sounds through the labyrinth of numerous avenues to their original sources—the organism of all our faculties, instead of being confined to their end organs, being widespread over our entire system.

Physiologists as a rule are satisfied with the observation and exposition of phenomena. I have endeavored to explain phenomena. I have gone "behind the returns," as politicians say. I have lifted the mysterious veil, and have obtained glimpses at the process of life. In this manner the voice of the œsophagus was first discovered, which, in logical sequence, has carried me from one discovery to another. Once in the confidence of nature, it freely opened up to me its heart. Comprehending one thing led me on to the comprehension of others.

There is no study which is as fascinating as that pursued by introspection. It is self-compensating in the highest degree; all facts thereby evolved being the logical sequence of others previously ascertained. Or, if not always in sequence, they all fit into the same system; everything that has been ascertained being a stone which was waiting to be placed in a certain niche to fulfil a certain purpose in the construction of a harmonious edifice. There was no waste, no material entirely lost; nor will there be at any future time. If similar studies will be pursued by those specially fitted for the purpose, the time may not be far distant when there will not be an atom of our material existence whose meaning and purpose will not be understood. The laws which I claim to have discovered will assist in this accomplishment, as they are of so broad a nature that they may be said to form the substructure to forces and conditions which are at the very root of our existence. I do not pretend to say that in this little book they have been properly treated, nor that I possess the ability, under the best of circumstances, to thus treat them. I have but stated what has come under my observation, and have stated it in as simple and direct a manner as my instinct and my ability have taught me to state it.

I have been up on Mount Washington to see the sun rise. It was a beautiful picture; still, there were clouds in the way which here and there obscured my vision, as was to be expected from the unwonted height to which I had risen, and the distant horizon.

I am not writing for a class, but for the multitude to which I belong, and of which, in its aspirations, its hopes, its sincerity, and its ignorance regarding specific knowledge, I form a part. Hence my thoughts are its thoughts and my language its language. There will be no difficulty, therefore, for all to understand me and to profit by my experience.

My observations result in the triumph of the sensation, the feeling (common to all), over the exact sciences (known to but few). Science, for the most part, is satisfied with dissecting or analyzing. My endeavor has been to construct; to form the whole out of parts instead of reducing the whole into parts. My guide has been instinct coupled with common-sense,—that rarest of all the senses in spite of its name. How far it has guided me aright, it will be the province of science to judge.

I may be asked why, in treating upon so "simple" a subject as the human voice (my only endeavor in the beginning), I want to move heaven and earth, and press them into my service. My answer is, Wherever I touched the subject of the voice, I found it to be in correlation with all other subjects.

My great desire now is, that I may be granted the time and retain the ability to write out all I have ascertained; while my greatest wonder is, that these things should have waited for me at all to be made known; why they should not have been discovered centuries ago. My eyes once opened, I found them lying about within the easy reach of my arm and the mere assistance of my pick and shovel, like precious ore in a newly discovered mining country. I had but to open the lid of the mysterious casket which had been intrusted to me, and all these great truths escaped from the same; not to disappear, however, as they did in the fable, but to remain with me and to be made known through me to the world.

The best part of my life has been spent in this, my adopted country. Though I experience no difficulty in expressing myself in the English language, still it is not my native tongue, and I sometimes feel as if I might have said some things better if I had said them in German.

Looking at the many volumes written on the subject of the larynx alone, and considering that during all this time its associate, the replica, without whose assistance not one vocal sound can ever be uttered, has remained unknown, though in plain sight and "in everybody's mouth," one cannot help but think of Goethe's lines: