It still remains for me to speak about appropriateness. All the other ornaments of speech must be associated with what is appropriate; indeed, if any other quality whatever fails to attain this, it fails to attain the main essential, — perhaps fails altogether. Into the question as a whole this is not the right time to go; it is a profound study, and would need a long treatise. But let me say what bears on the special department which I am actually discussing; or if not all that bears on it, nor even the largest part, at all events as much as is possible.
It is admitted among all critics that appropriateness is that treatment which suits the actors and actions concerned. Just as the choice of words may be either appropriate or inappropriate to the subject matter, so also surely must the composition be. This statement I had best illustrate from actual life. I refer to the fact that we do not put our words together in the same way when angry as when glad, nor when mourning as when afraid, nor when under the influence of any other emotion or calamity as when conscious that there is nothing at all to agitate or annoy us.
These few words on a wide subject are merely examples of the countless other things which could be added if one wished to treat fully all the aspects of appropriateness. But I have one obvious remark to make of a general nature. When the same men in the same state of mind report occurrences which they have actually witnessed, they do not use a similar style in describing all of them, but in their very way of putting their words together imitate the things they report, not purposely, but carried away by a natural impulse. Keeping an eye on this principle, the good poet and orator should be ready to imitate the things of which he is giving a verbal description, and to imitate them not only in the choice of words but also in the composition. This is the practice of Homer, that surpassing genius, although he has but one metre and few rhythms. Within these limits, nevertheless, he is continually producing new effects and artistic refinements, so that actually to see the incidents taking place would give no advantage over our having them thus described. I will give a few instances, which the reader may take as representative of many. When Odysseus is telling the Phaeacians the story of his wanderings and of his descent into Hades, he brings the miseries of the place before our eyes. Among them, he describes the torments of Sisyphus, for whom they say that the gods of the nether world have made it a condition of release from his awful sufferings to have rolled a stone over a certain hill, and that this is impossible, as the stone invariably falls down again just as it reaches the top. Now it is worth while to observe how Homer will express this by a mimicry which the very arrangement of his words produces: —
There Sisyphus saw I receiving his guerdon of mighty pain:
A monster rock upheaving with both hands aye did he strain;
With feet firm-fixed, palms pressed, with gasps, with toil most sore,
That rock to a high hill’s crest heaved he.
Here it is the composition that brings out each of the details — the weight of the stone, the laborious movement of it from the ground, the straining of the man’s limbs, his slow ascent towards the ridge, the difficulty of thrusting the rock upwards. No one will deny the effect produced. And on what does the execution of each detail depend? Certainly the results do not come by chance or of themselves. To begin with: in the two lines in which Sisyphus rolls up the rock, with the exception of two verbs all the component words of the passage are either disyllables or monosyllables. Next, the long syllables are half as numerous again as the short ones in each of the two lines. Then, all the words are so arranged as to advance, as it were, with giant strides, and the gaps between them are distinctly perceptible, in consequence of the concurrence of vowels or the juxtaposition of semi-vowels and mutes; and the dactylic and spondaic rhythms of which the lines are composed are the longest possible and take the longest possible stride. Now, what is the effect of these several details? The monosyllabic and disyllabic words, leaving many intervals between each other, suggest the duration of the action; while the long syllables, which require a kind of pause and prolongation, reproduce the resistance, the heaviness, the difficulty. The inhalation between the words and the juxtaposition of rough letters indicate the pauses in his efforts, the delays, the vastness of the toil. The rhythms, when it is observed how long-drawn-out they are, betoken the straining of his limbs, the struggle of the man as he rolls his burden, and the upheaving of the stone. And that this is not the work of Nature improvising, but of art attempting to reproduce a scene, is proved by the words that follow these. For the poet has represented the return of the rock from the summit and its rolling downward in quite another fashion; he quickens and abbreviates his composition. Having first said, in the same form as the foregoing,
but a little more,
And atop of the ridge would it rest —
he adds to this,
some Power back turned it again:
Rushing the pitiless boulder went rolling adown to the plain.
Do not the words thus arranged roll downhill together with the impetus of the rock? Indeed, does not the speed of the narration outstrip the rush of the stone? I certainly think so. And what is the reason here again? It is worth noticing. The line which described the downrush of the stone has no monosyllabic words, and only two disyllabic. Now this, in the first place, does not break up the phrases but hurries them on. In the second place, of the seventeen syllables in the line ten are short, seven long, and not even these seven are perfect. So the line has to go tumbling down-hill in a heap, dragged forward by the shortness of the syllables. Moreover, one word is not divided from another by any appreciable interval, for vowel does not meet vowel, nor semi-vowel or mute meet semi-vowel — conjunctions the natural effect of which is to make the connexions harsher and less close-fitting. There is, in fact, no perceptible division if the words are not forced asunder, but they slip into one another and are swept along, and a sort of great single word is formed out of all owing to the closeness of the junctures. And what is most surprising of all, not one of the long feet which naturally fit into the heroic metre — whether spondee or bacchius — has been introduced into the line, except at the end. All the rest are dactyls, and these with their irrational syllables hurried along, so that some of the feet do not differ much from trochees. Accordingly nothing hinders the line from being rapid, rounded and swift-flowing, welded together as it is from such rhythms as this. Many such passages could be pointed out in Homer. But I think the foregoing lines amply sufficient, and I must leave myself time to discuss the remaining points.
The aims, then, which should be steadily kept in view by those who mean to form a charming and noble style, alike in poetry and in prose, are in my opinion those already mentioned. These, at all events, are the most essential and effective. But those which I have been unable to mention, as being more minute and more obscure than these, and, owing to their number, hard to embrace in a single treatise, I will bring before you in our daily lessons, and I will draw illustrations in support of my views from many good poets, historians, and orators. But now I will go on to add to this work, before concluding it, the remainder of the points which I promised to treat of, and the discussion of which is as indispensable as any: viz. what are the different styles of composition and what the usual distinguishing mark of each is. I will include some mention of those who have been eminent in them, and will also add examples from each author. When the treatment of these points is completed, I must proceed to dispose of certain difficulties very generally felt: what it can be that makes prose appear like a poem though retaining the form of prose, and verse like prose though maintaining the loftiness of poetry; for almost all the best writers of prose or poetry have these excellences in their style. I must do my best, then, to set forth my views on these matters also. I will begin with the first.