To
those, to all who are not by nature bodily expressive, I would reiterate
the injunction already given,--not to pretend. Do nothing you cannot do
naturally and happily. But lay your stress on the inner and spiritual
effort to appreciate, to feel, to imagine out the tale; and let the
expressiveness of your body grow gradually with the increasing freedom
from crippling self-consciousness. The physique will become more mobile
as the emotion does.
The expression must, however, always _remain suggestive rather than
illustrative_. This is the side of the case which those who are
over-dramatic must not forget. The story-teller is not playing the parts
of his stories; he is merely arousing the imagination of his hearers to
picture the scenes for themselves. One element of the dual consciousness
of the tale-teller remains always the observer, the reporter, the quiet
outsider.
I like to think of the story-teller as a good fellow standing at a great
window overlooking a busy street or a picturesque square, and reporting
with gusto to the comrade in the rear of the room what of mirth or sadness
he sees; he hints at the policeman's strut, the organ-grinder's shrug, the
schoolgirl's gaiety, with a gesture or two which is born of an
irresistible impulse to imitate; but he never leaves his fascinating post
to carry the imitation further than a hint.
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