Again, it must not be supposed that, while melody and rhythm excite pleasure, and we are all enchanted by them, variety and appropriateness have less freshness and grace, or less effect on any of their hearers. No, these too fairly enchant us all when they are really attained, just as their absence jars upon us intensely. This is surely beyond dispute. I may refer, in confirmation, to the case of instrumental music, whether it accompanies singing or dancing; if it attains grace perfectly and throughout, but fails to introduce variety in due season or deviates from what is appropriate, the effect is dull satiety and that disagreeable impression which is made by anything out of harmony with the subject. Nor is my illustration foreign to the matter in hand. The science of public oratory is, after all, a sort of musical science, differing from vocal and instrumental music in degree, not in kind. In oratory, too, the words involve melody, rhythm, variety, and appropriateness; so that, in this case also, the ear delights in the melodies, is fascinated by the rhythms, welcomes the variations, and craves always what is in keeping with the occasion. The distinction between oratory and music is simply one of degree.
Now, the melody of spoken language is measured by a single interval, which is approximately that termed a fifth. When the voice rises towards the acute, it does not rise more than three tones and a semitone; and, when it falls towards the grave, it does not fall more than this interval. Further, the entire utterance during one word is not delivered at the same pitch of the voice throughout but one part of it at the acute pitch, another at the grave, another at both. Of the words that have both pitches, some have the grave fused with the acute on one and the same syllable — those which we call circumflexed; others have both pitches falling on separate syllables, each retaining its own quality. Now in disyllables there is no space intermediate between low pitch and high pitch; while in polysyllabic words, whatever their number of syllables, there is but one syllable that has the acute accent (high pitch) among the many remaining grave ones. On the other hand, instrumental and vocal music uses a great number of intervals, not the fifth only; beginning with the octave, it uses also the fifth, the fourth, the third, the tone, the semitone, and, as some think, even the quarter-tone in a distinctly perceptible way. Music, further, insists that the words should be subordinate to the tune, and not the tune to the words. Among many examples in proof of this, let me especially instance those lyrical lines which Euripides has represented Electra as addressing to the Chorus in the Orestes: —
Hush ye, O hush ye! light be the tread
Of the sandal; no jar let there be!
Afar step ye thitherward, far from his bed.
In these lines the words σῖγα σῖγα λευκόν are sung to one note; and yet each of the three words has both low pitch and high pitch. And the word ἀρβύλης has its third syllable sung at the same pitch as its middle syllable, although it is impossible for a single word to take two acute accents. The first syllable of τίθετε is sung to a lower note, while the two that follow it are sung to the same high note. The circumflex accent of κτυπεῖτε has disappeared, for the two syllables are uttered at one and the same pitch. And the word ἀποπρόβατε does not receive the acute accent on the middle syllable; but the pitch of the third syllable has been transferred to the fourth.
The same thing happens in rhythm. Ordinary prose speech does not violate or interchange the quantities in any noun or verb. It keeps the syllables long or short as it has received them by nature. But the arts of rhythm and music alter them by shortening or lengthening, so that often they pass into their opposites: the time of production is not regulated by the quantity of the syllables, but the quantity of the syllables is regulated by the time.
The difference between music and speech having thus been shown, some other points remain to be mentioned. If the melody of the voice — not the singing voice, I mean, but the ordinary voice — has a pleasant effect upon the ear, it will be called melodious rather than in melody. So also symmetry in the quantities of words, when it preserves a lyrical effect, is rhythmical rather than in rhythm. On the precise bearing of these distinctions I will speak at the proper time. For the present I will pass on to the next question, and try to show how a style of civil oratory can be attained which, simply by means of the composition, charms the ear with its melody of sound, its symmetry of rhythm, its elaborate variety, and its appropriateness to the subject. These are the headings which I have set before myself.
CHAPTER XII. HOW TO RENDER COMPOSITION CHARMING
It is not in the nature of all the words in a sentence to affect the ear in the same way, any more than all visible objects produce the same impression on the sense of sight, things tasted on that of taste, or any other set of stimuli upon the sense to which they correspond. No, different sounds affect the ear with many different sensations of sweetness, harshness, roughness, smoothness, and so on. The reason is to be found partly in the many different qualities of the letters which make up speech, and partly in the extremely various forms in which syllables are put together. Now since words have these properties, and since it is impossible to change the fundamental nature of any single one of them, we can only mask the uncouthness which is inseparable from some of them, by means of mingling and fusion and juxtaposition, — by mingling smooth with rough, soft with hard, cacophonous with melodious, easy to pronounce with hard to pronounce, long with short; and generally by happy combinations of the same kind. Many words of few syllables must not be used in succession (for this jars upon the ear), nor an excessive number of polysyllabic words; and we must avoid the monotony of setting side by side words similarly accented or agreeing in their quantities. We must quickly vary the cases of substantives (since, if continued unduly, they greatly offend the ear); and in order to guard against satiety, we must constantly break up the effect of sameness entailed by placing many nouns, or verbs, or other parts of speech, in close succession. We must not always adhere to the same figures, but change them frequently; we must not re-introduce the same metaphors, but vary them; we must not exceed due measure by beginning or ending with the same words too often.
Still, let no one think that I am proclaiming these as universal rules — that I suppose keeping them will always produce pleasure, or breaking them always produce annoyance. I am not so foolish. I know that pleasure often arises from both sources — from similarity at one time, from dissimilarity at another. In every case we must, I think, keep in view good taste, for this is the best criterion of charm and its opposite. But about good taste no rhetorician or philosopher has, so far, produced a definite treatise. The man who first undertook to write on the subject, Gorgias of Leontini, achieved nothing worth mentioning. The nature of the subject, indeed, is not such that it can fall under any comprehensive and systematic treatment, nor can good taste in general be apprehended by science, but only by personal judgment. Those who have continually trained this latter faculty in many connexions are more successful than others in attaining good taste, while those who leave it untrained are rarely successful, and only by a sort of lucky stroke.
To proceed. I think the following rules should be observed in composition by a writer who looks to please the ear. Either he should link to one another melodious, rhythmical, euphonious words, by which the sense of hearing is touched with a feeling of sweetness and softness, — those which, to put it broadly, come home to it most; or he should intertwine and interweave those which have no such natural effect with those that can so bewitch the ear that the unattractiveness of the one set is overshadowed by the grace of the other. We may compare the practice of good tacticians when marshalling their armies: they mask the weak portions by means of the strong, and so no part of their force proves useless. In the same way I maintain we ought to relieve monotony by the tasteful introduction of variety, since variety is an element of pleasure in everything we do. And last, and certainly most important of all, the setting which is assigned to the subject matter must be appropriate and becoming to it. And, in my opinion, we ought
not to feel shy of using any noun or verb, however hackneyed, unless it carries with it some shameful association; for I venture to assert that no part of speech which signifies a person or a thing will prove so mean, squalid, or otherwise offensive as to have no fitting place in discourse. My advice is that, trusting to the effect of the composition, we should bring out such expressions with a bold and manly confidence, following the example of Homer, in whom the most commonplace words are found, and of Demosthenes and Herodotus and others, whom I will mention a little later so far as is suitable in each case. I think I have now spoken at sufficient length on charm of style. My treatment has been but a brief survey of a wide field, but will furnish the main heads of the study.
CHAPTER XIII. HOW TO RENDER COMPOSITION BEAUTIFUL
So far, so good. But, if some one were to ask me in what way, and by attention to what principles, literary structure can be made beautiful, I should reply: In no other way, believe me, and by no other means, than those by which it is made charming, since the same elements contribute to both, namely noble melody, stately rhythm, imposing variety, and the appropriateness which all these need. For as there is a charming diction, so there is another that is noble; as there is a polished rhythm, so also is there another that is dignified; as variety in one passage adds grace, so in another it adds mellowness; and as for appropriateness, it will prove the chief source of beauty, or else the source of nothing at all. I repeat, the study of beauty in composition should follow the same lines throughout as the study of charm. The prime cause, here as before, is to be found in the nature of the letters and the phonetic effect of the syllables, which are the raw material out of which the fabric of words is woven. The time may perhaps now have come for redeeming my promise to discuss these.
CHAPTER XIV. THE LETTERS: THEIR CLASSIFICATION, QUALITIES, AND MODE OF PRODUCTION
There are in human and articulate speech a number of first-beginnings admitting no further division which we call elements and letters: “letters” (γράμματα) because they are denoted by certain lines (γραμμαί), and “elements” (στοιχεῖα) because every sound made by the voice originates in these, and is ultimately resolvable into them. The elements and letters are not all of the same nature. Of the differences between them, the first is, as Aristoxenus the musician makes clear, that some represent vocal sounds, while others represent noises: the former being represented by the so-called “vowels,” the latter by all the other letters. A second difference is that some of the non-vowels by their nature give rise to some noise or other, — a whizzing, a hissing, a murmur, or suggestions of some such sounds, whereas others are devoid of all voice or noise and cannot be sounded by themselves. Hence some writers have called the latter “voiceless” (“mutes”), the others “semi-voiced” (“semi-vowels”). Those writers who make a threefold division of the first or elemental powers of the voice give the name of voiced (vowels) to all letters which can be uttered, either by themselves or together with others, and are self-sufficing; semi-vowels to all which are pronounced better in combination with vowels, worse and imperfectly when taken singly; mutes to all which by themselves admit of neither perfect nor half-perfect utterance, but are pronounced only in combination with others.
It is not easy to say exactly what the number of these elements is, and our predecessors also have felt much doubt upon the question. Some have held that there are only thirteen elements of speech all told, and that the rest are but combinations of these; others that there are more than even the twenty-four which we now recognize. The discussion of this point belongs more properly to grammar and prosody, or even, perhaps, to philosophy. It is enough for us to assume the elements of speech to be neither more nor less than twenty-four, and to specify the properties of each, beginning with the vowels.
These are seven in number: two short, viz. ε and ο; two long, viz. η and ω; and three common, viz. α, ι and υ. These last can be either long or short, and some call them “common,” as I have just done, others “variable.” All these sounds are produced from the windpipe, which resounds to the breath, while the mouth assumes a simple shape; the tongue takes no part in the process but remains at rest. But the long vowels, and those common vowels that are pronounced long, have an extended and continuous passage of breath, while those that are short or pronounced as short are uttered abruptly, with one burst of breath, the movement of the windpipe being but brief. Of these the strongest, which also produce the most pleasing sound, are the long ones and those common ones which are lengthened in utterance, the reason being that they are sounded for a long time, and do not cut short the tension of the breath. The short ones, or those pronounced short, are inferior, because they lack sonorousness and curtail the sound. Again, of the long vowels themselves the most euphonious is α, when prolonged; for it is pronounced with the mouth open to the fullest extent, and with the breath forced upwards to the palate. η holds the second place, inasmuch as it drives the sound down against the base of the tongue and not upwards, and the mouth is fairly open. Third comes ω: in pronouncing this the mouth is rounded, the lips are contracted, and the impact of the breath is on the edge of the mouth. Still inferior to this is υ; for, through a marked contraction taking place right round the lips, the sound is strangled and comes out thin. Last of all stands ι: for the impact of the breath is on the teeth as the mouth is slightly open and the lips do not clarify the sound. Of the short vowels none has beauty, but ο is less ugly than ε: for the former parts the lips better than the latter, and receives the impact more in the region of the windpipe.
So much for the nature of the vowels. The semi-vowels are as follows. They are eight in number, and five of them are simple, viz. λ, μ, ν, ρ, and σ, while three are double, viz. ζ, ξ, ψ. They are called double either because they are composite, receiving a distinctive sound through the coalescence respectively of σ and δ into ζ, of κ and σ into ξ, and of π and σ into ψ; or because they each occupy the room of two letters in the syllables where they are found. Of these semi-vowels, the double are superior to the single, since they are ampler than the others and seem to approximate more to perfect letters. The simple ones are inferior because their sounds are confined within smaller spaces. They are severally pronounced somewhat as follows: λ by the tongue rising to the palate, and by the windpipe helping the sound; μ by the mouth being closed tight by means of the lips, while the breath is divided and passes through the nostrils; ν by the tongue intercepting the current of the breath, and diverting the sound towards the nostrils; ρ by the tip of the tongue sending forth the breath in puffs and rising to the palate near the teeth; and σ by the entire tongue being carried up to the palate and by the breath passing between tongue and palate, and emitting, round about the teeth, a light, thin hissing. The sound of the three remaining semi-voiced letters is of a mixed character, being formed of one of the semi-voiced letters (σ) and three of the voiceless letters (δ, κ and π).
Such are the formations of the semi-vowels. They cannot all affect the sense of hearing in the same way. λ falls pleasurably on it, and is the sweetest of the semi-vowels; while ρ has a rough quality, and is the noblest of its class. The ear is affected in a sort of intermediate way by μ and ν, which are pronounced with nasal resonance, and produce sounds similar to those of a horn. σ is an unattractive, disagreeable letter, positively offensive when used to excess. A hiss seems a sound more suited to a brute beast than to a rational being. At all events, some of the ancients used it sparingly and guardedly.
There are writers who used actually to compose entire odes without a sigma. Pindar shows the same feeling when he writes: —
Ere then crept in the long-drawn dithyrambic song,
And san that rang false on the speaker’s tongue.
Of the three other letters which are called “double,” ζ falls more pleasurably on the ear than the others. For ξ and ψ give the hiss in combination with κ and π respectively, both of which letters are smooth, whereas ζ is softly rippled by the breath
and is the noblest of its class. So much with regard to the semi-vowels.
Of the so-called “voiceless letters,” which are nine in number, three are smooth, three rough, and three between these. The smooth are κ, π, τ; the rough θ, φ, χ; the intermediate, β, γ, δ. They are severally pronounced as follows: three of them (π, θ, β) from the edge of the lips, when the mouth is compressed and the breath, being driven forward from the windpipe, breaks through the obstruction. Among these π is smooth, φ rough, and β comes between the two, being smoother than the latter and rougher than the former. This is one set of three mutes, all three spoken with a like configuration of our organs, but differing in smoothness and roughness. The next three are pronounced by the tongue being pressed hard against the extremity of the mouth near the upper teeth, then being blown back by the breath, and affording it an outlet downwards round the teeth. These differ in roughness and smoothness, τ being the smoothest of them, θ the roughest, and δ medial or common. This is the second set of three mutes. The three remaining mutes are spoken with the tongue rising to the palate near the throat, and the windpipe echoing to the breath. These, again, differ in no way from one another as regards formation; but κ is pronounced smoothly, χ roughly, γ moderately and between the two. Of these the best are those which are uttered with a full breath; next those with moderate breath; worst those with smooth breath, since they have their own force alone, while the rough letters have the breath also added, so that they are somewhere nearer perfection than the others.
Delphi Complete Works of Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Illustrated) (Delphi Ancient Classics Book 79) Page 127
