Suppose you speak the first of the following sentences in a slow tempo, the second quickly, observing how natural is the effect. Then speak both with the same rapidity and note the difference.I can't recall what I did with my knife. Oh, now I remember I gave it to Mary.
We see here that a change of tempo often occurs in the same sentence--for tempo applies not only to single words, groups of words, and groups of sentences, but to the major parts of a public speech as well.
QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES
1. In the following, speak the words "long, long while" very slowly; the rest of the sentence is spoken in moderately rapid tempo. When you and I behind the Veil are past,
Oh but the long, long while the world shall last, Which of our coming and departure heeds,
As the seven seas should heed a pebble cast.
Note: In the following selections the passages that should be given a fast tempo are in italics; those that should be given in a slow tempo are in small capitals. Practise these selections, and then try others, changing from fast to slow tempo on different parts, carefully noting the effect.
2. No MIRABEAU, NAPOLEON, BURNS, CROMWELL, NO man ADEQUATE to DO ANYTHING but is first of all in RIGHT EARNEST about it--what I call A SINCERE man. I should say SINCERITY, a GREAT, DEEP, GENUINE SINCERITY, is the first CHARACTERISTIC of a man in any way HEROIC. Not the sincerity that CALLS itself sincere. Ah no. That is a very poor matter indeed--A SHALLOW, BRAGGART, CONSCIOUS sincerity, oftenest SELF-CONCEIT mainly. The GREAT MAN'S SINCERITY is of a kind he CANNOT SPEAK OF. Is NOT CONSCIOUS of.--THOMAS CARLYLE.
3. TRUE WORTH is in BEING--NOT SEEMING--in doing each day that goes by SOME LITTLE GOOD, not in DREAM-ING of GREAT THINGS to do by and by. For whatever men say in their BLINDNESS, and in spite of the FOLLIES of YOUTH, there is nothing so KINGLY as KINDNESS, and nothing so ROYAL as TRUTH.--Anonymous.
4. To get a natural effect, where would you use slow and where fast tempo in the following?
FOOL'S GOLD
See him there, cold and gray, Watch him as he tries to play; No, he doesn't know the way-- He began to learn too late.
She's a grim old hag, is Fate,
For she let him have his pile, Smiling to herself the while, Knowing what the cost would be, When he'd found the Golden Key. Multimillionaire is he,
Many times more rich than we; But at that I wouldn't trade With the bargain that he made. Came here many years ago,
Not a person did he know; Had the money-hunger bad-- Mad for money, piggish mad;
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Didn't let a joy divert him, Didn't let a sorrow hurt him,
Let his friends and kin desert him,
While he planned and plugged and hurried
On his quest for gold and power. Every single wakeful hour
With a money thought he'd dower; All the while as he grew older,
And grew bolder, he grew colder. And he thought that some day
He would take the time to play; But, say--he was wrong.
Life's a song; In the spring
Youth can sing and can fling;
But joys wing
When we're older,
Like birds when it's colder.
The roses were red as he went rushing by, And glorious tapestries hung in the sky, And the clover was waving
'Neath honey-bees' slaving; A bird over there Roundelayed a soft air;
But the man couldn't spare Time for gathering flowers, Or resting in bowers,
Or gazing at skies
That gladdened the eyes.
So he kept on and swept on Through mean, sordid years. Now he's up to his ears
In the choicest of stocks. He owns endless blocks Of houses and shops,
And the stream never stops
Pouring into his banks. I suppose that he ranks Pretty near to the top. What I have wouldn't sop His ambition one tittle; And yet with my little
I don't care to trade
With the bargain he made. Just watch him to-day-- See him trying to play.
He's come back for blue skies. But they're in a new guise-- Winter's here, all is gray,
The birds are away,
The meadows are brown, The leaves lie aground,
And the gay brook that wound
With a swirling and whirling
Of waters, is furling
Its bosom in ice.
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And he hasn't the price, With all of his gold,
To buy what he sold.
He knows now the cost
Of the springtime he lost, Of the flowers he tossed From his way,
And, say, He'd pay
Any price if the day
Could be made not so gray.
He can't play.
--Herbert Kaufman. Used by permission of Everybody's Magazine. Change of Tempo Prevents Monotony
The canary in the cage before the window is adding to the beauty and charm of his singing by a continual change of tempo. If King Solomon had been an orator he undoubtedly would have gathered wisdom from the song of the wild birds as well as from the bees. Imagine a song written with but quarter notes. Imagine an auto with only one speed.
EXERCISES
1. Note the change of tempo indicated in the following, and how it gives a pleasing variety. Read it aloud. (Fast tempo is indicated by italics, slow by small capitals.)
And he thought that some day he would take the time to play; but, say--HE WAS WRONG. LIFE'S A SONG; in the SPRING YOUTH can SING and can FLING; BUT JOYS WING WHEN WE'RE OLDER, LIKE THE BIRDS when it's COLDER. The roses were red as he went rushing by, and glorious tapestries hung in the sky.
2. Turn to "Fools Gold," on Page 42, and deliver it in an unvaried tempo: note how monotonous is the result. This poem requires a great many changes of tempo, and is an excellent one for practise.
3. Use the changes of tempo indicated in the following, noting how they prevent monotony. Where no change of tempo is indicated, use a moderate speed. Too much of variety would really be a return to monotony.
THE MOB
"A MOB KILLS THE WRONG MAN" was flashed in a newspaper
