Kitabı oku: «Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 709», sayfa 3
'Yes.'
'Not seriously, I hope? How did it happen?'
I looked down at my hand in a dazed kind of way, trying to recollect what had happened to it. 'I don't know. Good-bye.'
'Mary! is there anything to be done which a brother might do for you?' he asked in a low troubled voice.
I tried to think what brothers could do, and what there was to be done for me, then shook my head.
'For old friendship's sake, do treat me as a brother now, Mary!'
His very evident perturbation had the good effect of making me rally my scattered wits, and I was so far like myself again as to reply: 'The only – only way in which you can help me just now is to let me go without any further questioning.'
He stood aside at once without a word, and I passed on. But I had no sooner done so than my conscience smote me. Was this the way to part from him – the one above all others so true to me? I turned back to where he remained standing, laid my hand for a moment upon his arm, and said: 'Please forgive my rudeness, Robert; and believe that if there were anything for a brother to do, I would ask you to do it. And perhaps you will be able to help me presently in trying to convince them that, however blamable I may at first appear, I have acted, as I believe, for the best;' thinking that they might possibly turn to him for advice and assistance. Then offering my hand, I added tremulously: 'Good-bye, Robert.'
'God keep you, Mary!'
(To be concluded next month.)
CURIOSITIES OF THE VOICE
Some years ago, a delightfully interesting book was written by Sir Charles Bell on the human Hand. There might be fully as interesting a work written on the mechanism of the human voice, in which would be equally demonstrated the power, wisdom, and goodness of the Creator. We offer a few observations on the subject. Until recently, there were mysteries difficult to explain concerning the wonderful inflections in the voice. Now, it is thoroughly understood how words are produced, and how the throat is able to send forth a wide variety of charming notes in singing. We begin by mentioning that Dr Mandl has devoted himself to the study of the organs of speech, and from his work on the Larynx we give some interesting particulars. Investigators have long been occupied with researches; but until they had seen the larynx of a living being one thing only was proved, that the voice was formed in the glottis. For fifty years of this century they were trying by mirrors and other appliances to examine the interior of this organ, but without results. Suddenly an inspiration came into the head of a celebrated singer, whose name awakens charming remembrances among old amateurs. This was M. Manuel Garcia. Ignorant of all the trouble which surgeons had taken in order to observe the movements of the throat in the act of singing, he conceived the idea of looking at himself. By the help of two mirrors, the one reflecting the image on to the other, he saw the whole of his larynx depicted. In ecstasy before the glass, he determined to pursue the accidental discovery which had been so long dreamed of. But the autumn had set in, and the sun's rays, which were necessary to success, did not lend their aid. London with its fogs forced him to try artificial light, the results of which were unsuccessful, and therefore he could only profit by fine days; yet he soon recognised how isolated sounds were produced. In 1855 the Royal Society received some communications from him on these curious studies.
The subject was at once taken up with great activity, especially in Vienna, where success was far from equalling the hopes of the doctors. The caprices of solar light and the defects of artificial threw them into a state of despair. By all means they must improve their mirrors. Czermak, the Professor of Physiology at Pesth, taking an example from the instrument used in examining the eye, the ophthalmoscope, had recourse to a concave mirror which concentrated the light. From this time there was no difficulty but to perfect the lenses. Czermak having acquired great skill in the use of his laryngoscope, visited the principal cities of Germany, where his demonstrations deeply interested surgeons and physiologists. He was warmly received in Paris in 1860, where he shewed not only the whole length of his larynx, but also the interior of the trachea or windpipe as far as its bifurcation; a spectacle truly astonishing to those who witness it for the first time. It is not possible to examine the organ of the voice with the same facility in all; a man must have had some experience before he can do it.
A slight sketch of this organ will perhaps make the subject clearer. From the breast there rises to the middle of the neck the passage for the air between the lungs and the mouth; at one end it is divided into numerous branches, called the bronchial tubes; at the upper end, like the capital of a column, is seen the larynx, resembling an angular box; strong cartilages make it very resistent; and the interior is lined with a mucous membrane forming folds, named the vocal lips. These separate, lengthen, or shorten in the formation of various sounds. The largest of the four cartilages rises in an annular form, and protects the whole structure. It is but slightly shewn in the neck of the female, but strongly marked in the man, and is popularly called Adam's-apple. Like everything else, the larynx presents individual differences. A fine development is an indication of a powerful voice. As the child grows up, there is a sudden alteration and increase of size; but it always remains smaller in the woman than in the man; the angles are less sharp, the muscles weaker, the cartilages thinner and more supple, which accounts for the sharp treble notes in their voices.
Singing demands a different kind of activity in the organs from speaking. In society, where education requires a submission to rule, singing belongs to the domain of art; but in a primitive state all nations have their songs. Musical rhythm drives away weariness, lessens fatigue, detaches the mind from the painful realities of life, and braces up the courage to meet danger. Soldiers march to their war-songs; the labourer rests, listening to a joyous carol. In the solitary chamber, the needlewoman accompanies her work with some love-ditty; and in divine worship the heart is raised above earthly things by the solemn chant.
A strong physical constitution and a perfect regularity in the functions of the organs used in singing, are inappreciable advantages. They should be capable of rendering an inspiration short and easy, the expiration slow and prolonged; there is a struggle between retaining and releasing the air, and with the well-endowed artiste the larynx preserves its position, notwithstanding the great variety of sounds which it emits. But the evolutions of the parts are multiplied, the vocal lips vibrate, and the configuration of the cavity modifies the sounds which are formed in the glottis, and determine the tone of the voice. The most energetic efforts of the will cannot change this tone in any sensible manner. Professors injure their pupils by prescribing the position of the mouth, from which perhaps they themselves derive an advantage.
It is interesting to watch the play of the organs by the help of the laryngoscope, and see the changes which succeed one another in the low and high notes. At the moment when the sound issues, the glottis is exactly closed; then the orifice becomes a very long figure, pointed at the two extremities. As the sound rises, the vocal lips approach each other, and seem to divide the orifice into two parts; then as the highest notes are sounded, there is but a slit the width of a line. The vocal lips change like the glottis; they stretch out, harden, thicken, and vibrate more and more as the voice rises. Women, who have a smaller larynx and shorter vocal lips, can sing higher notes than men, with a tone less powerful, but sweeter, more uniform, and melodious.
The ordinary limits of the voice comprehend about two octaves of the musical scale: it can easily be increased to two and a half; but some reach the very exceptional range of three, and three and a half. Thus at the commencement of this century, Catalani astonished every one who heard her, as a sort of prodigy. Suppleness and intensity may be acquired by practice, as has been proved in the case of many singers: the voice of Marie Garcia was harsh, but it became at last the delicious one of Madame Malibran. In general, the natural gift is manifested without culture; the child endowed with this great charm warbles like a bird for amusement; a lover of art passes by, listens with surprise, and promises glory and fortune to the rival of the lark. Thus the famous Rubini won his triumphs. Occasionally the singer has in a moment lost all power, and an enchanting voice will disappear never to return; such a misfortune befell Cornelia Falcon.
Those who have watched the formation of vowels and consonants can describe very precisely the positions which the lips, tongue, and palate take in articulation. Yet almost identical sounds can be produced with different positions. As we all know, the teeth are a great help to pronunciation, but a person who has lost all his teeth can modify the play of the lips and tongue and express himself intelligibly. Actors imitate the voice of public characters so as to make the illusion complete. The ventriloquist can make his voice issue as if from a cavern. When misfortune has deprived a man of the whole or part of his tongue, he can still hold a conversation, though the sounds are never particularly agreeable. All this shews that there is nothing absolute in the actions which form words, though in general the same organs play similar parts. Those who were born deaf have ceased to be dumb by interpreting the movements of the mouth with wonderful certainty: they guess the words of the speaker instead of hearing them, and so learn to speak by imitation, their speaking, however, being seldom well modulated. There are now several institutions where the poor creatures who have been deprived of one of their senses can acquire a means of communicating with their companions without the tedious intervention of writing. The master indicates to the child how he must open his mouth, place his tongue and lips; he then draws the pupil's hand over his own larynx, so that he may feel the movement. Those who, like the writer, have seen this reading from the lips, will be struck with the surprising delicacy of the impressions made on the eye which has been thus cultivated.
In comparison with the human voice, that of animals seems poor indeed. The barking of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the bleating of sheep, cannot be called language, in the proper sense. Yet the larynx of these creatures is on the same plan as that of man. Among monkeys the resemblance is perfect. To all appearance the impossibility of speaking is due to the formation of the lips and tongue. In 1715 Leibnitz announced to the French Academy that he had met with a common peasant's dog that could repeat thirty words after its master. In spite of such an authority, we must always say when we most admire the intelligence of this faithful companion: 'He only wants words.' So well endowed with memory, affection, and intelligence, he can only express his joy by sharp, short expirations of air through the glottis. Howling is a prolonged note in the pharynx, excited by deep grief or pain. Yet they in common with many other animals can communicate with each other in a marvellous manner when they wish to organise an expedition. A dead bullock was lying in a waste far from all habitations, when a solitary dog, attracted by the smell, came and fed upon it; immediately he returned to the village and called together his acquaintances. In less than an hour the bones were picked clean by the troop.
Opportunities for studying the language of wild animals are rare: they fly from man, and when in captivity they become nearly silent, only uttering a few cries or murmurs. Travellers have sometimes been able to watch the graceful movements of the smaller African apes. Living in the branches of trees, they descend with great prudence. An old male, who is the chief, climbs to the top and looks all around; if satisfied, he utters guttural sounds to tranquillise his band; but if he perceive danger, there is a special cry, an advertisement which does not deceive, and immediately they all disperse. On one occasion a naturalist watched a solitary monkey as he discovered an orange-tree laden with fruit. Without returning, he uttered short cries; his companions understood the signal, and in a moment they were collected under the tree, only too happy to share its beautiful fruit. Some kinds possess a curious appendage, a sort of aërial pouch, which opens into the interior of the larynx and makes a tremendous sound. These howling apes, also called Stentors, inhabit the deepest forests of the New World; and their cries, according to Humboldt, may be heard at the distance of one or two miles.
If it be ever possible to observe the play of the larynx of animals during the emission of sounds, the subject will be a very curious one. The difficulty seems almost insurmountable, as their goodwill must be enlisted; yet M. Mandl, full of confidence in his use of the laryngoscope, does not despair. After man, among animated nature, the birds occupy the highest rank in nature's concerts; they make the woods, the gardens, and the fields resound with their merry warbles. Cuvier discovered the exact place from which their note issues. They possess a double larynx, the one creating the sounds, the other resounding them: naturalists call the apparatus a drum. Thus two lips form the vocal cords, which are stretched or relaxed by a very complicated action of the muscles. This accounts for the immense variety of sounds among birds, replying to the diversity in the structure of the larynx.
The greater number of small birds have cries of joy or fear, appeals for help, cries of war. All these explosions of voice borrow the sounds of vowels and consonants, and shew how easy and natural is articulation among them. Those species which are distinguished as song-birds have a very complicated vocal apparatus. For the quality of tone, power, brilliancy, and sweetness, the nightingale stands unrivalled; yet it does not acquire this talent without long practice, the young ones being generally mediocre. The parrots which live in large numbers under the brightest suns, have a love for chattering which captivity does not lessen. Attentive to every voice and noise, they imitate them with extraordinary facility; and the phenomenon of their articulating words is still unexplained. It is supposed that there is a peculiar activity in the upper larynx. As a rule, they attach no meaning to what they say; but there are exceptions. When very intelligent and well instructed, these birds – such as Mr Truefitt's late parrot, an account of which appeared in this Journal in 1874 – can give a suitable answer to certain questions.
Our notes on this interesting study come to a close. Man is well served by his voice; words are the necessity of every-day life; singing is its pleasure and recreation, whether the performers are human beings or birds.
