Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres: Lecture XIII — Structure of Sentences — Harmony
Hitherto we have considered sentences, with respect to their meaning, under the heads of perspicuity, unity, and strength. We are now to consider them, with respect to their sound, their harmony or agreeableness to the ear; which was the last quality belonging to them that I proposed to treat of.
Sound is a quality much inferior to sense; yet such as must not be disregarded. For, as long as sounds are the vehicle of conveyance for our ideas, there will be always a very considerable connexion between the idea which is conveyed, and the nature of the sound which conveys it. Pleasing ideas can hardly be transmitted to the mind in harsh and disagreeable sounds. The imagination revolts as soon as it hears them uttered. ‘ Nihil/ says Quintilian, c potest intrare in affectum, quod in aure, velut quodam vestibulo, statim offendit.’* Music has naturally a great power over all men, to prompt and facilitate certain emotions; insomuch, that there are hardly any dispositions which we wish to raise in others, but certain sounds may be found concordant to those dispositions, and tending to promote them. Now, language may, in some degree, be rendered capable of this power of music; a circumstance which must needs heighten our idea of language as a wonderful invention. Not content with simply interpreting our ideas to others, it can give them those ideas enforced by corresponding sounds; and, to the pleasure of communicating thought, can add the new and separate pleasure of melody.
In the harmony of periods, two things may be considered. First, agreeable sound, or modulation in general, without any particular expression: Next, the sound so ordered, as to become expressive of the sense. The first is the more common; the second, the higher beauty.
First, let us consider agreeable sound, in general, as the property of a well-constructed sentence: and, as it was of prose sentences we have hitherto treated, we shall confine ourselves to them under this head. This beauty of musical construction in prose, it is plain, will depend upon two things; the choice of words, and the arrangement of them.
I begin with the choice of words; on which head, there is not much to be said, unless I were to descend into a tedious and frivolous detail concerning the powers of the several letters, or simple sounds, of which speech is composed. It is evident, that words
* Nothing can enter into the affections, which stumbles at the threshold by offending the ear.’
are most agreeable to the ear which are composed of smooth and liquid sounds, where there is a proper intermixture of vowels and consonants; without too many harsh consonants rubbing against each other; or too many open vowels in succession, to cause a hiatus, or disagreeable aperture of the mouth. It may always be assumed as a principle, that whatever sounds are difficult in pronunciation, are, in the same proportion, harsh and painful to the ear. Vowels give softness; consonants, strength to the sound of words. The music of language requires a just proportion of both; and will be hurt, will be rendered either grating or effeminate, by an excess of either. Long words are commonly more agreeable to the ear than monosyllables. They please it by the composition, or succession of sounds which they present to it: and accordingly, the most musical languages abound most in them. Among words of any length, those are the most musical, which do not run wholly either upon long or short syllables, but are composed of an intermixture of them; such as repent, produce, velocity, celerity, independent, impetuosity.
The next head, respecting the harmony which results from a proper arrangement of the words and members of a period, is more complex, and of greater nicety. For, let the words themselves be. ever so well chosen, and well sounding, yet, if they be ill disposed, the music of the sentence is utterly lost. In the harmonious structure and disposition of periods, no writer whatever, ancient or modern, equals Cicero. He had studied this with care; and was fond, perhaps to excess, of what he calls, the ‘ Plena ac numerosa oratio.’ We need only open his writings to find instances that will render the effect of musical language sensible to every ear. What, for example, can be more full, round, and swelling, than the following sentence of the 4th Oration against Catiline? ‘Cogitate quantis laboribus fundatum imperium, quanta virtute stabilitam libertatem, quanta Deorum benignitate auctas exaggeratasque fortunas, una nox pene delerit.’ In English, we may take, for an instance of a musical sentence, the following from Milton, in his Treatise on Education: ‘We shall conduct you to a hill-side, laborious indeed, at the first ascent; but else, so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospects, and melodious sounds, on every side, that the harp of Orpheus was not more charming.’ Every thing in this sentence conspires to promote the harmony. The words are happily chosen;
full of liquid and soft sounds; laborious, smooth, green, goodly, melodious, charming: and these words so artfully arranged, that were we to alter the collocation of any one of them, we should, presently, be sensible of the melody suffering. For, let us observe, how finely the members of the period swell one above another. ‘ So smooth, so green’ — ‘so full of goodly prospects, and melodious sounds on every side;’ — till the ear, prepared by this gradual rise, is conducted to that full close on which it rests with pleasure; — -‘ that the harp of Orpheus was not more charming.’
The structure of periods, then, being susceptible of a very sensible melody, our next inquiry should be, how this melodious structure is formed, what are the principles of it, and by what laws it is regulated? And, upon this subject, were I to follow the ancient rhetoricians, it would be easy to give a great variety of rules. For here they have entered into a very minute and particular detail; more particular, indeed, than on any other head that regards language. They hold, that to prose as well as to verse, there belong certain numbers, less strict, indeed, yet such as can be ascertained. They go so far as to specify the feet as they are called, that is, the succession of long and short syllables, which should enter into the different members of a sentence, and to show what the effect of each of these will be. Wherever they treat of the structure of sentences, it is always the music of them that makes the principal object. Cicero and Quintilian are full of this. The other qualities of precision, unity, and strength, which we consider as of chief importance, they handle slightly; but when they come to the junctura et numerus, the modulation and harmony, there they are copious. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, one of the most judicious critics of antiquity, has written a treatise on the Composition of Words in a Sentence, which is altogether confined to their musical effect. He makes the excellency of a sentence to consist in four things; first, in the sweetness of single sounds; secondly, in the composition of sounds, that is, the numbers or feet; thirdly, in change or variety of sound; and fourthly, in sound suited to the sense. On all these points he writes with great accuracy and refinement: and is very worthy of being consulted; though were one now to write a book on the structure of sentences, we should expect to find the subject treated of in a more extensive manner.
In modern times, this whole subject of the musical structure of discourse, it is plain, has been much less studied; and indeed, for several reasons, can be much less subjected to rule. The reasons, it will be necessary to give, both to justify my not following the tract of the ancient rhetoricians on this subject, and to show how it has come to pass, that a part of composition, which once made so conspicuous a figure, now draws much less attention.
In the first place, the ancient languages, I mean the Greek and the Roman, were much more susceptible than ours, of the graces and the powers of melody. The quantities of their syllables were more fixed and determined; their words were longer and more sonorous; their method of varying the terminations of nouns and verbs, both introduced a greater variety of liquid sounds, and freed them from that multiplicity of little auxiliary words which we are obliged to employ; and what is of the greatest consequence, the inversions which these languages allowed, gave them the power of placing their words in whatever order was most suited to a musical arrangement. All these were great advantages which they enjoyed above us, for harmony of period.
In the next place, the Greeks and Romans, the former especially, were, in truth, much more musical nations than we; their genius was more turned to delight in the melody of speech. Music is known to have been a more extensive art among them than it is with us; more generally studied, and applied to a greater variety of objects. Several learned men, particularly the Abbe du Bos, in his Reflections on Poetry and Painting, have clearly proved, that the theatrical compositions of the ancients, both their tragedies and comedies, were set to a kind of music. Whence the modos fecit, and the tibiis dextris et sinistris, prefixed to the editions of Terence’s plays. All sort of declamation and public speaking, was carried on by them in a much more musical tone than it is among us. It approached to a kind of chanting or recitative. Among the Athenians, there was what was called the Nomic melody; or a particular measure prescribed to the public officers, in which they were to promulgate the laws to the people; lest, by reading them with improper tones, the laws might be exposed to contempt. Among the Romans, there is a noted story of C. Gracchus, when he was declaiming in public, having a musician standing at his back, in order to give him the proper tones with a pipe or flute. Even when pronouncing those terrible tribunitial harangues, by which he inflamed the one half of the citizens of Rome against the other; this attention to the music of speech was, in those times, it seems, thought necessary to success. Quintilian, though he condemns the excess of this sort of pronunciation, yet allows a ‘ cantos obscurior’ to be a beauty in a public speaker. Hence, that variety of accents, acute, grave, and circumflex, which we find marked upon the Greek syllables, to express, not the quantity of them, but the tone in which they were to be spoken; the application of which is now wholly unknown to us. And though the Romans did not mark those accents in their writing, yet it appears from Quintilian, that they used them in pronunciation: ‘ Quantum quale,’ says he, ‘ comparantes gravi, interrogantes acuto tenore concludunt.’ As, music, then, was an object much more attended to in speech, among the Greeks and Romans, than it is with us; as, in all kinds of public speaking, they employed a much greater variety of notes, of tones or inflections of voice, than we use; this is one clear reason of their paying a greater attention to that construction of sentences, which might best suit this musical pronunciation.
It is farther known, that, in consequence of the genius of their languages, and of their manner of pronouncing them, the musical arrangement of sentences did, in fact, produce a greater effect in public speaking among them, than it could possibly do in any modern oration; another reason why it deserved to be more studied. Cicero, in his treatise, entitled, Orator, tells us, ‘ Condones saepe exclamare vidi, cum verba apte cecidissent. Id enim expectant aures.’* And he gives a remarkable instance of the effect of an harmonious period upon a whole assembly, from a sentence of one of Garbo’s orations, spoken in his hearing. The sentence was,
‘ Patris dictum sapiens temeritas filii comprobavit.’ By means of the sound of which, alone, he tells us, £ Tantus clamor condoms
* ‘I have often been witness to bursts of exclamation in the public assemblies, where sentences closed musically; for that is a pleasure which the ear expects.’
excitatus est, ut prorsus admirabile esset.’ He makes us remark the feet of which these words consist, to which he ascribes the power of the melody; and shows how, by altering the collocation, the whole effect would be lost; as thus: ‘Patris dictum sapiens comprobavit temeritas filii.’ Now though it be true that Garbo’s sentence is extremely musical, and would be agreeable, at this day, to an audience, yet I cannot believe that an English sentence, equally harmonious, would, by its harmony alone, produce any such effect on a British audience, or excite any such wonderful applause and admiration, as Cicero informs us this of Garbo produced. Our northern ears are too coarse and obtuse. The melody of speech has less power over us; and by our simpler and plainer method of uttering words, speech is, in truth, accompanied with less melody than it was among the Greeks and Romans.*
For these reasons, I am of opinion, that it is in vain to think of bestowing the same attention upon the harmonious structure of our sentences, that was bestowed by these ancient nations. The doctrine of the Greek and Roman critics, on this head, has misled some to imagine, that it might be equally applied to our tongue; and that our prose writing might be regulated by spondees and trochees, and iambus’s and paeons, and other metrical feet. But first, our words cannot be measured, or, at least, can be measured very imperfectly by any feet of this kind. For, the quantity, the length, and shortness of our syllables, is far from being so fixed and subjected to rule, as in the Greek and Roman tongues; but very often left arbitrary, and determined by the emphasis, and the sense. Next, though our prose could admit of such metrical regulation, yet, from our plainer method of pronouncing all sorts of discourse, the effect would not be at all so sensible to the ear, nor be relished with so much pleasure, as among the Greeks and Romans: and, lastly, this whole doctrine about the measures and numbers of prose, even as it is delivered by the ancient rhetoricians themselves, is, in truth, in a great measure, loose and uncertain. It appears, indeed, that the melody of discourse was a matter of infinitely more attention to them, than ever it has been to the moderns. But, though they write a great deal about it, they have never been able to reduce it to any rules which could be of real use in practice. If we consult Cicero’s Orator, where this point is discussed with the most minuteness, we shall see how much these ancient critics differed from one another, about the feet proper for the conclusion, and other parts of a sentence; and how much, after all, was left to the judgment of the ear. Nor, indeed, is it possible to give precise rules concerning this matter, in any language; as all prose composition must be allowed to run loose in its numbers; and according as the tenour of a discourse varies, the modulation of sentences must vary infinitely.
* c In versu quidem, theatra tota exclamant si fuit una syllaba aut brevier aut longm**. Nec vero multitudo pedes novit, nec ullos numeros tenet; nee illud quoti offendit, aut cur, aut in quo offendat, intelligit; et tamen omnium longitudinum et in sonis sicut acutarum, graviumque vocum, judicium ipsa natura ir auribus nostris collocavit ’ Cicero. Orator, c. 5.
But, although I apprehend that this musical arrangement cannot be reduced into a system, I am far from thinking that it is a quality to be neglected in composition. On the contrary, I hold its effect to be very considerable; and that every one who studies to write with grace, much more, who seeks to pronounce in public, with success, will be obliged to attend to it not a little. But it is his ear, cultivated by attention and practice, that must chiefly direct him; for any rules that can be given on this subject, are very general. Some rules, however, there are, which may be of use to form the ear to the proper harmony of discourse. I proceed to mention such as appear to me most material.
There are two things on which the music of a sentence chiefly depends. These are the proper distribution of the several members of it; and, the close or cadence of the whole.
First, I say, the distribution of the several members is to be carefully attended to. It is of importance to observe, that whatever is easy and agreeable to the organs of speech, always sounds grateful to the ear. While a period is going on, the termination of each of its members forms a pause, or rest, in pronouncing: and these rests should be so distributed as to make the course of the breathing easy, and, at the same time, should fall at such distances, as to bear a certain musical proportion to each other. This will be best illustrated by examples. The following sentence is from Archbishop Tillotson: i This discourse concerning the easiness of God’s commands, does, all along, suppose and acknowledge the difficulties of the first entrance upon a religious course; except only in those persons who have had the happiness to be trained up to religion by the easy and insensible degrees of a pious and virtuous education.’ Here there is no harmony; nay, there is some degree of harshness and unpleasantness; owing principally to this, that there is, properly, no more than one pause or rest in the sentence, falling betwixt the two members into which it is divided, each of which is so long as to occasion a considerable stretch of the breath in pronouncing it.
Observe, now, on the other hand, the ease with which the following sentence, from Sir William Temple, glides along, and the graceful intervals at which the pauses are placed. He is speaking sarcastically of man: ‘ But, God be thanked, his pride is greater than his ignorance, and what he wants in knowledge, he supplies by sufficiency. When he has looked about him, as far as he can, he concludes, there is no more to be seen; when he is at the end of his line, he is at the bottom of the ocean; when he has shot his best, he is sure none ever did, or ever can, shoot better, or beyond it. His own reason he holds to be the certain measure of truth; and his own knowledge, of what is possible in nature.’* Here every
* Or this instance. He is addressing himself to Lady Essex, upon the death of her child: ‘ I was once in hope, that what was so violent could not be long: but, when I observed your grief to grow stronger with age, and to increase, like a stream, the farther it ran; when I saw it draw out to such unhappy consequences, and to threaten, no less than your child, your health, and your life, I could no longer forbear this endeavour thing is, at once, easy to the breath, and grateful to the ear;
and, it is this sort of flowing measure, this regular and proportional division of the members of his sentences which renders Sir William Temple’s style always agreeable. I must observe at the same time, that a sentence, with too many rests, and these placed at intervals too apparently measured and regular, is apt to savour of affectation.
The next thing to be attended to, is, the close or cadence of the whole sentence, which, as it is always the part most sensible to the ear, demands the greatest care. So Quintilian; ‘Non igitur durum sit, neque abruptum, quo animi, velut, respirant ac reficiuntur Haec est sedes orationis; hoc auditor expectat; hic laus omnis decidit.’* The only important rule that can be given here, is, that when we aim at dignity or elevation, the sound should be made to grow to the last; the longest members of the period, and the fullest and most sonorous words, should be reserved to the conclusion. As an example of this, the following sentence of Mr. Addison’s may be given: ‘It fills the mind (speaking of sight) with the largest variety of ideas; converses with its objects at the greatest distance; and continues the longest in action, without being tired or satiated with its proper enjoyments.’ Every reader must be sensible of a beauty here, both in the proper division of the members and pauses, and the manner in which the sentence is rounded, and conducted to a full and harmonious close.
The same holds in melody, that I observe to take place with respect to significancy: that a falling off at the end, always hurts greatly. For this reason, particles, pronouns, and little words, are as ungracious to the ear, at the conclusion, as I formerly showed they were inconsistent with strength of expression. It is more than probable, that the sense and the sound have here a mutual influence on each other. That which hurts the ear seems to mar the strength of the meaning: and that which really degrades the sense, in consequence of this primary effect, appears also to have a bad sound. How disagreeable is the following sentence of an author, speaking of the Trinity! ‘It is a mystery which we firmly believe the truth of, and humbly adore the depth of.’ And how easily might it have been mended by this transposition! ‘ It is a mystery, the truth of which we firmly believe, and the depth of which we humbly adore.’ In general it seems to hold, that a musical close, in our language, requires either the last syllable, or the last but one, to be a long syllable. Words which consist only of short syllables, as, contrary, particular, retrospect, seldom conclude a sentence har- nor end it without begging of you, for God’s sake and for your own, for your children and your friends, your country and your family, that you would no longer abandon yourself to a disconsolate passion; but that you would at length awaken your piety, give way to your prudence, or, at least, rouse the invincible spirit of the Percys, that never yet shrunk at any disaster.’
* 1 Let there be nothing harsh or abrupt in the conclusion of the sentence, on which the mind pauses and rests. This is the most material part in the structure of discourse Mere every hearer expects to be gratified; here his applause breaks forth.’
moniously, unless a run of long syllables, before, has rendered them agreeable to the ear.
It is necessary, however, to observe, that sentences so constructed as to make the sound always swell and grow towards the end, and to rest either on a long or a penult long syllable, give a discourse the tone of declamation. The ear soon becomes acquainted with the melody, and is apt to be cloyed with it. If we would keep up the attention of the reader or hearer, if we would preserve vivacity and strength in our composition, we must be very attentive to vary our measures. This regards the distribution of the members, as well as the cadence of the period. Sentences constructed in a similar manner, with the pauses falling at equal intervals, should never follow one another. Short sentences should be intermixed with long and swelling ones, to render discourse sprightly, as well as magnificent. Even discords, properly introduced, abrupt sounds, departures from regular cadence, have sometimes a good effect. Monotony is a great fault into which writers are apt to fall, who are fond of harmonious arrangement: and to have only one tune, or measure, is not much better than having none at all. A very vulgar ear will enable a writer to catch some one melody, and to form the run of his sentences according to it; which soon proves disgusting. But a just and correct ear is requisite for varying and diversifying the melody; and hence we so seldom meet with authors, who are remarkably happy in this respect.
Though attention to the music of sentences must not be neglected, yet it must also be kept within proper bounds: for all appearances of an author’s affecting harmony, are disagreeable: especially when the love of it betrays him so far, as to sacrifice, in any instance, perspicuity, precision, or strength of sentiment, to sound. All unmeaning words, introduced merely to round the period, or fill up the melody, complement a numerorum, as Cicero calls them, are great blemishes in writing. They are childish and puerile ornaments; a sentence always loses more in point of weight, than it can gain by such additions to the beauty of its sound. Sense has its own harmony, as well as sound; and, where the sense of a period is expressed with clearness, force, and dignity, it will seldom happen but the words will strike the ear agreeably; at least, a very moderate attention is all that is requisite for making the cadence of such a period pleasing: and the effect of greater attention is often no other, than to render composition languid and enervated. After all the labour which Quintilian bestows on regulating the measures of prose, he comes at last, with his usual good sense, to this conclusion:
‘ In universum,sisitnecesse, durampotiusatque asperam compositionem malimesse, quam effeminatamac enervem, qualis apud multos. Ideoque, vincta qusedam de industria sunt solvenda, ne laborata videantur; neque ullum idoneum aut aptum verbum praetermittamus, gratia lenitatisA* (Lib. ix. c. 4.)
* 1 Upon the whole, I would rather choose that composition should appear rotiffh and harsh, if that be necessary, than that it should be enervated and effeminate, as I before observed, is one of the most remarkable patterns of a harmonious style. His love of it, however, is too visible, and the pomp of his numbers sometimes detracts from his strength. That noted close of his, esse videatur, which, in the Oration Pro Lege Manilia, occurs eleven times, exposed him to censure among his contemporaries. We must observe, however, in defence of this great orator, that there is a remarkable union, in his style, of harmony with ease, which is always a great beauty; and if his harmony be studied, that study appears to have cost him little trouble.
Among our English classics, not many are distinguished for musical arrangement. Milton, in some of his prose works, has very finely turned periods; but the writers of his age indulged a liberty of inversion, which now would be reckoned contrary to purity of style; and though this allowed their sentences to be more stately and sonorous, yet it gave them too much of a Latinised construction and order. Of later writers, Shaftesbury is, upon the whole, the most correct in his numbers. As his ear was delicate, he has attended to music in all his sentences; and he is peculiarly happy in this respect, that he has avoided the monotony into which writers, who study the grace of sound, are very apt to fall; having diversified his periods with great variety. Mr. Addison has also much harmony in his style; more easy and smooth, but less varied, than Lord Shaftesbury. Sir William Temple is, in general, very flowing and agreeable. Archbishop Tillotson, is too often careless and languid; and is much outdone by Bishop Atterbury in the music of his periods. Dean Swift despised musical arrangement altogether.
Hitherto I have discoursed of agreeable sound, or modulation, in general. It yet remains to treat of a higher beauty of this kind; the sound adapted to the sense. The former was no more than a simple accompaniment, to please the ear; the latter supposes a peculiar expression given to the music. We may remark two degrees of it: First, the current of sound, adapted to the tenour of a discourse; next, a particular resemblance effected between some object and the sounds that are employed in describing it.
First, I say, the current of sound may be adapted to the tenour of a discourse. Sounds have, in many respects, a correspondence with our ideas; partly natural, partly the effect of artificial associations. Hence it happens, that any one modulation of sound continued, imprints on our style a certain character and expression. Sentences constructed with the Ciceronian fulness and swell, produce the impression of what is important, magnificent, sedate: for this is the natural tone which such a course of sentiment assumes. But they suit no violent passion, no eager reasoning, no familiar address. These always require measures brisker, easier, and often more abrupt. And,
Inaie, such as we find the style of too many. Some sentences, therefore, which we have studiously formed into melody, should be thrown loose, that they mav not seem too much laboured: nor ought we ever to omit any proper or expressive word, for the sake of smoothing a period.’
LECT. XIII.] tnerefore, to swell, or to let down the periods, as the subject demands, is a very important rule in oratory. No one tenour, whatever, supposing it to produce no bad effect from satiety, will answer to all different compositions; nor even to all the parts of the same composition. It were as absurd to write a panegyric, and an invective, in a style of the same cadence, as to set the words of a tender love-song to the air of a warlike march.
Observe, how finely the following sentence of Cicero, is adapted to represent the tranquillity and ease of a satisfied state. ‘ Etsi homini nihil est rnagis optandum quam prospera, asquabilis, perpetua-que fortuna, secundo vitae sine ulla offensione cursu; tamen, si mihi tranquilla etplacata omnia fuissentincredibili quadam et pene divina, qua nunc vestro beneficio fruor, laetitiae voluptate caruissem.’* Nothing was ever more perfect in its kind: it paints, if we may so speak, to the ear. But, who would not have laughed, if Cicero had employed such periods, or such a cadence as this, in inveighing against Mark Antony, or Catiline? What is requisite, therefore, is, that we previously fix, in our mind, a just idea of the general tone of sound which suits our subject; that is, which the sentiments we are to express most naturally assume, and in which they most commonly vent themselves; whether round or smooth, or stately and solemn, or brisk and quick, or interrupted and abrupt. This general idea must direct the modulation of our periods; to speak in the style of music, must give us the key note, must form the ground of the melody; varied and diversified in parts, according as either our sentiments are diversified, or as is requisite for producing a suitable variety to gratify the ear.
It may be proper to remark, that our translators of the Bible have often been happy in suiting their numbers to the subject. Grave, solemn, and majestic subjects, undoubtedly require such an arrangement of words as runs much on long syllables; and, particularly, they require the close to rest upon such. The very first verses of the Bible, are remarkable for this melody; ‘In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth; and the earth was without form and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.’ Several other passages, particularly some of the Psalms, afford striking examples of this sort of grave, melodious construction. Any composition that arises considerably above the ordinary tone of prose, such as monumental inscriptions, and panegyrical characters, naturally runs into numbers of this kind.
In the next place, besides the general correspondence of the current of sound with the current of thought, there may be a more particular expression attempted, of certain objects, by means of resembling sounds. This can be, sometimes, accomplished in prose composition; but there only in a more faint degree; nor is it so much expected there. In poetry, chiefly, it is looked for; where attention to sound is more demanded, and where the inversions and
* Orat. ad Quintes, post Reditum.
HARMONY OF SENTENCES.ji
liberties of poetical style give us a greater command of sound; assisted, too, by the versification, and that cantus obscurior, to which we are naturally led in reading poetry. This requires a little more illustration.
The sounds of words may be employed for representing, chiefly, three classes of objects; first, other sounds; secondly, motion; and thirdly, the emotions and passions of the mind.
First, I say, by a proper choice of words, we may produce a resemblance of other sounds which we mean to describe, such as, the noise of waters, the roaring of winds, or the murmuring of streams. This is the simplest instance of this sort of beauty. For the medium through which we imitate here, is a natural one; sounds represent-sounds; and between ideas of the same sense, it is easy to form a connexion. No very great art is required in a poet when he is describing sweet and soft sounds, to make use of such words as have most liquids and vowels, and glide the softest; or, when he is describing harsh sounds, to throw together a number of harsh syllables which are of difficult pronunciation. Here the common structure of language assists him; for it will be found, that in most languages, the names of many particular sounds are so formed, as to carry some affinity to the sound which they signify; as with us, the whistling of winds, the buz and hum of insects, the hiss of serpents, the crash of falling timber; and many other instances, where the word has been plainly framed upon the sound it represents. I shall produce a remarkable example of this beauty from Milton, taken from two passages in Paradise Lost, describing the sound made, in the one, by the opening of the gates of hell; in the other, by the opening of those of heaven. The contrast between the two, displays, to great advantage, the poet’s art. The first is the opening of hell’s gates:
- On a sudden, open fly,
With impetuous recoil, and jarring sound,
Th’ infernal doors; and on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder. - - - B, L
Observe, now, the smoothness of the other*
- - - Heaven opened wide
Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound,
On golden hinges turning. - - B. i$.
The following beautiful passage from Tasso’s 'Gierusalemme, has been often admired on account of the imitation effected by sound of the thing represented:
Chiama gli habitator de l’ombre eterne
Il rauco suon de la Tartareo tromba:
Treman le spaciose atra caverne,
Et l’aer cieco a quel rumor rimbomba;
Né stridendo cosi de la superne
Region del cielo, il folgor piomba;
Ne si scossa giammai la terra,
Quando i vapori in sen gravida serra. Cant. iv. Stanz. 4.
The second class of objects, which the sound of words is often employed to imitate, is motion; as it is swift or slow, violent or gentle, equable or interrupted, easy or accompanied with effort
Though there be no natural affinity between sound, of any kind, and. motion, yet, in the imagination, there is a strong one; as appears from the connexion between music and dancing. And therefore, here it is in the poet’s power to give us a lively idea of the kind of motion he would describe, by means of sounds which correspond, in our imagination, with that motion. Long syllables naturally give the impression of slow motion; as in this line of Virgil:
Olli inter sese magna vi brachia tollunt.
A succession of short syllables presents quick motion to the mind; as
Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum.
Both Homer and Virgil are great masters of this beauty; and their works abound with instances of it; most of them, indeed, so often quoted, and so well known, that it is needless to produce them. I shall give one instance, in English, which seems happy. It is the description of a sudden calm on the seas, in a poem, entitled, The Fleece.
• - -With easy course
The vessels glide; unless their speed be stopp’d
By dead calms, that oft lie on these smooth seas
When every zephyr sleeps; then the shrouds drop,
The downy feather, on the cordage hung,
Moves not; the flat sea shines like yellow gold
Tried in the fire, or like the marble floor
Of some old temple wide. -
The third set of objects which I mentioned the sound of words as capable of representing, consists of the passions and emotions of the mind. Sound may, at first view, appear foreign to these; but, that here also, there is some sort of connexion, is sufficiently proved by the power which music has to awaken, or to assist certain passions, and, according as its strain is varied, to introduce one train of ideas, rather than another. This, indeed, logically speaking, cannot be called a resemblance between the sense and the sound, seeing long or short syllables have no natural resemblance to any thought or passion. But if the arrangement of syllables, by their sound alone, recall one set of ideas more readily than another, and dispose the mind for entering into that affection which the poet means to raise, such arrangement may, justly enough, be said to resemble the sense, or be similar and correspondent to it. I admit, that, in many instances, which are supposed to display this beauty of accommodation of sound to the sense, there is much room for imagination to work; and, according as a reader is struck by a passage, he will often fancy a resemblance between the sound and the sense, which others cannot discover. He modulates the numbers to his own disposition of mind; and, in effect, makes the music which he imagines himself to hear. However, that there are real instances of this kind, and that poetry is capable of some such expression, cannot be doubted. Dryden’s Ode on St. Cecilia’s Day, affords a very beautiful exemplification of it, in the English language. Without much study or reflection, a poet describing pleasure, joy, and
1.9 Lect. XIII
agieeable objects, from the feeling of his subject, naturally runs into smooth, liquid, and flowing numbers:
- Namque ipsa decoram
Caesariem nato genetrix, lumenque juventae
Purpureum, et laetos oculis afflarat honores. iEif. L
Or,
Devenere locos laetos et amoena vireta
Fortunatorum, memorum, sedesque beatas;
Largior hie campos sether, et lumine vestit
Purpureo, solemque suum, sua sidera norant. JEn. VI.
Brisk and lively sensations, exact quicker and more animated numbers:
- - - Juvenum manus emicat ardens
Littus in Hesperium. Mts. VTIL
Melancholy and gloomy subjects, naturally express themselves in slow measures, and long words:
In those deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heavenly pensive contemplation dwells.
Et caligantem nigra formidine lucum.
I have now given sufficient openings into this subject: a moderate acquaintance with the good poets, either ancient or modern, will suggest many instances of the same kind. And with this I finish the discussion of the structure of sentences: having fully considered them under all the heads I mentioned; of perspicuity, unity, strength* and musical arrangement.
How have we hitherto considered sentences; and how are we now to