The musical sketch occupies a high and prominent position in the scale of entertainments given by the individual. With many it is more popular than ventriloquism, impersonations, reciting, or conjuring, and needs as much skill and study as any of these other accomplishments. For its successful rendition the artist must be equipped with

He must also be well versed in the popular topics of the day, and be able to dish them up in an attractive manner to suit the humor of his various hearers; and, of course, a certain amount of natural talent is indispensable.

In this mode of entertainment there should be no pause. The whole time the artist should either be engaged in patter or playing, and he must go from anecdote to anecdote smoothly and without jerkiness, always relating his stories as if they were his own experiences.

He should begin an after-dinner story in some such way as—

“The other night, when dining with my friend, Mr. A., I had the misfortune to be stuck down beside his elderly maiden aunt, Miss Dimbledock, who my host had previously informed me was a stanch adherent to the Blue Ribbon Army. Now, as Mr. A. is her only living relative, he naturally expected to inherit her wealth, and consequently had given instructions to Coggledab, the butler (who on ordinary occasions served as coachman), that especial attention and care were to be lavished upon her severe and abstemious person; but, alas, he had forgotten to instill him with her principles, and the result was that the poor old lady was mortally offended, for, ere we had reached the second course, Coggledab leaned over her chair in a fatherly and solicitous manner that well became his white hairs and portly person, and whispered in a voice that penetrated every corner of the room:

“‘Gin, whisky, or brandy, Mum? You can’t be enjyin’ of yourself! You’re not drinkin’!’

“And it is to this apparently trivial incident that a year ago a flourishing dogs’ home was opened in New York, and that my poor friend Mr. A. can be seen any day selling matches at his post in Times Square! And talking of the importance of trivialities, reminds me of an adventure that befell me the other day. I had hired a taxi-cab, and was just stepping into it——,” &c., &c., thus introducing quite a different anecdote.

Now, the outlines of the incident of Mr. A.’s dinner-party are taken from a comic paper, but twisted and colored to suit the requirements of the artist; and there are many stories that may be dished up in similar manner, while frequently personal experiences are extremely humorous when rightly treated.

The “All in All”

The artist should study and cultivate the correct and various methods of telling a story, remembering Pope’s adage—

If the style of writing is important, how much more is the manner of verbal narration. The wittiest story may fall to pieces in the hand of the inartistic, while the most trivial incident humorously handled may be greeted with shrieks of merriment.

The raconteur must give his audience the impression of frank geniality and friendliness without familiarity, his attitude cunningly eloquent of the man who is about to open his heart to a confidante.

Orchestra chairs and gallery are his bosom friends. He twinkles and patters at them right merrily. If he paints their peculiarities or laughs at their social ways he must flavor his babbling with the tender fun of that greatest of humorists, Charles Lamb, who never aped or scoffed at physical deformity, and was never cynical at another’s expense.

The caricatures depicted by mimicry must be cleansed of that sour Voltaire bitterness and cruelty, the artist always remembering that he is performing in order to beguile, and he must cultivate that delicate tact which prevents him from imitating the withered idiosyncrasies supposed to be typical of the old maid in the drawing-room, when he knows that some spinster relative or friend is present.

The public possesses a vast fund of humor, and there is nothing it loves so much as a hearty laugh, but its risibilities should be handled as delicately as a trout is tickled, and if they are only provoked at the dear expense of some unfortunate individual, they are coarse and vulgar, and the artist himself is culpable. The broad double meanings of apparently innocent witticisms one might have heard at some vaudeville halls should be rigorously avoided. There are gentlemen, fine-souled and clean of mind, in your gallery as in your orchestra chairs. Treat them as such. Appeal to the best, to the refined sense of the ludicrous that lurks in every mind, and you will be as welcome in the most select drawing-room as in the theater.

Humor and fun are as bracing and purifying a tonic as a breath of sea air. They should be steeped in the salt ozone of wit, but never in the withering blight of vulgarity.

An Artist—and a Gentleman

The artist should be large-souled and natural in attitude and gesture—a gentleman from head to heel in the best sense of the word—and the result will brace up and encourage him, for he will observe the faded city merchant laughing with the heart-whole abandon of the child.

It is not necessary, and it may become even monotonous, to pose forever as the comedian who sees fun in every incident around him. A great and versatile artist, now deceased, in the middle of his recital would sit down at the zither when the room was still ringing with laughter, provoked by his keen shafts of humor, and win tears by the exquisite pathos of the refrain: “The mill will never grind with the water that is past.”

Maudlin melodrama is not pathos any more than vulgar mockery is humor. A thin veil lies between tears and laughter, and both are nearer the surface than some artists realize. Both are noble and wholesome, and so should never be made puny by too little giving or rendered grotesque by too much.

A most effective means of self-accompaniment is the harp, and one moreover which adapts itself exquisitely to the subtle charm and changing qualities of the human voice, but only in the performer’s more serious moments. To twang at this instrument and pose above it in the attitude of the comedian, to pluck it banjo fashion, is to displease and jar the sensibilities of the most uninitiated of the audience.

The dual art is a stumbling-block to many a versatile artist, and its perfection needs a tremendous amount of persevering and diligent practice. There are some gifted performers to whom the art of pattering or reciting to music is inborn, and so extremely facile, but to the less fortunate it presents discouraging obstacles, and the power of improvising an accompaniment suitable to the anecdote or poem related is not given to the majority.

However, the student should remember and be encouraged by the fact that “steady effort attracts unknown powers to our aid,” and work on determinedly until the difficulty is mastered.

In studying the dual art, the beginner is apt to hammer the words to the accompaniment, or the accompaniment to the words, and it seems at first impossible to arrive at that perfect blending of voice and music which is essential to this kind of performance. Another extremely common fault is to emphasize the wrong word or the wrong note, with the result that the achievement becomes meaningless.

The ear should be trained to the rÔle of an exacting critic, and when this power is developed it will demonstrate faithfully wherein the failure of co-operation lies.

Music should never be suffered to overburden the words of the poem or anecdote related. It is usually but a ground-work upon which the artist builds, “at most, an undercurrent of answering emotion.” The instant it flows through the floodgates of restraint it obliterates the meaning and the sense of the words as the waters of a burst dam obliterate the natural features of dry land.

Another serious fault to be found in the rendition of the inexperienced student is permitting the time of his accompaniment to swing into his voice. Against this he must be severely on his guard, or he will develop a wearisome habit of chanting in monotone.

While taking pains to blend his voice with his accompaniment, he must take equal care to keep both distinct and apart. This sounds paradoxical, but practice and self-criticism will prove that both are true and possible.

Music and Words

The speaker should learn to harmonize his music so exquisitely with his words that to the uninitiated the accompaniment seems rather extempore improvising than the result of toil and diligence. As a matter of fact, it is extremely rare that even the greatest artists dare trust to the inspiration of the moment to provide them with adequate accompaniment.

An artist may have a theme or motif borrowed from some composer, and he may be sufficiently gifted to plan it out and develop it for himself, but always with careful thought and deliberation before he gives it public expression.

The dual art is as full of vagaries and traps as the French language, and at first the student who finds himself handicapped by inability to conquer it, cannot do better than study some poems written to music, and at these he must work steadily before he attempts to patter to accompaniment.

A few musical poems mastered will go far to secure him an air of ease and self-possession.

Correct attitude at piano.