Seed Thoughts for Singers Part 6

Concert singing is the field most widely opened and most easily filled of any to which a singer can aspire. Every year the concert field broadens. The so-called "grand" concerts of the last generation have disappeared, and that is better for the singer. Concert singing is more thoroughly a business and it is one worthy the ambition of any vocal student. Not that it is always pleasant business--what is, for that matter?--but it is something which can be entered upon on business lines, and one can make a place for himself in it. His first work is, of course, vocal and musical preparation. He should begin as soon as he can sing well enough to appear before an audience at all, to sing whenever and wherever he can get the chance. This is for practice and not for pay. No one ought to expect pay before he has sung at fifty or sixty entertainments without pay. He must have that amount of practice on his audiences. If he has improved his opportunities his name will be known by the time that period of experience is over and he can then begin to demand a small fee. The smaller the better for him. He can then begin to send his name abroad as an applicant for more remuneration. Step by step he can improve in ability and increase his income. It is a work to which all can be directed. It takes years to make any goodly success at it. Three years are needed to make a good beginning, but when one looks back over a life, three years of preparation do not seem long.

With regard to singing in opera and theatre a word can be given at another time. An outline of what might be said is this:--grand opera is very limited, and only few can become opera singers in grand opera; light opera presents a good field for the gratification of ambition, under certain conditions; the theatre presents a good field for vocalists to those who feel inclined to enter theatrical life.

CHAPTER VIII.

MUSIC AND LONGEVITY.

"_Were it not for music, we might, in these days, say the beautiful is dead._"

=D'Israeli.=

"_I verily think, and I am not ashamed to say that, next to Divinity, no art is comparable to music._"

=Luther.=

VIII.

MUSIC AND LONGEVITY.

Perhaps no one chooses to question the statement that length of human life is greater in our generation than it was in the last, and much greater than it was one or two centuries ago, in the face of statistics which the medical profession puts forth. Question of such statement implies a hidden motive in the medical profession. Possibly that profession might have a motive in leading people to believe that life lasts longer. If there is such motive it is for the good of men. It also recognises the influence of mind over matter as a preserving force.

Doctors are anxious more than can be imagined to do all they can for the benefit of mankind. No cla.s.s of men (or of women, since we have women in the profession) strives harder to do good. Their very code of ethics is based on self-sacrifice. The inventions, the discoveries, the devices which that profession now uses are such as bewilder and astonish one who only now and then has a chance to see their work. But a generation ago, and the sick man was loaded with charge after charge of drugs. It was only the generation before, that the sick man was bled in great quant.i.ties for every ailment. That was a change from generation to generation. But a little while ago a new school of medicine sprung up in which drugs were almost wholly discarded. Attenuation to the thousandth or even the five-thousandth part, was used, and when drugs are so attenuated, there is not much left to them. Such success has attended the homeopathist that he must be recognised. Who shall say but that another step may be taken or has been taken, in dropping the use of drugs and medicines entirely?

All these schools and schemes have borne their part in prolonging human life, or more properly speaking, prolonging life in the human body.

It is but recently that the influence of music in the cure of disease has been given professional thought. Its influence has been known for a long time but has not been properly placed and appreciated. This discussion may be the one thing to bring it before the world.

Metaphysics--That is a word which we hear from mouth to mouth, nowadays.

What does it mean? Briefly "the scientific knowledge of mental phenomena." We have almost come to think that it is something mythical, or even relating to the supernatural. But it is "_scientific knowledge_." Even our magazines which talk upon "Psychical Research"

drift off into spiritualism and hallucinations. The writers do not keep to the text. Metaphysics is a science--and that science which deals with the most real and tangible. It deals with phenomena. It deals with mind itself. Now, mind is tangible and real. It is that part of us which came from the Creator--was from the beginning--has no end--and is in these bodies of ours for a time only. Which from this definition, is more tangible? Mind or body? There is no longevity to mind. From eternity it came--to eternity it goes. No measure can be applied to it. Body, that which we see and handle and in which we believe mind to reside, is quite another thing. It begins--it lasts for a time, ever struggling against forces which tend to destroy it--and drops at last into Mother Earth or the elements. That which we try to prolong is the existence in living condition, of the body. The keeper of that body is the mind, and whatever is done successfully to that body is done through the mind.

Medical treatment is well enough in its place, and I am not to quarrel with the man who wants to use that, but mental treatment, (and I do not choose to be cla.s.sed with the various isms now before the public which have grasped one corner of the subject and are tugging away at that) is the one thing by which and through which the body is to be affected. By that is human life to be prolonged.

Music affects the mind. If it affects the body it does it through the mind. We say, when the dance begins that we can't keep still. What is the "we?" Our bodies. Not at all. Our mental perception is alert, and it recognises the vivacity of the dance and responds to it. In a moment the body answers the mind and whirls out over the floor in rhythm and in sympathy with the musical action. Again music seeks the minor thought and we are subdued into seriousness, or maybe, wors.h.i.+p of the beautiful, the good, and G.o.d. Was it the body, fighting against disease and death which thus responded? Not at all. The mind, in which there ever rests the appreciation of all that there is in G.o.d, (and that includes beauty, bounty and truth) felt itself influenced by the music. That influence was extended to the body. You cannot enter good without getting good, mental and physical.

There is nothing which has the tendency to reduce the average of human life as much as debauchery. That causes early decay. That wears out the body. That nourishes the seeds of disease. But, say you, if mind is the controlling force over the body, metaphysics over physics, why cannot one engage in any wildness which he chooses to fancy, and enjoy life. A gay life and a merry one. Are we to come down into soberness and somberness to preserve these bodies of ours? Can't we look back into the days of a jolly good dinner with a draught, deep from the pewter pot, of nut-brown ale, can't we joke with every pretty face we see, whether under a bonnet or not, can't we even become Falstaffs, if we feel like it, and yet keep ourselves alive to the full of days, if mind can control body? Yes, yes! But can mind stand such things--can mind keep itself in touch with the source of what is Good, in such conditions? If it can, enjoy all debauchery. If not, for the preservation of self, keep out of it. Now there are various kinds of debauchery, and not the least of these is music itself, wrongly used. And herein lies the point which I would make. Herein lies the point of the practical, or you may say if you choose, the didactical, side of the question; the point where our music touches our longevity. Music of the intellectual kind is the only music which can have enn.o.bling influence upon the human mind and keep it in equipoise. The dance, the sentimental, the pleasing, has its place I admit. But to the musician that which lacks the scientific, lacks everything. How many of us care to attend a concert, an opera of the light vein, or that of a bra.s.s band, as perhaps we once did? That pretty, catchy song, let it be sung ever so well, has lost an awakening influence upon us. Even a Patti is gone by to us. We call a pianist old-fas.h.i.+oned. Is he really so? Are not we becoming new-fas.h.i.+oned? Are not we becoming so keenly alive to the intellectual that, unless we watch phrases and periods, theses and ant.i.theses, sequences and cadences, melody against melody, we have no satisfaction in music. Then we run from music to music trying to hear some new thing, until we become almost unbalanced in mind. We become hyper-critical, sensitive to faults, irritable over remissnesses, until those conditions become a part of our disposition, and the musician becomes the crank. That is musical debauchery and I contend that that will shorten the life of any man. Which leads me to ask the question, can there not be such a thing as an overdose of music, just as there is an overdose of drug? And does it not behoove us, now that we have started a medico-musical-mental treatment of this poor body of ours, to beware lest we shorten its existence rather than prolong it.

But _Art_--that which calls for the highest in man--must surely be a benefit to man. Mrs. Rogers says "Those who approach art because art first reached out its arms to them, and who approach it on their knees, with faith, with hope, with love, with religion, thinking not of self, nor of aught that shall result to them from their devotion to it, but that only through art, they may utter truth, and so fulfill art's real purpose, and with it the highest purpose of their own life--those shall indeed know the blessedness of power, of growth, of inspiration, of love." Such art as that carries the mind down to the centre of all things from which all good springs. That centre is Life. That life has for its great attribute the re-cuperation--the re-creation of all which it touches. The dwelling of that life--the body--is, by art such as that which that n.o.ble writer just quoted describes, made young every day and its days are prolonged on the face of the earth. This may be ideal to-day, but so many times has it been true, that "the ideal of to-day is the real of to-morrow," that even this may be the tangible medicine of the next generation.

CHAPTER IX.

ACTIVITY.

"_Life is a series of surprises. We do not guess to-day the work, the pleasure, the power of to-morrow, when we are building up our being._"

=Emerson.=

"_Chase back the shadows, grey and old,_ _Of the dead ages, from his way,_ _And let his hopeful eyes behold_ _The dawn of Thy millenial day._ "

=Whittier=

IX.

ACTIVITY.

Fortunately, no two persons are exactly alike. If they were, the result would be the same and the everyday acts leading to a result would be the same. Nature, acquiescing in the Divine plan, has a different line of action and result for every individual which she creates. We find unlimited variety in man. The seat of activity is the mind and the first portion of the body to be acted upon by the mind is the brain. One man possesses more convolutions of brain than does another, and the fibre which extends from the gray matter to manipulate the many organs of the body which we constantly use is finer in one organism than in another.

We recognize differences in cla.s.ses of people and call one cla.s.s nervous, and another, phlegmatic. So strongly are we influenced by public opinion that we honestly believe that a "slow" man cannot reach so great result in a lifetime as can a "quick" man. General opinion is usually wrong and it most certainly is in this case. Nature has a work for each kind and each individual to do, the summing up of which, is the result of that life, and if the gifts of each individual have been properly used the result is success in life. It may be believed that the usefulness of each individual, if the life of each is perfectly carried out, will be equal to that of all others. The _apparent_ success may not be _real_ success.

The active brain directs a responsive body. The more active the brain, the more active can the body be made. To make the body useful at all, the motion of its members must be well understood and perfectly commanded. Herein lies the secret of success or failure. All want--not wish--success. (A wish may be a whim.) The saying "One thing at a time, etc.," has become obnoxious to us years ago, but in the idea contained in that lies the path to greatest activity. The active mind spreads itself. It schemes. All the plans which it suggests seem possible. Why not carry them all out? Merely because life is not long enough, nor mental and physical endurance strong enough, to do even the preliminary work of one tenth of the schemes which can come to an active mind in one day. Cut them all off. It might be well to say "First come, first served," and take the first which comes and carry that to success, concentrating all thought and force upon its accomplishment. It may be a Higher Power which put the thought of that plan _first_ into mind.

Yet more narrowly would we draw the line which surrounds our activity.

One must make the most of his force and strength. In the case of every man, woman and child living there is enormous waste of power. Much more is wasted than is used. We have in years past stood beside Niagara and thought if that power, apparently going to waste, could be used for moving machinery it could run the mills of the world, forgetting, or not knowing, that, in getting to the Falls, we wasted enough mental and physical force to run our human machinery for a week. The thought flew, changing probably twice a second, to how many different things in the hour before. Computation is easy. In the sixteen working hours of a day, perhaps, we think of 2000 things. Isn't that wasteful? Before the true plan of nature is carried out some (if not three-quarters) of this waste must be prevented. What has the body done in the hour before reaching Niagara? The hands have wandered aimlessly, the feet have tapped the floor, the watch has been looked at a dozen times, the hat taken off and put on again, the card-case opened, half-looked at, and shut, and each act, with twenty more, has been repeated again and again. It was waste activity. It must be overcome. Nature never intended you and me to be wasteful. These actions of mind, brain and body, are useful in their places, but we misuse them, using up strength and power. Night comes and we are tired out, or think we are, which amounts to the same thing. Who said "One thing at a time" was obnoxious to him? To gain our greatest power we must bring ourselves down to "one thing at a time." Put your mind on that one thing. Are you sharpening a pencil just now? Don't read a book at the same time. Are you placing your hat on your head? Don't brush dust off the coat. Are these things trivial? Nothing is trivial in nature's plan. Do not, in impatience, without trial, cast aside these suggestions. Even give one hour each day for one week as a trial to doing what you do, perfectly, and think of it as a trial. The increased result in mental and physical activity will demonstrate the wisdom of the advice.

Strength is essential to successful labor. Wildly beating the air in undirected effort is the element of greatest weakness. We smile at the antics of two chickens in their fight in the farmyard. In a few minutes they wear themselves out and go off to rest. Are not we much like them?

Do we not use up our strength in useless effort? Then, how often we rush off to the gymnasium or to the drug-store in the vain hope of regaining our strength. New strength is not to be found in either place. It is within ourselves all the time. Stop the expenditure and permit re-cuperation through concentration. Don't go lie down. Don't take a nap. Stop right where you are and bring the thought down to one thing, _strength_. For the moment allow the body to remain still. Think strength, desire strength, command strength! It is yours. It belongs to you. It is all around you. It will take possession of you if you permit it. What say you? That it will not come at your bidding? Are you sure?

Have you cleared the mind of the cobwebs--the two different things per second which can come into it? Have you? Until you have, don't give up the test. Concentrate the thought upon strength, if that is what you want, and it will come.

Impatience is waste. You cannot afford it. It is too expensive. We are all children. We see a toy and we must have it instantly, even if it is, as it often is, a sharp tool, which cuts our hands. If that which we wish belongs to us, or is to be given to us, it will come in its time.

We wish to do something _now_. We haven't the means, or we don't see our way clearly to do it. We bemoan our hard luck, and can't see why we can't have it. Just so does the child about the toy. Wait patiently, and if, in nature's plan, the thing is to come to us, it will come, and we can't prevent it. It will seem as if it came itself. Impatience merely wears us out and uses up strength which nature wishes us to use in some other way. Obey nature and carry out her purposes.

Activity which is useful, comes through directed effort. There may be _seeming_ activity which is worse than sluggishness, and which is certainly not desirable. Directed effort comes best through calm mind and responsive body. Silence and quietness, self-imposed, prepare the way to directed effort. Cease everything, even thinking, so far as it can be stopped, and remain pa.s.sive thirty seconds. Then another thirty seconds. Who cannot take one minute out of each hour in the day for preparing the mind and body for greater strength and activity? When night has come and we lay the body down to rest there are a few minutes when it can have the best preparation for the activity of the next day.

The few minutes before sleep carries us into unconsciousness are dear and sweet minutes, if rightly used. Then can the thought, which has been sent to thousands of things during the day, be brought back to its proper place. It should be centred upon one thing. The estimate is that the mind cannot be kept on one thing more than six seconds; but it can be returned to that one thing for several periods of six seconds each.

We do not have the chance to return it many times, for sleep seizes us.

Let the thought selected be a pleasant one; of some happy spot or view; a sunset or refres.h.i.+ng shower. It is better to select something from nature rather than man, for such thought is likely to be unalloyed. The last thing at night, if pleasant, tends to give us the calmest rest and best prepares us for the next day. The well and strong body can be active and the temperament of the individual makes comparatively little difference. In this we may all take courage. Every thoughtful person has had an occasional sad thought over his apparent impotence. No one need use less than his normal strength and activity.