chapter10.txt

CHAPTER X







THE PHONOGRAPH







AT the opening of the Electrical Show in New



York City in October, 1908, to celebrate the



jubilee of the Atlantic Cable and the first quarter



century of lighting with the Edison service on



Manhattan Island, the exercises were all conducted by



means of the Edison phonograph. This included the



dedicatory speech of Governor Hughes, of New York;



the modest remarks of Mr. Edison, as president; the



congratulations of the presidents of several national



electric bodies, and a number of vocal and instrumental



selections of operatic nature. All this was



heard clearly by a very large audience, and was



repeated on other evenings. The same speeches were



used again phonographically at the Electrical Show



in Chicago in 1909--and now the records are



preserved for reproduction a hundred or a thousand



years hence. This tour de force, never attempted



before, was merely an exemplification of the value of



the phonograph not only in establishing at first hand



the facts of history, but in preserving the human



voice. What would we not give to listen to the very



accents and tones of the Sermon on the Mount, the



orations of Demosthenes, the first Pitt's appeal for



American liberty, the Farewell of Washington, or the



Address at Gettysburg? Until Edison made his wonderful



invention in 1877, the human race was entirely



without means for preserving or passing on to posterity



its own linguistic utterances or any other vocal



sound. We have some idea how the ancients looked



and felt and wrote; the abundant evidence takes us



back to the cave-dwellers. But all the old languages



are dead, and the literary form is their embalmment.



We do not even know definitely how Shakespeare's



and Goldsmith's plays were pronounced on the stage



in the theatres of the time; while it is only a guess



that perhaps Chaucer would sound much more modern



than he scans.







The analysis of sound, which owes so much to



Helmholtz, was one step toward recording; and the



various means of illustrating the phenomena of sound



to the eye and ear, prior to the phonograph, were all



ingenious. One can watch the dancing little flames



of Koenig, and see a voice expressed in tongues of



fire; but the record can only be photographic. In



like manner, the simple phonautograph of Leon Scott,



invented about 1858, records on a revolving cylinder



of blackened paper the sound vibrations transmitted



through a membrane to which a tiny stylus is attached;



so that a human mouth uses a pen and inscribes



its sign vocal. Yet after all we are just as



far away as ever from enabling the young actors at



Harvard to give Aristophanes with all the true, subtle



intonation and inflection of the Athens of 400 B.C.



The instrument is dumb. Ingenuity has been shown



also in the invention of "talking-machines," like



Faber's, based on the reed organ pipe. These autom-



ata can be made by dexterous manipulation to jabber



a little, like a doll with its monotonous "ma-ma," or



a cuckoo clock; but they lack even the sterile utility



of the imitative art of ventriloquism. The real great



invention lies in creating devices that shall be able



to evoke from tinfoil, wax, or composition at any



time to-day or in the future the sound that once was



as evanescent as the vibrations it made on the air.







Contrary to the general notion, very few of the



great modern inventions have been the result of a



sudden inspiration by which, Minerva-like, they have



sprung full-fledged from their creators' brain; but,



on the contrary, they have been evolved by slow and



gradual steps, so that frequently the final advance



has been often almost imperceptible. The Edison



phonograph is an important exception to the general



rule; not, of course, the phonograph of the present



day with all of its mechanical perfection, but as an



instrument capable of recording and reproducing



sound. Its invention has been frequently attributed



to the discovery that a point attached to a telephone



diaphragm would, under the effect of sound-waves,



vibrate with sufficient force to prick the finger. The



story, though interesting, is not founded on fact;



but, if true, it is difficult to see how the discovery in



question could have contributed materially to the



ultimate accomplishment. To a man of Edison's perception



it is absurd to suppose that the effect of the



so-called discovery would not have been made as a



matter of deduction long before the physical sensation



was experienced. As a matter of fact, the invention



of the phonograph was the result of pure reason.



Some time prior to 1877, Edison had been experimenting



on an automatic telegraph in which the



letters were formed by embossing strips of paper



with the proper arrangement of dots and dashes.



By drawing this strip beneath a contact lever, the



latter was actuated so as to control the circuits and



send the desired signals over the line. It was observed



that when the strip was moved very rapidly



the vibration of the lever resulted in the production



of an audible note. With these facts before him,



Edison reasoned that if the paper strip could be imprinted



with elevations and depressions representative



of sound-waves, they might be caused to actuate a



diaphragm so as to reproduce the corresponding



sounds. The next step in the line of development



was to form the necessary undulations on the strip,



and it was then reasoned that original sounds themselves



might be utilized to form a graphic record by



actuating a diaphragm and causing a cutting or indenting



point carried thereby to vibrate in contact



with a moving surface, so as to cut or indent the



record therein. Strange as it may seem, therefore,



and contrary to the general belief, the phonograph



was developed backward, the production of the sounds



being of prior development to the idea of actually



recording them.







Mr. Edison's own account of the invention of the



phonograph is intensely interesting. "I was



experimenting," he says, "on an automatic method of



recording telegraph messages on a disk of paper laid



on a revolving platen, exactly the same as the disk



talking-machine of to-day. The platen had a spiral



groove on its surface, like the disk. Over this was



placed a circular disk of paper; an electromagnet



with the embossing point connected to an arm



travelled over the disk; and any signals given



through the magnets were embossed on the disk of



paper. If this disk was removed from the machine



and put on a similar machine provided with a contact



point, the embossed record would cause the



signals to be repeated into another wire. The ordinary



speed of telegraphic signals is thirty-five to



forty words a minute; but with this machine several



hundred words were possible.







"From my experiments on the telephone I knew



of the power of a diaphragm to take up sound vibrations,



as I had made a little toy which, when you



recited loudly in the funnel, would work a pawl connected



to the diaphragm; and this engaging a ratchet-



wheel served to give continuous rotation to a pulley.



This pulley was connected by a cord to a little paper



toy representing a man sawing wood. Hence, if one



shouted: `Mary had a little lamb,' etc., the paper



man would start sawing wood. I reached the conclusion



that if I could record the movements of the



diaphragm properly, I could cause such record to



reproduce the original movements imparted to the



diaphragm by the voice, and thus succeed in recording



and reproducing the human voice.







"Instead of using a disk I designed a little machine



using a cylinder provided with grooves around the



surface. Over this was to be placed tinfoil, which



easily received and recorded the movements of the



diaphragm. A sketch was made, and the piece-work



price, $18, was marked on the sketch. I was in the



habit of marking the price I would pay on each



sketch. If the workman lost, I would pay his regular



wages; if he made more than the wages, he kept it.



The workman who got the sketch was John Kruesi.



I didn't have much faith that it would work, expecting



that I might possibly hear a word or so that



would give hope of a future for the idea. Kruesi,



when he had nearly finished it, asked what it was for.



I told him I was going to record talking, and then



have the machine talk back. He thought it absurd.



However, it was finished, the foil was put on; I then



shouted `Mary had a little lamb,' etc. I adjusted the



reproducer, and the machine reproduced it perfectly.



I was never so taken aback in my life. Everybody



was astonished. I was always afraid of things that



worked the first time. Long experience proved that



there were great drawbacks found generally before



they could be got commercial; but here was something



there was no doubt of."







No wonder that honest John Kruesi, as he stood



and listened to the marvellous performance of the



simple little machine he had himself just finished,



ejaculated in an awe-stricken tone: "Mein Gott im



Himmel!" And yet he had already seen Edison do



a few clever things. No wonder they sat up all night



fixing and adjusting it so as to get better and better



results--reciting an...