Speech and Drama
GA 282
22 September 1924, Dornach
XVIII. The Speech Sounds as a Revelation of the Form of Man. Control of the Breath
My dear Friends,
The studies we have been pursuing together in these past days have led us to see that two things are necessary if we want to be artists on the stage. In the first place, we must be ready and willing to undertake an intensive study of the elements of the arts of speech and gesture—those first elements of which we have seen that they are rooted and sustained in the life of the spirit. And then secondly, we must give to dramatic art its right place in the whole compass of our life, and in so doing implant in our hearts a mood that is permeated by spirit and never deviates from the paths of spirituality. If we can fulfil these two things required of us, then we shall be able to take our part as actors in the life of mankind in the way that an artist should who is sustained and upheld by the spirit. For such an artist should have it in his power, by means of all that he is and does, to help bring the artistic into that leading role in civilisation to which it is called, and for lack of which civilisation must inevitably wither and perish.
Such was, I know, the earnest aspiration that prompted a number of you to ask for this course of lectures. And we shall need to carry the same earnestness into our further study, as we go on now to consider, for example, how the human form is a revelation of the great world. Approaching the theme from the standpoint of the art of the stage, we shall have to find how in the form and figure of man, taken in its most comprehensive sense, the universe is revealed—significantly, intensively revealed. And the perceptions that light up within us through thus beholding man as a revelation of the universe, will guide us in linking up again the natural and elemental with the divine and spiritual.
We will accordingly begin our lecture today with a consideration once again of the question : How can we see in the forming of word and of sound a revelation of the form and figure of man? If we think of ‘speaking’ man, man revealing himself in speech, then the first part of his form that calls for notice is his lips. It is, to begin with, the lips that do the revealing.
Disregarding altogether for the moment the grouping of the consonants into impact sounds, breath sounds, wave sounds and vibrant sounds, we find that the sounds which are brought to expression by means of the lips are m, b, p. These sounds are revelations that are made entirely by the formative activity of the lips; both lips are engaged.
1. Both lips engaged : m b p
If we try to utter any other sound than these with the lips, we not only interfere with the right forming of speech, we do injury to our organism. And if on the other hand we speak m, b or p without the complete instinctive consciousness that here the lips are the specific agents, then again we harm both our speaking and our organism.
A second activity reveals itself when we begin to look a little way in from the lips—a co-operation, namely, of lower lip with upper teeth. In the muscles of the lower lip we have an intense concentration of our karma, of that karma that is so mysteriously present within us all the time. The forces that work and weave throughout the limbs go streaming through the muscles of the lower lip in a wonderful variety of movement; we may even say that the whole human being, with the exception of the organisation of the head, comes to expression in the activity of the lower lip.
In comparison with those of the lower, the muscles of the upper lip are inactive. Their part is rather to provide opportunity for what is contained in the head organisation to find its way into the muscular system. And whilst the lower lip is positively no less than a complete expression of man as limb-man, all that can be said of the upper lip is that it supplies man in its movement with a means of expression for what is contained in the utterance of m, b and p.
But now, through this co-operation of lower lip and upper teeth we can bring to expression what comes more from the entire man. The upper teeth, like the upper lip, bring the head organisation to expression, and being more at rest and circumscribed, are able to do so even better. In the upper teeth we have a concentration, a consolidation of all that man is ready and willing to receive of the secrets of the universe, those secrets that crave to be taken hold of in this way, to be established and consolidated in man's being. There in the upper teeth they come to rest. And when we let lower lip and upper teeth work together in the right way in f, v (f) and w (v),1We have here only two distinct sounds, the difference between f and v consisting simply in the force with which the sound is uttered (see next paragraph). then what has been received by us from the whole sum of world secrets and is now wanting to come to expression finds that expression.
2. Lower lip and upper teeth: f v w
The South Germans are almost unable to say w; they pronounce it like u and e run together, giving it the character of a vowel. W properly spoken arises from the lower lip meeting the upper teeth in a kind of wavelike movement, whereas in v the lower lip merely closes up to them without this wavelike movement. In f the lower lip pushes with all its force on to the upper teeth.
A further stage is reached when the two rows of teeth work together. This means that the lower and upper organisations of man, the organisations of head and of limbs, are held in balance. The world has, so to speak, been captured by man, he has it there within him; and now he on his part wants to send forth his own being into the world without. This is how it is when we attain to a right interworking of upper and lower teeth in speaking the sounds s, c (ts), z (ts).2The s may be voiced or unvoiced (as in ‘easy’ or as in’ say’). The letter c is rarely met with in modern German
3. Upper and lower teeth working together : s c z
In these sounds, the teeth alone are concerned.
Entering now still farther into man, we come to his inner life, to where his life of feeling seeks to express itself, his life of soul; we have therefore also to go farther back in his bodily being. We come then to the tongue; and we have first the revelation that can come about through tongue and upper teeth working together. Whilst what man has become by virtue of all that he has received from the world, reveals itself in the interplay of lower lip and upper teeth, what man is by virtue of the fact that he has a soul, comes to revelation in the interplay between soul and head—that is, between tongue and upper teeth.
Here, therefore, the tongue begins to work—and behind the upper teeth. Please take special note of the word behind. This gives rise to the sounds: l, n, d, t.
4. Tongue works behind the upper teeth: l n d t
If we are to succeed in producing in our pupils healthy and beautiful speaking, it will be important to arrange in our dramatic school for the practice of exercises expressly designed to avoid lisping. In lisping, the tongue ventures too far forward, pushing itself between the teeth. The students must succeed in having the tongue so completely under control, that the cardinal maxim of all speaking is consciously carried out, namely, that the tongue shall never be allowed to overstep the boundary set by the two rows of teeth.3A forcible reminder that the lectures refer to the German language! During the whole time of speaking, the tongue must stay behind this boundary. When it is allowed to come out beyond the teeth, it is as though the soul were wanting to come forth and expose itself, without body, to immediate contact with Nature.
A person who lisps should accordingly be given the following exercise, and one should begin it with him as young as possible. Get him to practise saying n l d, repeating each sound three times, and each time resolutely pressing the tongue on to the back of the upper teeth: n n n, l l l, d d d. To continue uttering the sounds in this way, one after the other, is difficult, but that is how they should be practised. It is a fatiguing exercise; it may well leave the pupil feeling as though he were seized with cramp. But let me tell you how the first man to draw attention to this exercise used to encourage his patients. He would remind them of the lieutenant who was in the habit of saying to his raw recruits: ‘Of course it is difficult; if a thing isn't difficult, you don't have to learn it!’
The fifth thing we need to consider lies still farther back in the mouth. We have to learn to be fully conscious of the part played in speaking by the root of the tongue. That is then the fifth, the root of the tongue. We shall here have to practise the sounds g, k, r4The German guttural r, a sound which does not occur in English., j5Like our ‘y’ in ‘yacht’, but more consonantal., qu (kv), speaking them as far back in the mouth as possible, and consciously feeling, as we utter them, the root of the tongue.
5. Root of the tongue: g k r j qu
It is these sounds—and more especially g, k, r—sounds where we have to take pains to be conscious all the time of the root of the tongue, that must bear the blame for stuttering. Stuttering arises when the instinctive feeling of the proper way to say g, k, r is lacking. We will go into this matter a little further presently, but directly you notice signs of stuttering in a pupil, you will have to take him with g k r and try to get him to speak these sounds to perfection. For r you can administer a physical help. Instead of expecting your pupil to produce r right away by his own inner effort, prepare him beforehand by letting him gargle water sweetened with sugar. Yes, as you see, whenever there is something of this kind that can help a pupil, something quite external, I have no hesitation in calling your attention to it. And for a right speaking of the sound r, gargling with sweetened water can prove very helpful. The sweet water must, however, be properly and thoroughly gargled. Particularly with children the gargling can have excellent results.
And now I want to pass on to something else that should be familiar to everyone who wants to speak properly, and which an intending actor will certainly need to master thoroughly.
I have, as you know, repeatedly pointed out that right speaking is not to be attained by physiological exercises, but that we have to learn it from the speech organism itself. We have in these lectures taken cognisance of many things that can be learned from the speech organism, and we have added to them today. We have seen that from m, b, p we learn the right co-operation of the lips, that from v, w we learn how to use rightly together lower lip and upper teeth, and from s, c, z the two rows of teeth. We have seen also how the tongue must always remain behind the teeth in l, n, d, t and lastly how we are to manipulate the root of the tongue in g, k, r, j, qu.
The sounds themselves are our teachers. It is only a matter of our knowing how to engage their help. If we have once understood this, then that will mean that all the several parts of our organism of throat and mouth have been received as pupils in the school of the sounds. The sounds are verily the Gods from whom we are to learn how to form our speaking.
But now, as I was saying, there is yet another matter to which we must give our attention. It concerns the breathing, and is the one item of guidance to be salvaged from all the tangled mass of instructions given in schools of speech training today. In speaking, we should use up, steadily and quietly, all our available breath. If, while we are speaking, we take a fresh breath before the inbreathed air we have in the lungs is exhausted, then our speaking will invariably be poor and feeble.
We are, as it were, in possession of the secret of well- formed speech when we know that good speaking depends upon the use to the full of the air that we have within us. We must accordingly accustom ourselves to the practice of exercises, once more derived from speech itself, where we have, to begin with, to take a deep full breath.
What does it imply, to take a deep full breath? It means that the diaphragm is pressed down as far as it can be without injury to health. You must be able to feel in the region of the diaphragm that the inbreathing is complete. You will, as teacher, need to lay your hand on your pupil in the region of the diaphragm in order to demonstrate to him the expansion that has to take place there, the change that must necessarily accompany a thorough inbreathing.
Then you will get your pupil to hold this inbreathed air and continue speaking with it until all the air he took in has been breathed out again. It must never happen that he stops to take breath so long as there is still any inbreathed air left in his lungs. It should indeed become for the pupil entirely a matter of instinct: never to pause for breath until the inbreathed air is exhausted.
Having first taken a deep breath and become conscious of what happens in the region of the diaphragm as he in-breathes, conscious too of the whole gradual change that takes place there until the inbreathed air is completely exhausted (for this preparatory stage the sound a can serve), the student may then proceed to the following exercise.
First a sequence of vowels, spoken slowly so that they occupy the time of a complete out-breathing. Let him say a e u, and continue with these sounds until he needs to take a fresh breath. Then the same with consonants. Let him keep on with k l s f m for the whole period of an out-breathing. This exercise, which has for its ultimate aim the full use of the in-taken breath before any more air is inbreathed, provides us also with a remedy, in fact the only right and healthy remedy, for stuttering. The reason why rhythmic exercises can prove so remarkably helpful for stuttering is that a good rhythm necessarily demands right breathing. One is obliged to breathe properly if one has to say:
‘Und es wallet and woget and brauset and zischt (take breath)
Wie wenn Wasser mit Feuer sich mengt.6For similar rhythm in English, the opening lines of The Burial of Sir John Moore by Wolfe may be suggested:
‘Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried.’
It is quite possible to hold one's breath throughout each line; in fact, one can hardly help doing so. And that is what you will have to achieve with your stutterer. He must not take breath until the inbreathed air is used up. For his stuttering is due to the fact that an anxiety which makes him gasp for air has become in him organic. What he needs is something that can lure him away from this anxious fear that makes him strain to catch his breath; and we shall exactly meet that need if, when he has begun to stutter, we get him to sing, or to say some poetry. Fear and anxiety are connected also with anger, and you know how an angry
person will often gasp for breath. Where there is stuttering, however, the anger and anxiety have become organic and we cannot expect improvement without long and steady practice of exercises.You probably know the story of the apothecary's assistant who was inclined to stutter whenever he was worried or anxious. The apothecary was having tea in a room upstairs with some friends. The assistant burst into the room and all he could say was: Die Apo-, die Apothe-, Apothe-, Apothe- ... The k was there in his way, he couldn't get past it. The apothecary, seeing the poor fellow pale with fear, realised that it was imperative to find out what was the matter. So he said to the assistant: ‘Sing it, man!’ And the man sang quite perfectly: ‘Die Apotheke brennt!’ (The shop is on fire!) Yes, he sang the information without any difficulty. And there was not a moment to be lost; the fire was raging in the cellar quite furiously. It was the singing that did it!
Constant steady practice of exercises can have permanent results; only, the exercises have to be done with the necessary inner energy. When unconsciousness intervenes, the stuttering, since it has become organic, is liable to recur. Let me tell you of a case that I found particularly interesting. A friend of mine who was a poet suffered from a stutter.7p. 386. This was Ludwig Jacobowski. A beautiful account of the poet and of his work in raany fields of cultural activity will be found in Rudolf Steiner's The Course of My Life, pp. 290-2. He overcame his disability to the point of being able to read aloud his own poems that were in long lines of verse. He would read rhythmically and without the least sign of difficulty; no one listening would have any suspicion that he was a stutterer. My friend was, however, a man who was easily excited and upset, and it would frequently happen that in ordinary conversation his stuttering would show itself again. (He was one who never had the patience to undertake exercises.) One day he was asked by a man, who was, to say the least, not very tactful: ‘Do you always stutter like this?' His reply was: ‘N-n-n-not unless I'm speaking to someone I just can't bear!’
A defect in speaking can thus locate itself in the organs, can become organic. In the case of lisping, we saw that there is a disability, when speaking l, n, d, t, to get tongue and upper teeth to co-operate as they should; the trouble in stuttering and stammering is that the root of the tongue is not under proper control. For it is the root of the tongue that reacts at once to disorder in the breathing A stutterer will therefore do well, as we said, to take g, k and r for his teachers—the r a little sweetened with sweet water.
In the sounds of speech live Divine Beings; and we must approach these Beings with devotion, with prayerful devotion. They will then be the very best teachers we could possibly have. All the many rules that are propounded for the management of the breath—apart from the one I have spoken of: Not until I have no air left in my lungs must I draw breath—all the others lead us astray into the sphere of the intellectual. That one rule, however, must become instinctive knowledge for the speaker. Instinctively he should go on using up the inbreathed air as long as he has any left. No other rules are needed for the gymnastics of the breath, but this one is absolutely indispensable. It has to be learned in the way I have described, and should be taught in every properly constituted school for the stage.
What I would have you understand, my dear friends, is that there are dangers attending all artistic activity, and only if we are able to bring to our own art a mood of religious devotion can we escape these dangers. The artist of the stage is especially exposed to them; they can actually assume for him the form of artistic faculties, but faculties that work with demoralising effect. Veneration, religious veneration for the sounds of speech! The words ring strange to us; but we must have courage to receive them and make them our own. For in these divine teachers of ours, in these sounds of speech, a whole world is contained. If we would become true ‘formers of the word’, we must never forget that the word was ‘in the beginning’. Despite all conflicting interpretations, that is what the opening words of the Gospel of St. John mean. ‘In the beginning was the Word’, the Wisdom-filled Word. A mood of devotion should imbue everything that has to do with the word.
But now, wherein lies the danger that threatens the actor, and no less the producer?
Actor and producer are on the stage, or behind it. This means, they are in a completely different world from the world of the auditorium. But the two worlds have to go together, they have to go absolutely hand in hand. It should never for a moment occur to us as possible that this harmonious co-operation should be lacking in any smallest detail. And yet how unlike, how essentially unlike the two worlds are! When you are on and behind the stage, you have there a reality. This reality, when it is shown to the audience, has to be converted into an illusion. But not on the stage—nor behind it; it can't be illusion there. For the audience who are sitting down below in front, it is an illusion—mysterious, terrible, charming, delightful, perhaps even mystical. But for those who are working on or behind the stage, the illusion changes into trivial reality.
I remember how forcibly this was brought home to me once when I was working with a company and we had to stage Maeterlinck's L'Intruse.8Reference to this performance and to the Introductory Address given by Rudolf Steiner will be found in Chapter XXV of The Course of My Life, where he teils of the part he took for some years in the production of plays, in a theatre in Berlin which would seem to correspond to our Repertory Theatres. An essential feature in this little drama is the gradual approach of sounds that are at first heard only in the distance. These sounds have to make the impression of something that is full of mystery; they are in reality the harbinger of death, they are bringing death to the one who lies ill in the adjoining room. Thus they will, you see, have to be of such a nature as to awaken in the audience a thoroughly mystical and mysterious mood.
But now in order to achieve this end, you will have to make use of quite trivial devices. Somewhere in the wings you will create a noise like the sharpening of a scythe heard at a distance—a noise that is to give the first indication of something rather mystically terrifying that sounds from far away. Then a little later, you will want a noise that sounds nearer. You will perhaps arrange for a key to be turned slowly in its lock by someone who is coming into the house. Just think what trivialities you resort to ! When you are thinking out contrivances of this nature, you are converting the impression you want to make on the audience into the utmost triviality.
I wanted now to provide for a still further enhancement of the mood. Behind the stage, my dear friends, we treat these things as matters of pure technique, and are delightfully indifferent to all the feelings we are hoping to arouse in the spectator who experiences the illusion. And it occurred to me that at the moment when the key had been turned in the lock and someone had entered the house, someone else might start up quickly like this (chair thrown back on to the floor). The action did, in fact, greatly intensify the illusion in the audience. Following on the mysterious sounds already described, it fairly made their hearts stand still with terror.
On the stage, a chair falling down—that was all it was in dry prose; but among the audience it produced an illusion of dithering fear.
It would, you know, be quite wrong for us to put ourselves forward as reformers and express disapproval of devices of this nature. On the contrary, we must certainly use such methods—the more of them the better! Their use requires, however, that our devotion to the spiritual be all the greater. Our hearts must be so full of devotion to the spiritual that we can endure unscathed all the trivial subterfuges that have to be undertaken behind the stage and in the wings.
The actor's inner life of feeling has to undergo change and development, until he is able to approach the whole of his art in a religious mood. Suppose a poet is writing an ode. If he is genuinely absorbed in the mood of the ode, he won't be thinking that his pen doesn't seem to be writing very smoothly. Similarly, on the stage, you should have developed such instinctive devotion to your work that even, let me say, such a simple action as knocking over a chair, you carry out with no other feeling than that you are doing a spiritual deed.
Not until this mood is attained will it be possible for the art of the stage to be filled and pervaded with the spirit that rightly belongs to it. Indeed its whole future depends upon that. And do not imagine the desired mood can be attained by any sentimental exhortations; no, only by dealing with realities. And we are dealing with realities when the sounds of speech in their mysterious runing become for us Gods—Gods who form within us our speaking. This should be the feeling that inspires all we do; it is also the determining sign of true art. It must even go so far, my dear friends, that never for a moment do we cease to be conscious of the fact that the illusion in the audience has to be created by a truth that is spiritually experienced in the souls of both actor and producer. We need to recognise this and take our guidance from it, even though we must admit that the audiences of today do not give us quite the picture that we on the stage would like to have before us.
You will, however, find that if the mood of which I have been speaking prevails on and behind the stage, it will work in imponderable ways upon the audience. The attitude of mind that one would be so glad to find there will develop more quickly under this influence than by any other method. We shall not help its development by drawing up elaborate plans or by making all kinds of promises at the inauguration of some new dramatic school or theatre. The one and only way to evoke a right attitude in the audience is to make sure that the whole of the work undertaken in connection with the stage is brought under the sway of soul and spirit.
To create the conditions for a harmonious co-operation between stage and critics is quite another matter, and infinitely harder of attainment. Many of the difficulties under which dramatic art labours today are, in fact, directly due to the utterly unnatural condition into which criticism has drifted. What goes by the name is not genuine criticism at all. Men like Kerr or Harden9Alfred Kerr was dramatic critic for the Berliner Tageblatt. His destructive and impertinent style won him many followers. Maximilian Harden was a celebrated political journalist. Reference may be mode here to Rudolf Steiner's own dramatic criticisms and reviews that appeared in various magazines during the years from 1889 to 1900. Many of these have been reprinted in the Frühwerk (collections of his earlier literary work); see especially Vol. XI entitled Theater, Schauspiel und Schauspielkunst. may be very clever, they may even found schools of criticism, but what they write and teach is built up on a purely negative principle. We must not allow ourselves to be misled and imagine that their criticisms have any sort of connection with art. They have none. These men are utterly indifferent to art, and it is important for the actor to realise that what they say has nothing whatever to do with what he, as an artist, intends and undertakes. It is, in fact, his bounden duty to change Kerr into kehr, and ‘aus-kehr-en’ the critics—‘clear the decks’ of them, once and for all. For at the root of all this spurious criticism lies, as I said, a purely negative attitude.
I once had an interesting experience which let me into the secret of the rise of this kind of criticism. For this kind of criticism is no more than a perfectly natural outcome of a style of journalism which this experience of mine enabled me to catch as it were in the moment of its birth. Many years ago I was present at a rather large gathering of people in Berlin, among whom was Levysohn, chief editor at the time of the Berliner Tageblatt. I had some talk with him and in course of conversation we came to speak of Harden. For it cannot be denied that Harden was among the interesting figures of the early nineties of last century, he showed remarkable pluck and confidence in the way he put himself forward. True, if one looked behind the scenes, one was forced to relinquish many illusions about him. But for all that, he was a person of some note, was Harden; and in my talk with Levysohn I drew attention to some of his good points. By way of reply, Levysohn told me the following. ‘When you have a man like Harden,' he said, ‘you've got to understand him. Harden came originally from the provinces, where he had been an actor in a small way. He threw up his job and came to Berlin, hoping to make a living there. I was at that time arranging to start a Monday morning paper, to which the Berliner Tageblatt partly owes its origin. I wanted to make a really good thing of it. It was the first of its kind in Berlin, and I was determined that people should buy it up eagerly like hot cakes. A plan occurred to me which I myself thought very wily, and it is on account of this plan of mine that I claim credit for starting Harden off in the good style of writing that he has. Yes, Harden has me to thank for it. I engaged some young fellows who were hanging about, waiting for jobs, fellows who, I reckoned, had a bit of talent, though not much. You can get people to do anything if you only set about it in the right way!’ ... There you have the cynicism of a chief editor in the eighties and nineties of last century! Harden was of course one of the young men who were chosen. Levysohn told them: ‘Now look, you will get so and so many marks per month. And all you have to do is to sit all day long in a coffee house and read the papers. One of you will undertake to read all the political articles; another will study the articles dealing with art—or rather, one the articles on painting and another those on drama. Then you have only to sit down on Sunday afternoon and each one of you write an article that is different from those he has been reading all through the week.' ... This suited Harden admirably. ‘Every week,' said Levysohn, ‘he would bring me his article, and each time it was entirely different from my of the articles he had read during the week. And that is ;till Harden's art. There you have the secret of his Zukunft. So I, you see, am responsible,' said Levysohn in conclusion, ‘for Harden's becoming such a good journalist.'
Yes, when you look behind the scenes of this stage—for journalism is also a stage !—you are in for a bit of disillusionment there too. And it will be a harder matter to cure the reading public than to cure the public you have before you in the theatre. The cure cannot indeed ever come about until people wake up to see how slight a connection there is between a criticism that has a merely negative foundation and the ideals we are called upon to cherish for art.
To-morrow I would like to say more on this in a wider connection and consider with you what follows for the actor and his art from his relations with the public and with the critics; and there we shall have to bring this course of lectures to a close.
1. Both lips: m b p
2. Lower lip and upper teeth: f v w
3. Upper and lower teeth: s c z
4. Tongue works behind the upper teeth: l n d t
5. Root of the tongue: g k r j qu
or, using English letters:
1. Both lips: m b p
2. Lower lip and upper teeth: f v
3. Upper and lower teeth: s (‘easy’ or ‘say’) is
4. Tongue works behind upper teeth: l n d t
5. Root of the tongue: g k r (guttural) y (consonantal) kv.
18. Die Lautgestaltung als Offenbarung der menschlichen Gestalt Die Atembehandlung
Es kommt ja doch wohl als ein Ergebnis unserer Betrachtungen das heraus, daß auf der einen Seite für die praktische Bühnenkunst die Gutwilligkeit notwendig ist, sich in die wirklichen, vom spirituellen Leben getragenen ersten Elemente der Sprachgestaltung, der Gebärdengestaltung zu vertiefen, und daß auf der anderen Seite notwendig ist, durch das Hereinstellen der Bühnenkunst in das ganze Leben, eine Gesinnung, die von Spiritualität durchdrungen ist und auf den Bahnen, auf den Wegen der Spiritualität sich bewegt, in unsere Herzen zu pflanzen. Dann wird es wirklich möglich sein, sich als Schauspieler so hineinzustellen in das Leben, wie ein wirklicher, vom Geiste getragener Künstler sich in das Leben hineinstellen muß. Und ein vom Geiste getragener Künstler muß in der Lage sein, durch sein Wirken und Wesen das Künstlerische zu jener Führung in der Zivilisation zu bringen, zu welcher es berufen ist, und ohne welche die Zivilisation verdorren und veröden müßte.
Das ist wohl auch die ernste Stimmung, aus der heraus die Wünsche gerade nach diesem Kursus aus einer Reihe von Persönlichkeiten gekommen sind. Und wir werden diese Wünsche nun weiter festhalten müssen, werden zum Beispiel gerade vom Gesichtspunkte der Bühnenkunst aus ins Auge fassen müssen, wie in der menschlichen Gestaltung im umfassendsten Sinne sich die Welt am bedeutsamsten, am intensivsten offenbart. Und in den Empfindungen, die wir der Menschenoffenbarung entgegenbringen, werden wir wiederum Leitimpulse finden, um zunächst das Elementarische an das GöttlichGeistige anzuknüpfen.
Und so wollen wir denn heute davon ausgehen, noch einmal als eine Offenbarung der menschlichen Gestalt die Wortgestaltung, die Lautgestaltung zu betrachten. Wenn wir hinschauen zu dem sich offenbarenden Menschen, so treten uns, insofern er sich durch die Sprachgestaltung offenbart, zunächst seine Lippen entgegen. Und die Lippen sind zunächst das Offenbarende in der Sprachgestaltung.
Dasjenige aber, was zunächst von den Lippen aus sich offenbart, sind - ganz abgesehen jetzt von der Gliederung, die wir für die Laute vollzogen haben, in Blaselaute, Stoßlaute, Wellenlaute, Zitterlaute, ob nun das eine oder das andere in den Lippen sich offenbart - die Laute m, b, p; sie sind reine Offenbarungen der menschlichen Lippengestaltungen; beide Lippen sind beteiligt.
1. beide Lippen: = m b p
Sprechen wir etwas anderes mit den Lippen, so wirken wir nicht nur gegen die Sprachgestaltung, sondern auch ungünstig zurück auf den menschlichen Organismus. Sprechen wir diese Laute nicht immer mit der vollständigen instinktiven Bewußtheit, daß die Lippen die eigentlichen Akteure sind, wirken wir wiederum schädlich für die Sprachgestaltung und auch auf den menschlichen Organismus.
Ein zweites ist, wenn wir weiter hinein ahnend gehen in den Menschen. Und da kommt zunächst das Zusammenwirken der Unterlippe mit den Oberzähnen, mit der oberen Zahnreihe in Betracht. In der Unterlippe, in den Muskeln der Unterlippe konzentriert sich in der intensivsten Weise alles dasjenige, was in dem Menschen geheimnisvoll selbst in seinem Karma vorhanden ist. In den Muskeln der Unterlippe wellen und weben und strömen alle diejenigen Kräfte, welche durch die menschlichen Glieder gehen, in der mannigfaltigsten Art, so daß der ganze Mensch mit Ausnahme seiner Kopforganisation in demjenigen, was die Unterlippe als Akteur tut, zum Ausdrucke kommt.
Gegenüber den Muskeln der Unterlippe sind die Muskeln der Oberlippe inaktiv. Sie sind mehr dazu bestimmt, daß sozusagen dasjenige, was in der Kopforganisation liegt, ins Muskelhafte ausläuft. Und während die Unterlippe in ganz entschiedenem Sinne ein voller Ausdruck ist für den Menschen als Gliedmaßenmenschen, ist die Oberlippe in ihrer Bewegung nur aufzufassen als ein Mittel zum Ausdruck desjenigen im Menschen, was in den , b, p liegt. Wollen wir aber dasjenige, was mehr aus dem Menschen stammt, zum Ausdruck bringen, dann haben wir es zu tun mit dem Zusammenwirken von Unterlippe und oberer Zahnreihe, die in ihrer verhältnismäßigen Ruhe und Geschlossenheit die Kopforganisation zu einem besseren Ausdrucke bringt als die Oberlippe. In der oberen Zahnreihe konzentriert sich in Verfestigung dasjenige, was in der Menschheit nach Verfestigung strebt, was der Mensch aufnehmen will als die in ihm zur Ruhe gekommene Summe von Weltengeheimnissen.
Und dasjenige, was in der Summe von Weltengeheimnissen vom Menschen aufgenommen worden ist und zum Ausdrucke kommen will, preßt sich aus dem Zusammenwirken von Unterlippe und Oberzähnen aus, wenn wir in der richtigen Weise zusammenwirken lassen die Unterlippe mit der oberen Zahnreihe im f v w,
2. Unterlippe: obere Zahnreihe: f v w
was die Süddeutschen fast nicht können; die sprechen das w immer aus wie einen Zusammenfluß von u und e vokalisch; aber es wird das w richtig gesprochen aus der Vereinigung von Unterlippe und oberer Zahnreihe, wobei in Betracht kommt im Gegensatze zu dem v, wo die Unterlippe sich, ohne sich zu wellen, heranmacht an die obere Zahnreihe, daß sich die Unterlippe bei dem w wellt. Das f ist ein volles Agieren der Unterlippe gegen die obere Zahnreihe hin.
Das weitere ist, wenn die beiden Zahnreihen im wesentlichen zusammenwirken. Da haben wir untere und obere Organisation des Menschen, Kopf- und Gliedmaßenorganisation im Gleichgewicht. Da ist die Welt hereingefangen durch den Menschen, und der Mensch wiederum will seine Eigenwesenheit in die Welt hinausschicken. Das ist dann der Fall, wenn wir im richtigen Wirken der Zähne aufeinander, der Zahnreihen aufeinander zu sprechen haben: s c z.
3. Zahnreihen miteinander: s c z
Die Zähne sind daran allein beteiligt.
Wenn wir weiter zurückgehen, kommen wir noch mehr in das Innere des Menschen, wo sich sein Gefühlsleben ausdrückt, wo sich sein Seelenhaftes ausdrückt, und wir müssen daher auch in der menschlichen Wesenheit weiter zurückgehen bis zur Zunge, und haben dann jene Offenbarung, welche durch Zunge und die obere Zahnreihe entsteht. Während dasjenige, was der Mensch durch die Welt geworden ist, zwischen Unterlippe und der oberen Zahnteihe sich abspielt, spielt sich dasjenige, was der Mensch ist dadurch, daß er eine Seele hat, zwischen seiner Seele und seinem Kopfe ab, zwischen der Zunge und den Oberzähnen.
So daß wir hier haben: Zunge wirkt hinter den Oberzähnen. Und ich bitte, auf das Wort hinter den besonderen Wert zu legen. Dabei entstehen die Laute l n d t.
4. Zunge wirkt hinter den Oberzähnen: l n d t
Und hier ist es wichtig, daß tatsächlich, um zu einem gesunden und schönen Sprechen zu kommen, Übungen gemacht werden in der Schauspielschule, um ganz bewußt das zu vermeiden, was die Krankheit des Lispelns in der Sprachgestaltung auswirkt. Die Krankheit des Lispelns besteht darinnen, daß die Zunge zu weit sich zwischen den Zähnen vorwagt. Es muß gelingen, mit dem Bewußtsein die Zunge soweit zu erfassen, daß man den Kardinalsatz alles Sprechens bewußt ausführt: Die Zunge darf beim Sprechen niemals jene Grenze überschreiten, welche durch die beiden Zahnreihen gegeben ist, die Zunge muß immer hinter den Zähnen sein, niemals darf die Zunge die Zahnreihe überschreiten. - Wenn die Zunge die Zahnreihen überschreitet, ist es so, als ob die Seele ohne Körper sich unmittelbar der Natur anvertrauen wollte. Daher muß man Lispler dadurch kurieren, daß man sie daran gewöhnt, in möglichst früher Jugend n l d so aussprechen zu lassen: n n n, l l l, d d d, daß sie die Zunge bewußt andrücken an die obere Zahnreihe. Das ist schwer; namentlich wenn man es hintereinander übt, wie es geschehen soll, so ist es etwas, was ermüdet, was sogar den Eindruck macht, als ob es etwas verkrampfte. Aber schon der erste, der vor vielen Jahren darauf aufmerksam gemacht hat, daß man auf diese Weise Lispler kurieren soll, hat an jenen Leutnant erinnert, der Rekruten einzuexerzieren hatte, und der da sagte: Ja, Kinder, es ist schwer, aber was nicht schwer ist, das lernt man auch nicht.
Das fünfte, was in Betracht kommt, liegt im Menschen noch mehr zurück. Der Mensch muß lernen, bewußt zu erfassen, wie sich seine Zungenwurzel am Sprechen beteiligt. Das ist das fünfte, die Zungenwurzel. Das lernt man, indem man möglichst weit hinten, eben mit Fühlen der Zungenwurzel auszusprechen lernt: g k r j qu. Dieses g k r, das an der Zungenwurzel gehalten werden muß, das man sich bemühen muß, mit Bewußtheit an der Zungenwurzel zu sprechen, dieses g k r ist dasjenige, was aus der Sprache heraus das Stottern eigentlich auf dem Gewissen hat. Denn eigentlich liegt dem Stottern das zugrunde, daß nicht in der ordentlichen Weise instinktiv der Mensch fühlt, wie er g k sagen soll. Und da wird man sehen — wir werden gleich noch darüber sprechen -, wie es notwendig ist, sobald man Stottern bekämpft, dem Menschen zu Hilfe zu kommen dadurch, daß man ihn dazu bringt, tadellos g k r zu sprechen.
Nun, r bedarf sogar einer äußerlichen physischen Hilfe; r ist gut vorzubereiten, bevor man es bloß psychisch auf den Weg bringt, wenn man den Menschen mit Zuckerwasser gurgeln läßt.
Sie sehen, selbst dann, wenn äußerliche Mittel da sind, so verschmähe ich nicht, darauf aufmerksam zu machen. Und in bezug auf das r-Sprechen hat das Gurgeln mit Zuckerwasser einen außerordentlich günstigen Einfluß. Aber Sie müssen wirklich gurgeln mit dem Zuckerwasser. Es ist insbesondere bei Kindern gut, wenn man sie dazu anleiten will, das r zur Sprache zu bringen.
Dann aber ist es notwendig, daß man sich überhaupt ein wenig bekanntmacht - natürlich der angehende Schauspieler ganz bekanntmacht - mit demjenigen, das doch gewußt werden muß für das Sprechen. Ich habe gesagt, dieses physiologische Heranexerzieren des Menschen zum Sprechen ist nicht dasjenige, um was es sich handeln kann, sondern dasjenige, um was es sich handelt, um in der richtigen Weise sprechen zu lernen, muß man von dem Sprachorganismus heraus selber lernen.
Zu all den Dingen, von denen wir gesehen haben, wie sie gelernt werden können an dem Sprachorganismus, kommt heute noch das dazu, daß man benützen lernt von m, b, p beide Lippen, von f v w Unterlippe und obere Zahnreihe, von s c z die zwei Zahnreihen, daß die Zunge hinter den Oberzähnen bleiben soll bei l n t d und wie man die Zungenwurzel zu behandeln hat bei g k r j qu.
5. Zungenwurzel: g k r j qu
Die Lippen selbst sind die Lehrer. Man muß sie nur in der richtigen Weise engagieren. Faßt man dieses, so hat man den ganzen Kehl- und Mundorganismus zu Zöglingen der Laute selber gemacht. Und die Laute sind die Götter, die uns unterrichten sollen über das Sprachgestalten.
Aber eines muß man dennoch wissen aus all dem Wust heraus, der heute an die Menschen herangebracht wird, das ist, daß man im Sprechen in aller Ruhe die ausgeatmete Luft verbrauchen muß, und daß das Sprechen unter allen Umständen schwach und schlecht wird, wenn man, ohne die Luft verbraucht zu haben, welche in den Lungen ist, eine neue Einatmung während des Sprechens macht.
Das ist sozusagen geradezu das Geheimnis des Sprachgestaltens, daß der Mensch weiß, das Sprachgestaltete beruht auf dem Verbrauche der in ihm vorhandenen Luft. Daher muß er sich daran gewöhnen, solche Übungen zu machen, die nun wiederum von der Sprache her genommen sind, bei denen er zunächst gründlich einatmet.
Worinnen besteht das gründliche Einatmen? Das gründliche Einatmen besteht darinnen, daß das Zwerchfell so weit heruntergedrückt wird, als durch die gesunde Natur des Menschen er es aushält. Und man muß in der Gegend des Zwerchfelles fühlen, daß die Einatmung tadellos zustande kommt. So daß man als Lehrender nötig hat, in der Zwerchfellgegend durch Auflegen der Hand an dem Zögling bemerklich zu machen, wie da jene Erweiterung geschieht, die geschehen muß, jene Veränderung, die geschehen muß beim gründlichen Einatmen. Dann läßt man den betreffenden Zögling die eingeatmete Luft halten, veranlaßt ihn, nicht einzuatmen, indem er jetzt mit der Atemluft, die er bekommen hat, so lange Worte oder Silben zu sprechen hat, bis die ganze Luft wiederum ausgeatmet ist, so daß niemals eine Atempause gemacht wird, wenn noch Luft in der Lunge ist. Das hat sich der Instinkt des Sprechenden anzueignen, nicht zu atmen, bevor die eingeatmete Luft völlig verbraucht ist.
Man wird sich das in der richtigen Weise aneignen, wenn man versucht, nachdem eingeatmet ist, einem bewußt geworden ist, was da in der Zwerchfellgegend vor sich geht, bis wiederum die Luft völlig verbraucht ist, man wird gut tun, zur Übung ein a dann anzusetzen und die Vokalfolge langsam zu sprechen, so daß sie einen Ausatmungszug umfaßt: a e u, so lang man kann, bis man wieder den Atem braucht. Und dann dies ebenso mit den Konsonanten zu machen: k l s f m halten während eines Atemzuges. Und in diesem Üben, dessen Gipfelung darinnen besteht, die Atemluft völlig zu verbrauchen, bevor man neu einatmet, liegt auch die einzige, wirklich ganz gesunde Heilmethode für das Stottern. Daher ist es für das Stottern so außerordentlich gesund, wenn man den Betreffenden gewisse rhythmische Übungen machen läßt, weil ihm ein guter Rhythmus von vornherein es eingibt, richtig zu atmen. Man ist gedrängt, richtig zu atmen, wenn man sagen soll:
Und es wallet und woget und brauset und zischt, (Atem)
Wie wenn Wasser mit Feuer sich menget.
Man kann die Atemluft durch die Zeilen halten. Man ist dazu gedrängt. Das ist dasjenige, was notwendig ist im Üben, daß man tatsächlich nicht hineinatmet, während im Sprechen noch nicht alle Atemluft verbraucht ist. Und das ist die Ursache des Stotterns. Der Stotterer hat eigentlich in sich eine organisch gewordene Angst, die ihn immer nach Luft schnappen läßt. Daher braucht er etwas, was ihn dazu verleitet, nicht aus der Angst, aus der Furcht, nach Luft zu schnappen. So daß man dem Stotterer beikommt unmittelbar, nachdem er im Stottern ist, wenn man ihm sagt: Na, so sing’ oder dichte!
Der Angst und Furcht ist wieder der Zorn verwandt, und so will ebenso der Zornige nach Luft schnappen, aber es sind Zorn und Angst organisch geworden, so daß nur durch langsame Übungen die Dinge verbessert werden können.
So ging es bei dem bekannten Apothekerprovisor. Sie kennen wahrscheinlich die Geschichte. Es war ein Five o’clock tea im Hause. Der Apothekerprovisor, welcher stotterte, wenn er im Angstzustande war, stürzte herein und brachte es nur dahin, zu sagen: die Apo, die Apothe, Apothe, Apothe - das k ging nicht, er kam nicht über das k hinaus, so daß der Prinzipal, der nun seine Gesellschaft hatte und wissen mußte, weil jener ganz blaß vor Angst war, was da vorgeht, sagte: Nun, so sing’ doch, Kerl! - Und da sang er ihm vor, ganz richtig: Die Apotheke brennt. — Das hat er ganz richtig gesungen. Man mußte auch sogleich in den Keller hinunter, denn da brannte es furchtbar. Mit Singen ging es.
Wenn es durch Übungen gemacht wird, geht es dauernd dann. Es gehört nur natürlich die nötige innere Energie zu solchen Übungen dazu. Wenn dann doch wiederum Unbewußtheit kommt, so kommt wiederum, weil es organisch geworden ist, das Stottern herauf. In dieser Beziehung war mir außerordentlich interessant ein dichtender Freund, der stotterte. Aber er hatte es dahin gebracht, seine Gedichte immer in vollem Rhythmus in langen Versreihen den Leuten vorzulesen, ohne im geringsten zu stottern, ohne daß man wußte, daß er stotterte. Aber er war ein Mensch, der sich leicht über Sachen aufregte. Da kam dann, wenn er im gewöhnlichen Gespräch gerade war, das Stottern immer wieder hervor. Er hatte zum Beispiel nie die Ausdauer, diese Übungen zu machen. Und so passierte es, daß er von einem Menschen, der nicht gerade sehr taktvoll war, eines Tages gefragt wurde: Herr Doktor, stottern Sie immer so? — Da sagte er: Nnnnur, wenn ich jemand gegenüberstehe, der mir gggänzlich unsympathisch ist.
Es ist also so, daß dasjenige, was an falscher Sprachgestaltung vorliegt, bis ins Organische hineinkommen kann bei den Lisplern, die also nicht in der richtigen Weise Zunge und Oberzähne bei l n d t zu behandeln wissen, und bei den Stotterern und Stammlern namentlich, die nicht in der richtigen Weise die Zungenwurzel zu behandeln wissen, denn die Zungenwurzel ist dasjenige, was schlecht reagiert, wenn man schlecht atmet. Und daher werden g k und r — das r ein wenig noch durch Zuckerwasser versüßt — die Lehrmeister.
Aber wir müssen schon, ich möchte sagen, diese gebetartige Hingabe an die götterhaften Wesenheiten haben, welche in den Lauten vorliegen, dann werden sie unsere allerallerbesten Lehrmeister sein. Und es geht alles von der Atembehandlung, was über das Angegebene hinausgeht, über dieses instinktive Gefühl: Du mußt erst einatmen beim Sprechen, wenn du in der Lunge keine Luft mehr hast - in das Intellektualistische hinüber. Dieses instinktive Wissen davon, daß man so lange die Luft verbrauchen soll, als sie da ist, das ist dasjenige, was eigentlich in bezug auf die Atemgymnastik das einzige ist, was für die Sprachgestaltung - aber da eben das Allerunbedingteste darstellend notwendig ist, was aber eigentlich gelernt werden kann nur auf die Ihnen skizzierte Weise durch Übung und gelernt werden sollte in jeder wirklich ordentlichen Vorbereitungsschule für die Bühnenkunst.
Denn sehen Sie, meine lieben Freunde, nur wenn wir in die Lage kommen, Religiosität, möchte ich sagen, religiöse Stimmung in unsere eigene Kunst hineinzubringen, sind wir in der Lage, über die Gefahren, die im künstlerischen Wirken leben und die insbesondere bei der Schauspielkunst stark hervortreten, ja sogar moralisch korrumpierend als künstlerische Dinge selber wirken können, hinauszukommen. Wir müssen zu dem Ungewöhnlichen greifen, religiöse Verehrung für diese göttlichen Lehrmeister, die Laute, haben zu können, denn in ihnen liegt ursprünglich eine ganze Welt. Wir dürfen nicht vergessen, wenn wir Gestalter des Wortes werden wollen, daß im Urbeginne das Wort war, und daß das Johannes-Evangelium das Wort meint trotz aller gegenteiligen Interpretationen, das weisheitserfüllte Wort. Es muß da religiöse Stimmung hineinkommen. Denn in welcher Gefahr schwebt denn eigentlich der Schauspieler und namentlich auch der Regisseur?
Sehen Sie, man steht ja als Schauspieler und Regisseur auf und hinter der Bühne. Und das ist wirklich eine ganz andere Welt als die Welt des Zuschauerraumes. Und beide Welten müssen zusammengehen, müssen unbedingt zusammengehen. Und es darf nicht so sein, daß man da im geringsten auch nur daran denken möchte, daß man nicht Bühne und Zuschauerraum zum harmonischen Zusammenwirken bringt. Das muß geschehen. Aber wie verschieden sind sie denn eigentlich! Denken Sie doch nur einmal, wenn man auf der Bühne und hinter der Bühne ist, gibt es eine Wirklichkeit, und diese Wirklichkeit muß sich verwandeln in ihrer Offenbarung in den Zuschauerraum hinein in eine Illusion. Aber wenn man auf der Bühne steht oder hinter der Bühne, kann sie nicht Illusion sein.
Dasjenige, was vorne im Zuschauerraum eine scheuvolle, liebliche, anmutige oder auch mystische Illusion ist, verwandelt sich, wenn man auf der Bühne steht und hinter der Bühne steht und zu tun hat, in trivialste Wirklichkeit.
Es konnte einem das so recht entgegentreten, als ich einmal mit einer Truppe zusammen einzustudieren hatte, Maeterlincks «L’Intruse». Da beruht ja ein Wesentliches darauf, daß nach und nach von ferne Töne herankommen, die geheimnisvoll wirken und eigentlich auf ihrem Herströmen den Tod bringen desjenigen, welcher im Nebenzimmer sterbend liegt. Das, sehen Sie, muß im Zuschauerraum eine ganz mystisch geheimnisvolle Stimmung abgeben. Nun müssen Sie das alles in Trivialität verwandeln. Sie müssen dahinten irgendwo in den Kulissen möglichst ein Geräusch machen lassen wie fernes Sensendengeln, aber Sensendengeln, welches die erste Ankündigung von etwas mystisch Scheuvollem in der Ferne bedeutet. Sie müssen irgendein Geräusch näherkommen lassen. Sie müssen vielleicht dann einen Schlüssel im Schlüsselloch umdrehen lassen von jemandem, der hereinkommt. Denken Sie, solche Trivialitäten sind ja dann da! Nun, das alles auszudenken, ist natürlich geeignet, vollständig dasjenige, was dann im Zuschauerraum sein soll, in die alleräußerste Trivialität umzuwandeln.
Ich wollte dabei nun eine ganz besondere Steigerung noch haben. Ja, hinter der Bühne redet man über diese Dinge mit einer rührenden Technik, die gleichgültig ist gegenüber all denjenigen Empfindungen, die dann der haben soll, welcher draußen im Zuschauerraum die Illusion erleben soll. Ich bemerkte, daß jemand aufstehen könnte gerade in dem Moment, wo schon der Schlüssel im Schlüsselloch sich umgedreht hatte und einer hereingekommen war. Ich ließ einen also aufstehen, den Stuhl dabei hart aufstoßen, aber dieses Aufstehen, wobei der Stuhl umfiel, war höchste Steigerung in der Illusion des Zuschauerraumes. Das war dasjenige, was einfach im Zuschauerraum, nachdem es auf das andere folgte, man möchte sagen, tatsächlich die Herzen fast steif machte in dem Erschauern.
Ein Stuhlumfallen auf der Bühne: man hat das in trockener, trivialer Prosa vor sich, und unten ist die Illusion — die Gänsehaut.
Ja, sehen Sie, man darf diese Dinge nicht etwa so behandeln, daß man nun reformierend auftreten will und sagt: Diese Dinge darf man nicht machen. - Man muß sie natürlich machen und je mehr man sie machen kann, desto besser ist es. Aber man muß in seinem Herzen eine um so größere Hingabe an das Geistige haben, damit man erträgt, was sich einem hinter der Bühne und in den Kulissen vertrivialisiert.
Dazu braucht schon der Schauspieler seine Umwandelung der Empfindungen bis zum Durchdringen einer religiösen Stimmung gegenüber der ganzen Kunst. Und so wie man, wenn man eine Ode schreibt, nicht gerade daran denkt, wenn man in der Ode-Stimmung darinnen ist, daß die Tinte unangenehm aus der Feder fließt, weil man eben in der Ode-Stimmung darinnen ist, so muß man, wenn man die Bühne betritt, instinktiv die Stimmung entwickeln können, welche selbst beim einfachen Stuhlumschmeißen nicht ein Gefühl davon hat, etwas anderes als dabei etwas Geistiges zu tun.
Erst wenn man zu dieser Stimmung hinaufkommen kann — und von dieser Stimmung hängt es ab, ob Schauspielkunst weiter gedeihen kann oder nicht -, wird die Schauspielkunst durchdrungen sein können von dem, wovon sie durchdrungen werden könnte. Das aber kann man nicht durch sentimentale Redensarten erreichen, das kann man wiederum nur durch Realitäten erreichen. Und Realitäten sind es, wenn uns die Laute in ihrem geheimnisvollen Raunen zu Göttern werden, welche die Sprache in uns gestalten. Dieses Grundgefühl brauchen wir. Dieses Grundgefühl macht schon auch das Künstlerische aus.
So weit, meine lieben Freunde, muß gegangen werden, daß wir keinen Augenblick das Bewußtsein verlieren, daß die Illusion im Zuschauerraum hervorgerufen werden muß durch eine geistig empfundene Wahrheit in der Seele des Schauspielers und des Regisseurs. Das braucht man. Das muß aufgenommen werden, trotzdem der Zuschauerraum, das heißt diejenigen, die darinnen sind, heute wahrhaftig uns nicht dasjenige Bild abgeben, welches wir gerne von der Bühne aus haben möchten.
Aber wenn die Gesinnung auftritt, von der ich jetzt gesprochen habe, dann wird das auf imponderable Weise am schnellsten die Fortentwickelung der Zuschauer bilden zu dem Standpunkte, den wir gerne haben möchten. Aber nicht kann man es tun durch allerlei Programme und durch allerlei Versprechungen, die man ausgibt, wenn man das oder jenes inauguriert, sondern einzig und allein dadurch, daß dieses Seelisch-Geistige waltet über der Unternehmung, welche die Schauspielerische ist, kann wirklich Günstiges erzeugt werden.
Dagegen muß gerade in der Gegenwart schon erkannt werden, daß es schwieriger sein wird, unendlich viel schwieriger, die richtige Stimmung herauszubringen zum harmonischen Zusammenwirken zwischen der Schauspielkunst und dem, was man im weitesten Umfange die Kritik nennt. Und ein großer Teil der Schwierigkeiten, in denen sich die heutige Schauspielkunst befindet, rührt schon her von der unnatürlichen Lage der Kritik. Denn es wird in Wirklichkeit doch nicht kritisiert heute, sondern es wird - man kann das schon sagen, weil es ja typisch ist, nur etwas ins Extrem getrieben - ver-kerr-t und wird ge-harden-t. Beides mag sehr geistreich sein, macht ja auch Schule, insbesondere das Hardenen hat in der günstigsten Weise Schule gemacht. Aber sehen Sie, so wie ver-kerrt wird und ge-hardent, so geht das aus einem rein negativen, unkünstlerischen Prinzipe hervor. Und man darf sich nicht, denn die Leute, die verkerren und hardenen sitzen überall, auch in den kleinen Städten - es wird ja Schule gemacht -, verführen lassen dadurch, daß man der Meinung ist, da läge doch irgend etwas darinnen, was mit Kunst zusammenhängt. Es liegt eben gar nichts darinnen. Es ist im höchsten Sinne gleichgültig und muß insbesondere vom Schauspielenden als gleichgültig aufgefaßt werden gegenüber dem, was er künstlerisch will und tut. Und er muß nötigenfalls selbst so weit gehen können, daß er ein r in ein verwandelt, und gegen das Kerren das Kehren, nämlich das Auskehren der Kritik fordert. Das geht aus einem negativen Prinzip hervor.
Mir trat es einmal merkwürdig interessant entgegen in seiner historischen Entstehungsweise. Ich konnte diese ganze Schriftstellerei, welche dann in die Kritik hineingegangen ist, im status nascendi festhalten. Es war in einer größeren Gesellschaft vor vielen Jahren in Berlin, da war auch der damalige Chefredakteur Levysohn vom «Berliner Tageblatt». Ich kam mit ihm in ein Gespräch, und zwar in ein Gespräch über Harden, denn man kann ja nicht leugnen, Harden war im Anfange der neunziger Jahre des vorigen Jahrhunderts eine interessante Persönlichkeit, so wie er auftrat, außerordentlich mutvoll auftrat. Nur eben, wenn man da wiederum hinter den Kulissen war, verlor man manche Illusion. Er war aber eben doch, nicht wahr, eine Potenz. Nun kam ich mit Levysohn, der dazumal Chefredakteur vom «Berliner Tageblatt» war, über Harden, indem ich seine guten Seiten anführte, in ein Gespräch. Und da sagte mir der Levysohn folgendes: Ja, so einen Harden, den müssen Sie nur begreifen. Sehen Sie, das ist jetzt schon lange her, da war der Harden aus der Provinz gekommen, ist ein kleiner Schauspieler gewesen, ist davongelaufen und wollte in Berlin etwas verdienen. Ich habe damals gerade - sagte Levysohn ein Montag-Morgenblatt arrangiert, aus dem dann der eine Teil des «Berliner Tageblatt» entstanden ist. Das wollte ich möglichst gut haben, es sollte ein Geschäft gemacht werden. Am Montagmorgen sollten die Leute alle - es war das erste Morgenblatt, welches in Berlin gemacht worden war -, so wie Zuckerwasser, das Montag-Morgenblatt kaufen. Aber da hatte ich mir etwas ausgedacht, was ich recht schlau finde, wodurch ich eigentlich der Urheber bin davon, daß Harden einen so guten Stil schreibt. Denn das hat der Harden mir zu verdanken — sagte Levysohn. — Ich habe damals solche Herrchen angenommen, die so dahergelaufen waren und was verdienen wollten, von denen ich mir sagte, daß sie zuweilen ein bissel Talent haben, aber nicht viel. Man kann ja alles aus den Leuten machen, wenn man es richtig macht! — Das war der Zynismus eines damaligen Chefredakteurs durch die achtziger bis in die neunziger Jahre und durch diese durch. Da war der Harden dabei.
Levysohn sagte ihnen: Wisset, Ihr bekommt so und so viel monatlich. Ihr braucht gar nichts anderes zu tun, als den ganzen Tag im Kaffeehaus zu sitzen und alle Zeitungen zu lesen. Der eine liest alle politischen Artikel, der andere alle künstlerischen, Malerartikel der eine, der andere liest alle Artikel über Schauspielkunst, und dann braucht Ihr Euch bloß am Sonntagnachmittag hinzusetzen, und jeder schreibt einen Artikel, der dadurch entsteht, daß er anders ist als alle anderen, welche er die ganze Woche durch gelesen hat. — Das hat der Harden sehr gut getroffen. Er hat immer einen Artikel gebracht sagte der Levysohn -, in dem alles anders stand, als was er die ganze Woche gelesen hat. Und sehen Sie, das ist Hardens Kunst geblieben. So hat er dann die «Zukunft» gemacht. Daher bin ich schuld daran, daß der Harden ein so guter Schriftsteller geworden ist — sagte der Levysohn.
Aber sehen Sie, das ist auch so ein Stück Desillusionierung, wenn man auf dieser Bühne - und das ist ja auch eine Bühne, die Zeitungsschteiberei - hinter die Kulissen schaut. Und da ist dann das Publikum nicht so leicht zu kurieren, als dasjenige, welches im Zuschauerraum sitzt. Da ist nur wirklich zu kurieren, wenn die Stimmung eintritt, daß man weiß, wie wenig Beziehung eigentlich heute ist zwischen der Kritik, die ganz auf Negativem fußt, und demjenigen, was eigentlich künstlerisch gewollt werden muß.
Und gerade über diesen Punkt im großen, über dasjenige, was für den Schauspieler und seine Kunst folgt aus seinen Beziehungen zum Publikum und zur Kritik, möchte ich dann die Betrachtungen gestalten, mit denen ich morgen diesen Zyklus zum Abschluß bringe.
18. Sound design as a revelation of the human form Breathing treatment
The result of our considerations is that, on the one hand, practical stage art requires the willingness to delve into the real, spiritual elements of speech formation and gesture formation, and that, on the other hand, it is necessary to plant in our hearts, through the introduction of stage art into our whole life, an attitude that is imbued with spirituality and moves along the paths of spirituality. Then it will truly be possible for actors to place themselves in life in the same way that a real artist, carried by the spirit, must place himself in life. And an artist carried by the spirit must be able, through his work and his being, to bring art to that leadership in civilization to which it is called, and without which civilization would wither and become desolate.
This is probably also the serious mood from which the wishes for this particular course have come from a number of personalities. And we will now have to hold on to these wishes and, for example, consider from the point of view of the performing arts how the world reveals itself most meaningfully and intensely in human creativity in the broadest sense. And in the feelings we have toward human revelation, we will again find guiding impulses to first connect the elementary with the divine-spiritual.
And so today we will start by once again considering word formation and sound formation as a revelation of the human form. When we look at the human being who is revealing himself, the first thing we see, insofar as he reveals himself through speech formation, are his lips. And the lips are the first thing that reveals itself in speech formation.
But what is revealed first of all by the lips – quite apart from the classification we have made for the sounds into blown sounds, plucked sounds, waved sounds, and vibrated sounds, whether one or the other is revealed in the lips – are the sounds m, b, p; they are pure manifestations of human lip formations; both lips are involved.
1. both lips: = m b p
If we say something else with our lips, we not only work against speech formation, but also have an unfavorable effect on the human organism. If we do not always say these sounds with the complete instinctive awareness that the lips are the actual actors, we again have a harmful effect on speech formation and also on the human organism.
A second point is when we go further into the human being. And here we first consider the interaction of the lower lip with the upper teeth, with the upper row of teeth. In the lower lip, in the muscles of the lower lip, everything that is mysteriously present in the human being, even in his karma, is concentrated in the most intense way. All the forces that pass through the human limbs flow, surge, and weave in the muscles of the lower lip in the most diverse ways, so that the whole human being, with the exception of the head, finds expression in what the lower lip does as an actor.
Compared to the muscles of the lower lip, the muscles of the upper lip are inactive. They are more intended to express, so to speak, what lies in the head organization in the muscular system. And while the lower lip is, in a very definite sense, a full expression of the human being as a limb-bearing creature, the movement of the upper lip can only be understood as a means of expressing that which lies in the b, p. But if we want to express that which comes more from the human being, then we are dealing with the interaction of the lower lip and upper row of teeth, which, in their relative calm and closedness, express the head organization better than the upper lip. The upper row of teeth concentrates in solidification that which strives for solidification in humanity, that which the human being wants to absorb as the sum of the secrets of the world that have come to rest within him.
And that which has been absorbed by the human being in the sum of the secrets of the world and wants to be expressed is pressed out of the interaction of the lower lip and upper teeth when we allow the lower lip and upper row of teeth to interact in the right way in the f v w,
2. Lower lip: upper row of teeth: f v w
which southern Germans are almost incapable of doing; they always pronounce the w as a combination of the vowels u and e; but the w is pronounced correctly from the union of the lower lip and upper row of teeth, whereby, in contrast to the v, where the lower lip approaches the upper row of teeth without curling, the lower lip curls with the w. The f is a full action of the lower lip against the upper row of teeth.
The next step is when the two rows of teeth essentially work together. Here we have the lower and upper organization of the human being, the head and limb organization in balance. The world is captured by the human being, and the human being in turn wants to send his own being out into the world. This is the case when we have to speak of the correct interaction of the teeth, of the rows of teeth: s c z.
3. Tooth rows with each other: s c z
The teeth alone are involved in this.
If we go further back, we come even deeper into the inner being of the human being, where his emotional life is expressed, where his soul is expressed, and we must therefore also go further back in the human being to the tongue, and then we have that revelation which arises through the tongue and the upper row of teeth. While what the human being has become through the world takes place between the lower lip and the upper row of teeth, what the human being is through having a soul takes place between their soul and their head, between the tongue and the upper teeth.
So here we have: the tongue acts behind the upper teeth. And I ask you to place special emphasis on the word behind. This produces the sounds l n d t.
4. The tongue acts behind the upper teeth: l n d t
And here it is important that, in order to achieve healthy and beautiful speech, exercises are done in drama school to consciously avoid what causes the speech disorder of lisping. The speech disorder of lisping consists in the tongue protruding too far between the teeth. One must succeed in consciously controlling the tongue to such an extent that one consciously carries out the cardinal rule of all speech: when speaking, the tongue must never cross the boundary formed by the two rows of teeth; the tongue must always be behind the teeth and must never cross the row of teeth. - When the tongue crosses the rows of teeth, it is as if the soul without a body wanted to entrust itself directly to nature. Therefore, lisplers must be cured by accustoming them to pronounce n l d as early in childhood as possible: n n n, l l l, d d d, so that they consciously press their tongue against the upper row of teeth. This is difficult; especially when practiced in succession, as it should be, it is something that tires the tongue and even gives the impression of being somewhat cramped. But the first person to point out many years ago that this is how lisps should be cured reminded me of that lieutenant who had to drill recruits and who said: Yes, children, it is difficult, but if it weren't difficult, you wouldn't learn it.
The fifth thing to consider lies even further back in the human being. People must learn to consciously understand how the root of their tongue is involved in speech. That is the fifth thing, the root of the tongue. You learn this by learning to pronounce g k r j qu as far back as possible, feeling the root of the tongue. This g k r, which must be held at the root of the tongue, which one must strive to pronounce consciously at the root of the tongue, this g k r is what actually causes stuttering in speech. For stuttering is actually based on the fact that people do not instinctively feel how to say g k in the proper way. And here we will see—we will talk about this in a moment—how it is necessary, as soon as one combats stuttering, to help the person by getting them to speak g k r flawlessly.
Well, r even requires external physical help; r is best prepared before one merely psychologically sets it in motion, by having the person gargle with sugar water.
You see, even when external means are available, I do not disdain to draw attention to them. And with regard to speaking the r, gargling with sugar water has an extremely beneficial effect. But you really must gargle with the sugar water. It is particularly good for children if you want to teach them to pronounce the r.
But then it is necessary to familiarize oneself a little—of course, the aspiring actor must familiarize himself completely—with what must be known for speaking. I have said that this physiological training of the human being to speak is not what it is all about, but what it is all about, in order to learn to speak in the right way, one must learn from the speech organism itself.
In addition to all the things we have seen that can be learned from the speech organism, today we must also learn to use m, b, p with both lips, f v w with the lower lip and upper teeth, s c z with both rows of teeth, that the tongue should remain behind the upper teeth for l n t d, and how to use the root of the tongue for g k r j qu.
5. Root of the tongue: g k r j qu
The lips themselves are the teachers. One must only engage them in the right way. Once one understands this, one has made the entire throat and mouth organism into pupils of the sounds themselves. And the sounds are the gods who are to teach us about the formation of speech.
But one thing must be known from all the jumble that is presented to people today, and that is that when speaking, one must calmly use up the exhaled air, and that speaking will become weak and poor under all circumstances if, without having used up the air in the lungs, one takes a new breath while speaking.
This is, so to speak, the secret of speech formation, that the human being knows that speech formation is based on the use of the air available in him. Therefore, he must get used to doing exercises that are taken from speech, in which he first inhales thoroughly.
What does thorough inhalation consist of? Thorough inhalation consists of pressing the diaphragm down as far as the healthy nature of the human being can bear. And one must feel in the diaphragm area that the inhalation is taking place perfectly. So that as a teacher, it is necessary to place your hand on the pupil's diaphragm area to make them aware of how the expansion that must take place occurs, the change that must take place during thorough inhalation. Then the pupil in question is asked to hold the inhaled air, and is instructed not to inhale, but to speak words or syllables with the air he has inhaled until all the air has been exhaled again, so that there is never a pause for breath while there is still air in the lungs. The speaker must acquire the instinct not to breathe before the inhaled air is completely used up.
You will learn this in the right way if, after inhaling, you try to become aware of what is happening in the diaphragm area until the air is completely used up again. It is a good idea to start with an “a” and speak the vowel sequence slowly so that it covers one exhalation: a e u, for as long as you can, until you need to breathe again. And then do the same with the consonants: hold k l s f m for one breath. And in this exercise, the culmination of which is to use up all the air in your lungs before inhaling again, lies the only truly healthy cure for stuttering. That is why it is so extraordinarily healthy for stuttering to have the person concerned do certain rhythmic exercises, because a good rhythm teaches them from the outset to breathe correctly. One is compelled to breathe correctly when one has to say:
And it billows and surges and roars and hisses, (breath)
As when water mixes with fire.
You can hold your breath through the lines. You are compelled to do so. This is what is necessary in practice, that you do not actually breathe in while speaking until all the air has been used up. And that is the cause of stuttering. The stutterer actually has an organic fear within him that always makes him gasp for air. Therefore, he needs something that tempts him not to gasp for air out of fear or anxiety. So that one can help the stutterer immediately after he is stuttering by saying to him: Well, sing or compose poetry!
Anger is related to fear and anxiety, and so the angry person also wants to gasp for air, but anger and fear have become organic, so that things can only be improved through slow exercises.
This is what happened to the well-known pharmacist. You probably know the story. It was five o'clock tea time at home. The pharmacist, who stuttered when he was anxious, rushed in and could only manage to say: the pharmacy, the pharmacy, pharmacy, pharmacy—he couldn't get past the “p,” he couldn't get past the “p,” so that the principal, who now had his company and had to know what was going on because the other man was pale with fear, said: “Well, sing it, man!” And then he sang it to him, quite correctly: “The pharmacy is on fire.” He sang it quite correctly. They had to go down to the cellar immediately, because it was burning terribly. Singing helped.
If it is done through practice, it works all the time. Of course, the necessary inner energy is required for such exercises. If unconsciousness returns, stuttering comes back because it has become organic. In this regard, I found a poet friend who stuttered extremely interesting. But he had managed to read his poems to people in long lines of verse, always in full rhythm, without stuttering in the slightest, without anyone knowing that he stuttered. But he was a person who got easily upset about things. Then, when he was in normal conversation, the stuttering would come back again and again. For example, he never had the stamina to do these exercises. And so it happened that one day he was asked by someone who was not particularly tactful: “Doctor, do you always stutter like that?” He replied: “Only when I'm facing someone I find completely unsympathetic.”
So it is the case that incorrect speech formation can become ingrained in lisplers, who do not know how to use their tongue and upper teeth correctly when pronouncing l n d t and, in particular, in stutterers and stammers, who do not know how to use the root of the tongue correctly, because the root of the tongue is what reacts badly when you breathe badly. And that is why g k and r — the r sweetened a little with sugar water — become the teachers.
But we must, I would say, have this prayer-like devotion to the divine beings that exist in the sounds, then they will be our very best teachers. And everything goes from the treatment of the breath, which goes beyond what has been stated, beyond this instinctive feeling: You must first inhale when speaking if you have no more air in your lungs — into the intellectual. This instinctive knowledge that one should use the air as long as it is there is actually the only thing in relation to breathing exercises that is necessary for speech formation – but since it is absolutely essential to represent what can actually only be learned in the way I have outlined to you through practice, it should be learned in every really proper preparatory school for the performing arts.
For you see, my dear friends, only when we are able to bring religiosity, I would say, a religious mood into our own art, are we able to overcome the dangers that exist in artistic work and which are particularly prominent in the art of acting, and which can even have a morally corrupting effect as artistic things themselves. We must resort to the unusual, to religious reverence for these divine teachers, the lutes, for in them lies a whole world. If we want to become creators of the word, we must not forget that in the beginning was the word, and that the Gospel of John, despite all interpretations to the contrary, means the word filled with wisdom. A religious atmosphere must be created. For what danger actually threatens the actor and, in particular, the director?
You see, as an actor and director, you stand on and behind the stage. And that is really a completely different world from the world of the auditorium. And both worlds must come together, must absolutely come together. And it must not be the case that one even thinks in the slightest about not bringing the stage and the auditorium into harmonious interaction. That must happen. But how different they actually are! Just think, when you are on stage and behind the stage, there is a reality, and this reality must be transformed in its revelation into the auditorium into an illusion. But when you are on stage or behind the stage, it cannot be an illusion.
What is a shy, lovely, graceful, or even mystical illusion in the front of the auditorium is transformed into the most trivial reality when you are on stage or behind the stage and have to perform.
This became very clear to me when I once had to rehearse Maeterlinck's “L'Intruse” with a troupe. An essential part of the play is based on the gradual approach of distant sounds that have a mysterious effect and actually bring death to the person lying dying in the next room. You see, this must create a completely mystical and mysterious atmosphere in the auditorium. Now you have to turn all that into triviality. Somewhere back there in the wings, you have to make a noise that sounds like distant scything, but scything that is the first announcement of something mystical and frightening in the distance. You have to make some kind of noise come closer. You may then have to have someone turning a key in the keyhole as they enter. Just think, such trivialities are there! Well, thinking all this through is, of course, likely to completely transform what is supposed to be in the auditorium into the utmost triviality.
I wanted to have a very special enhancement. Yes, behind the stage, people talk about these things with a touching technique that is indifferent to all the feelings that those who are supposed to experience the illusion out in the auditorium are supposed to have. I noticed that someone could get up just at the moment when the key had already turned in the keyhole and someone had entered. So I had someone get up, bumping the chair hard, but this getting up, whereby the chair fell over, was the highest intensification of the illusion in the auditorium. That was what, in the auditorium, after it followed the other, one might say, actually made hearts almost stiff with shuddering.
A chair falling over on stage: you have that in dry, trivial prose, and below is the illusion—the goose bumps.
Yes, you see, one must not treat these things in such a way that one now wants to appear reformist and say: These things must not be done. - Of course one must do them, and the more one can do them, the better. But one must have all the greater devotion to the spiritual in one's heart in order to endure what trivializes oneself behind the stage and in the wings.
To do this, the actor needs to transform his feelings to the point of penetrating a religious mood towards the whole art. And just as when you write an ode, you don't think about the ink flowing unpleasantly from the pen when you are in the mood for an ode, because you are in the mood for an ode, so when you step onto the stage, you must be able to instinctively develop a mood in which even the simple act of throwing a chair does not feel like anything other than something spiritual.
Only when one can rise to this mood—and it depends on this mood whether the art of acting can continue to flourish or not—will the art of acting be able to be imbued with that which could imbue it. But this cannot be achieved through sentimental phrases; it can only be achieved through realities. And realities are when the sounds, in their mysterious murmurings, become gods to us, shaping the language within us. We need this basic feeling. This basic feeling is what constitutes artistry.
We must go so far, my dear friends, that we never lose sight of the fact that the illusion in the auditorium must be created by a spiritually felt truth in the soul of the actor and the director. That is what is needed. This must be accepted, even though the audience, that is, those who are in it, do not today truly give us the image we would like to have from the stage.
But when the attitude I have just spoken of arises, it will, in an imponderable way, most quickly develop the audience to the point of view we would like to have. But this cannot be done through all kinds of programs and promises that are made when this or that is inaugurated, but only and exclusively through this spiritual-mental aspect prevailing over the undertaking, which is the theatrical one, can something truly favorable be created.
On the other hand, it must be recognized, especially in the present, that it will be more difficult, infinitely more difficult, to create the right atmosphere for harmonious cooperation between the art of acting and what is broadly referred to as criticism. And a large part of the difficulties facing the art of acting today stem from the unnatural situation of criticism. For in reality, criticism is not practiced today, but rather—one can say this because it is typical, only taken to extremes—it is distorted and hardened. Both may be very witty and have gained popularity, especially hardening, which has gained popularity in the most favorable way. But you see, the way things are twisted and hardened stems from a purely negative, unartistic principle. And one must not allow oneself to be seduced by the opinion that there is something in it that has to do with art, because the people who twist and harden are everywhere, even in small towns—it is setting a precedent. There is nothing in it at all. It is indifferent in the highest sense and must be regarded as indifferent, especially by the actor, in relation to what he wants and does artistically. And if necessary, he must be able to go so far as to turn an r into an w, and demand sweeping away criticism instead of twisting it. This stems from a negative principle.
I once found it strangely interesting in its historical genesis. I was able to capture all this writing, which then went into criticism, in its status nascendi. It was in a large gathering many years ago in Berlin, where the then editor-in-chief of the Berliner Tageblatt, Levysohn, was also present. I got into a conversation with him, a conversation about Harden, because there is no denying that Harden was an interesting personality in the early 1890s, the way he presented himself, extremely courageously. But when you were behind the scenes, you lost some of your illusions. Still, he was a force to be reckoned with, wasn't he? I got into a conversation with Levysohn, who was editor-in-chief of the Berliner Tageblatt at the time, about Harden, pointing out his good qualities. And Levysohn said the following to me: Yes, you just have to understand someone like Harden. You see, it was a long time ago now, Harden had come from the provinces, he was a minor actor, he ran away and wanted to earn some money in Berlin. At that time, I had just arranged a Monday morning paper, which then became part of the Berliner Tageblatt. I wanted it to be as good as possible; it was supposed to be a business venture. On Monday mornings, everyone was supposed to buy the Monday morning paper—it was the first morning paper ever produced in Berlin—like it was sugar water. But then I came up with something that I think is quite clever, which actually makes me the originator of Harden's excellent writing style. Because Harden has me to thank for that,“ said Levysohn. ”At the time, I took on these young men who came running along wanting to earn some money, and I told myself that they had a little talent, but not much. You can make anything out of people if you do it right! — That was the cynicism of an editor-in-chief at the time, throughout the eighties and nineties. Harden was there.
Levysohn told them: "Know this, you will get so much per month. All you have to do is sit in the coffee house all day and read all the newspapers. One reads all the political articles, the other all the artistic articles, one reads all the articles about painting, the other reads all the articles about acting, and then all you have to do is sit down on Sunday afternoon and each of you writes an article that is different from all the others you have read throughout the week. — Harden did that very well. He always wrote an article, said Levysohn, in which everything was different from what he had read all week. And you see, that remained Harden's art. That's how he made the “future.” So I'm to blame for Harden becoming such a good writer, said Levysohn.But you see, it's also a bit of a disillusionment when you look behind the scenes on this stage—and newspaper writing is also a stage. And then the audience is not as easy to cure as the one sitting in the auditorium. The only real cure is when the mood sets in that you know how little connection there actually is today between criticism, which is based entirely on the negative, and what is actually desired artistically.
And it is precisely this point, broadly speaking, what follows for the actor and his art from his relationship with the audience and the critics, that I would like to focus on in the reflections with which I will conclude this cycle tomorrow.
