“Methought among the lawns together
We wandered, underneath5 the young grey dawn,
And multitudes of dense6 white fleecy clouds
Were wandering in thick flocks along the mountains,
Shepherded by the slow unwilling7 wind.”
You have read this with pleasure, and is not the source of this pleasure the ease and celerity with which the mind reaches the “desired conception”? Vividly8 and forcibly the mind is led by cunning use of phrase and rhythm and figure to realize the picture, and there is a glow of pleasure in the reaction from the facility. Language is a medium for the transfer of ideas, and when it accomplishes this office most effectively, as in the present case, and acts upon the mind so clearly and forcibly that nolens volens 311the reader at once apprehends9 and comprehends, he feels a thrill of pleasure therewith, just as there is pleasure connected with the rapid and easy assimilation of well cooked food. Before developing and criticising this theory I may remark in passing that Blair, the rhetorician, in treating of the structure of sentences foreshadows in a way the economic theory when he writes that “to have the relation of every word and member of a sentence marked in the most proper and distinct manner, gives, not clearness only, but grace and beauty to a sentence, making the mind pass smoothly12 and agreeably along the parts of it.” This surely implies that ?sthetical pleasure of style may be based in a psychological economy and facility. It is indeed a commonplace remark, “The book is so well written that you cannot mistake or miss its meaning”; wherein the identification of style with intelligibility13 becomes a truism. Certainly Mr. Spencer has not in the economic theory propounded14 anything radically15 new.
We note at the outset that while this pleasure of style may result from economy it is not the pleasure of the conscious economizer. The reader who is enjoying a very readable book has a distinct pleasure from him who views with satisfaction his finishing a book at a great and unexpected saving of mental energy. We have here the direct pleasure from economical exercise of the faculties16 contrasted with the indirect introspective-retrospective pleasure at economy effected. Many persons take as much pleasure in making mental energy go as far as possible, but this pleasure in economy is obviously not the pleasure of style, which is not reflective, but na?ve and direct impression.
Language, either spoken or written, by its more or less effective modes of accomplishing its office does then awaken17 a simple and direct pleasure, according to the general law that pleasure accompanies efficient acts as a sanction and stimulus18. It is obvious that style for spoken 312language, oratorical20 style, is precedent21 in its formation to style for written language or literary style, and that it has greatly affected22 literary style throughout its whole history. Yet the distinctness of the two modes is affirmed by the common observation that a speech, impressively pleasing to listen to, often does not read well. While it may be true that in its origin literary style borrowed certain devices from oratorical, yet in its latest evolution the written page is far from being the speaking page. The book is not a substitute speaker addressing us, and modes of expression which are most fitting for conversation and oration23, though sometimes used by writers, are alien to pure literary art. However, I cannot pursue this interesting subject, nor yet can I here treat of the origin of style more than to merely observe that it is considerably25 later than the origin of language itself. Neither the original uncouth26 speech, whether interjectional or onomatopoetic, nor the earliest rude inscriptions28 can be said to have style, oratorical or literary. Style is the offspring of specialization; it first appeared when men recognised some one as particularly gifted for fitting expression, and chose him as spokesman because of this ability to communicate what was desired to be said with special force and clearness. Thus arises the orator19 who achieves and invents oratorical style. Likewise the writer is one who is selected for his special abilities in expression by word of pen, and the scribe, clerk, and public letter writer arise and evolve literary style as a skilful29 way of effectively conveying ideas and impressions by written language. The reader is also evolved, and in the reciprocal relation of demand and supply and the competitive struggle to secure readers, the writer seeks ever more and more to please and interest by introducing and perfecting various inventions to make the reading of his work very easy and enjoyable. Thus it comes that readableness is the natural test for reading matter.
The economic theory of style in fine art plainly implies 313at bottom physiological30 economy, for all psychological economy can only be effected on this basis. The psychology of style must rest on a physiology31 of style. We know that the pleasures of form and colour in sculpture and painting are the reflex of physiological functions as easily and completely performed. The curve of beauty is such because the eye follows it more easily than other lines; the pleasing colour is such because the physiological stimulus is accomplished32 in a normal and facile way. And as visibility is the test for the arts which appeal to the eye, so audibility is for the fine art which appeals to the ear. Pleasure from music is the reflex of aural33 functioning accomplishing the most with least strain. Now the pleasure which comes from literary style must similarly be sought in some physiological mode. While plain print and good paper are incidental pleasures in reading, they are not primarily due to the stylist, who does, however, appeal to the eye by the due proportioning of long and short words, sentences and paragraphs. Though there is no conscious intent by the stylist, yet it may be believed that the use of certain letters and certain successions of letters as more or less easy for the eye is a matter of some importance. Some letters and some combinations are ocularly more pleasing than others, and this is clearly founded on economic physiological conditions. It is greatly to be desired that physiologists34 would invent new alphabetical35 forms which should be most adapted to the eye. It is scarcely to be supposed that our present A B C's are the simplest and easiest line-combinations for the eye. When the visual side of reading is made as easy as possible, the general reflex sense of facility and pleasure therewith is certainly increased. The artificial languages now being exploited, as Volapuk, ought and would effect a great physiological saving, as would also be accomplished by a phonetic36 spelling.
But the direct visible function of style is certainly far 314inferior to the indirect. The power of style is very largely in stimulating37 pleasing visual images. The main element in literature we are told is vision and imagination, which is but a restimulation and recombination of ocular experiences. Sensation is the source and strong basis for all those faint revivals38 which are so aptly and pleasantly called up by the literary artist, and hence when the poet speaks of “the light which never was on sea or land,” this is really meaningless, since all our light impressions are terrestrial in their nature. To the blind man the whole visual effect, direct and indirect, of style is lost; his imaging power must be in some other sense.
Literature is then, like sculpture and painting, largely a visual art, and its pleasure-giving quality is the reflex of visibility. Mere24 form and colour may in a sense constitute a picture; though in general we demand that it mean something, suggest something. A picture is such as depicting40 something, and so being more than a study in form or colour. The mere direct pleasure of ocular sensation plays a large part in graphic41 and glyptic art, yet it is commonly conceived that some measure of imagination, that is, some indirect visible function, is necessary even here. Sculpture and painting depend like literature on both direct and indirect vision as physiological and psychological basis of ?sthetic pleasure.
But in a secondary way literary style depends for its effect upon auditory sensations both direct and revival39. We mentally, and often orally, pronounce as we read, and so appreciate sonorous42 quality and onomatopoetic force. Alliteration43, rhyme, euphony44, and rhythm play certainly a considerable part in the charm of style, and literature on this side approaches and passes gradually into music. Euphony answers to melody, and rhyme and rhythm to harmony. Literature may become for us merely a succession of pleasing sounds, as when we hum over some favourite lines of poetry, or when, ignorant of the Italian 315language, we listen to an opera. Some of Milton’s lists of names in such lines as these,—
“Of Cambalu, seat of Cathayan Can,
And Samarchand by Oxus, Temer’s throne”—
charm merely by the flow and fulness of sound. But the stylist aims, not merely at formal sensuous45 beauty in tone and cadence46 of language, he aims to suggest pleasing sounds, and to awaken the auditory imagination, and to harmonize sense with sound as is done so successfully by poets like Tennyson and prosaists like Sir Thomas Browne. All this auditory side of literary style is lost on the deaf, as the visual is lost on the blind. Literature as an art is neither blind like music nor deaf like painting, but it is a compound art, visual-auditory, and thus, by virtue48 of its range, is the greatest of the arts. It is true that indirectly49 and in a very limited way painting can suggest sounds, and music sights, but literature, both directly and indirectly, can freely and fully47 give both. Word-music and word-painting are both methods of literary style. In short, the explanation of the pleasure of style is pleasing sight or sound directly or indirectly given, and the explanation of the pleasing character of the sight or sound is as the reflex of easy economical physiological functioning as basis of easy economical psychic50 function.
But we have now to ask whether economy of attention is the sole psychological secret of style, and whether, indeed, it is always necessary to style. Is style, like grammar or orthography51, merely a more or less conventionalized device to make intelligibility certain and easy? Is our reading always the more pleasurable as it is the more effortless? The pleasure of facility certainly bears a large part in much of our literary enjoyment52, but there is another and opposite law of pleasure which, I think, often determines pleasure in style. To accomplish much with no exertion53, to slide down a long hill, gives pleasure, but there is also a pleasure in exertion, in climbing hills 316as well as sliding down. The pleasures of strenuous54 activity of attention form a certain element in literary effect. The writer may do too much for the reader, may make everything so simple and easy that the reader has nothing to do, but is carried along without volition55 and curiosity, losing all joy of attainment56 and grasp. For my own part, I often find authors too fluent and facile, especially among the French, and sometimes among the English, as, for instance, in some of John Stuart Mill’s writings. These do not leave enough for me to do, and led skilfully59 along so smooth a road that I am not conscious of moving, I lose the pleasure of achievement, of the sense of enlargement of conscious powers. Easy got, easy goes, is the law here as elsewhere. The pleasure of acquirement is directly as the amount of attention exercised.
Mr. Spencer in discussing this matter remarks that, as “language is the vehicle of thought, we may say that in all cases the friction60 and inertia61 of the vehicle deduct62 from its efficiency, and that in composition the chief thing to be done is, to reduce the friction and inertia to the smallest amounts.” But it must be remembered that motion is not only against friction but by friction. The rail may be too smooth as well as too rough. Every locomotive, for a given piece of track with a given gradient, has a certain co-efficient of friction for its most effective working, above and below which there is alike decrease of efficiency; and in engineering it is equally a problem to keep friction up as to reduce it. So I say of style, that it may be too smooth and facile, and may reduce mental friction to so low a point that there is no grasp and no real progress. A sentence of Hooker or Milton, magnificent stylists though they are, can, as an affair of economy of attention, be greatly improved by breaking it up into a number of simple plain sentences after the primer fashion, The cat mews, The dog barks, etc.; but this process certainly is not an improvement of their style. But if 317economy of attention were the sole secret of style, certainly the more economy we introduce the greater and better should be the style. Professor Sherman, of the University of Nebraska, in a recent article shows that heaviness—that which requires “constant effort in reading”—is due to the number of words per sentence, which has been reduced in the course of the history of English prose from an average of fifty words a sentence in Chaucer and Spenser to five in the columns of a modern, low-grade, popular story-paper; but it obviously cannot be maintained that the style of the story-paper is ten times better than that of Spenser’s State of Ireland.
We might then set up with plausibility63 an exactly opposite theory to the economic, and maintain that the secret of style is in exciting us to the greatest attentive64 effort, and that the best style is that which rouses us to the severest mental exertion. However, I believe that these two opposite methods of style are complementary. The great stylist is he who strikes the exact mean between over facility and over difficulty, and touches the exact co-efficient of mental friction in the reader, at which his whole power of mind comes into highest and most harmonious65 and effective exercise. The accomplished stylist most cleverly throws in questions, suggests doubts, and defers66 answers. To read his book is not a toboggan slide, but an obstacle race. What is plot interest but a skilful putting of obstacles in the reader’s way, deferring67 and thwarting68 his expectations, putting him on the qui vive of attention? By the development of plot the novelist and dramatist plays hide and seek with the reader. No cunning artist reveals at once his whole thought in a blaze of light, but he mystifies and draws in half-tones, thus to stir you to reach out and grasp his meaning.
But we are as yet far from exhausting the psychological significance of pleasure in style when we trace it to a reflex from either decrease or increase of attentive effort. 318The pleasure we have so far considered is na?ve and direct; it is from literary art rather than in or at literary art as such. The child and the most ordinary reader derive69 from books a simple and natural pleasure which they do not reflect upon, and do not in any wise conceive the ways and means by which the effect is produced. Indeed, in the presence of the most lucid70 and perfect art these readers, like Partridge at the play, take everything as a matter of course, as just the way they would themselves express it. The dilettante71 alone tastes the pleasure in style as such; as an art, an adaptation of means to ends, he alone appreciates the delicate adjustment of expression to thought, the choice diction, the deft72 management of word and phrase. The quality of this technical pleasure in style is exemplified in its highest form in this note of a great artist-critic, Shelley, appended to his fine translation of the opening chorus in “Faust”:—
"Such is a literal translation of this astonishing chorus; it is impossible to represent in another language the melody of the versification; even the volatile73 strength and delicacy74 of the ideas escape in the crucible75 of translation, and its reader is surprised to find a caput mortuum."
The psychological nature of this pleasure in style is obviously quite distinct from the direct pleasures from reading which have been previously76 discussed. Here is pleasure in literary art, not for what it brings, but for its own sake. The distinction between the pleasure the average tourist takes in travelling swiftly and smoothly in a de luxe train, and that taken by the professional engineer inspecting the high-speed locomotive, is analogous77 in quantity and quality to the distinctive78 pleasures of critical and uncritical appreciation79 of fine art. But we have as yet only cleared the ground toward ascertaining80 the psychological rationale of literary style. We have marked only general causes of literary pleasure, we have noticed in this pleasure only those elements which flow 319from the psychological and physiological basis of all pleasure as reflex of functioning. That we admire and take pleasure in nice adjustment of means to ends is also a general law of pleasure with all who act teleologically82, and are capable of appreciating actions of this kind. But is there not a specific quality in the ?sthetic pleasure from or in literary art which has not yet been accounted for? Certainly the common expression, “more forcible than elegant,” as applied83 to spoken or written language, denotes that for the popular consciousness style is somewhat more than and different from mere force and consequent ease and largeness of apprehension. We hear a very loud sound with greater ease than smaller sounds, there is economy of attention, yet this does not bestow84 ?sthetic quality on the great sound. At the renderings86 of the finest music we are often called on to strain the ear, and the mental receptiveness as a whole to the utmost, in order to hear, note, and appreciate the delicate effects. So in literary art it is not that which speaks most loudly and strongly to the mind that thereby87 becomes the best style. In fact, the most forcible method of expression is often, as is generally acknowledged, slang, which is debarred from style. Literary style seems, then, more than a mental labour-saving machine. As a utilitarian88 device it certainly does save mental exertion, and gives rapidity, accuracy, and facility to psychic function. Like grammar, a mechanic rhetoric10 is useful, and we receive a pleasure from its use as from any other mechanism89 of man’s industry; and further, we may take a certain pride and pleasure in its consciously recognised effectiveness. However, we have not yet reached style in the higher sense, which may be clear and forcible, but must be dignified90, graceful91, and beautiful. For purposes of business, for conventional communication, for science, for philosophy, language fulfils its end in stating accurately92, clearly, and forcibly; but style as literary art is more than instrument 320to intelligibility, it has an independent office of its own. Language in the lower service as a medium of communication is a lens which cannot be too transparent93; but in the higher service to fine art, language is rather a mosaic94 window of stained glass which both absorbs and transmits light, which both conceals95 and reveals, which we look at as well as through. In literary art or style, language has a value of beauty for itself alone, as well as a value of use as a means of communication.
But the root of style is in emotion; it is as expression of emotion, and in the main of one kind of emotion, that language rises to style. All emotions influence language expression, and any one may, under certain conditions, lead towards literary art; there is an eloquence96 of wrath97 and of fear, of hate and of love, and these emotions may induce artistic98 creativeness in written language; but the main impulse to art is in the feeling for beauty per se. This is a certain mode of emotional delight which every one who has felt it knows at once in its quality as quite distinct as a psychic mode. How literary style rises and falls with ?sthetic emotion might be exemplified by a wide range of quotations99, but an example or two must suffice. This, from one of Shelley’s letters, will, I trust, illustrate100 the point:—
“My dear P——, I wrote to you the day before our departure from Naples. We came by slow journeys, with our own horses, to Rome, resting one day at Mola di Gaeta, at the inn called Villa101 di Cicerone—from being built on the ruins of his villa, whose immense substructions overhang the sea, and are scattered102 among the orange groves103. Nothing can be lovelier than the scene from the terraces of the inn. On one side precipitous mountains whose bases slope into an inclined plane of olive and orange copses, the latter forming, as it were, an emerald sky of leaves, starred with innumerable globes of 321their ripening104 fruit, whose rich splendour contrasted with the deep green foliage105; on the other the sea, bounded on one side by the antique town of Gaeta, and the other by what appears to be an island, the promontory106 of Circe. From Gaeta to Terracina the whole scenery is of the most sublime107 character. At Terracina precipitous conical crags of immense height shoot into the sky and overhang the sea. At Albano we arrived again in sight of Rome. Arches after arches in unending lines stretching across the uninhabited wilderness108, the blue defined line of the mountains seen between them, masses of nameless ruin standing109 like rocks out of the plain, and the plain itself, with its billowy and unequal surface, announced the neighbourhood of Rome. And what shall I say to you of Rome? If I speak of the inanimate ruins, the rude stones piled upon stones which are the sepulchres of the fame of those who once arrayed them with the beauty which has faded, will you believe me insensible to the vital, the almost breathing creations of genius yet subsisting111 in their perfection?”
This letter opens with language as method of conventional commonplace communication. The second and third sentences are barely tinged112 by ?sthetic emotion, as in “immense substructions” and “lovelier”; but it is not till the fourth sentence that style fairly begins. Then it rapidly falls away in the fifth, sixth, and seventh sentences, to arise again with a new wave of ?sthetic emotion, which progresses through the remainder of the quotation. The culminating points of the ?sthetic emotion are precisely113 the culminating points of style, namely, in the phrases, “an emerald sky of leaves, starred with innumerable globes of their ripening fruit,” and in “sepulchres of the fame of those who once arrayed them with the beauty which has faded.” What constitutes the peculiar114 attractiveness of these expressions is this, that they are rich in ?sthetic feeling, and communicate it to us. We are by 322the power of style sharers in high delights. In the first case we are awakened115 to a visualizing116, to a sensuous beauty, though compounded with other elements, through metaphor117; and in the second case the emotion is a complex of sensuous and spiritual elements.
Take also the verses from Shelley already quoted. Mr. Spencer, in commenting on these lines, has correctly pitched upon the word “shepherded” as the culminating point; but when he intimates that the beauty and pleasing effect is due to the “distinctness with which it calls up the feature of the scene, bringing the mind by a bound to the desired conception,” we must dissent118. This purely119 utilitarian explanation fails to recognise that poetic27 metaphor is confusing—here two classes of objects, clouds and sheep—and misleading, except to the poetic mind. A writer who was aiming purely at clearness and correctness of imaging, as a popular scientific writer, might mention the clouds as like patches of white wool; but he would not bring in the extraneous120 ideas of sheep and shepherd. If Mr. Spencer were trying to give us a vivid idea of clouds, he would surely not speak in this purely poetic fashion. It is a mode of fancy and emotion which the poet is indulging when he writes these lines, and not an intellectual impulse to clarify and illustrate. If Mr. Spencer receives them in this latter spirit, he misses their psychic content and explanation. Poetry is only intelligible121 to the poetic, and the German pedant122 who emended “Celia, drink to me only with thine eyes,” to “Celia, wink123 to me only with thine eyes,” was certainly economizing124 attention and rendering85 conception easy, but at the expense of poetic beauty. The source of the pleasure we take in poetic style—the highest and purest form of literary art—is evidently not for its intelligibility, at least primarily, but its ?sthetic quality, an expression of a peculiar emotional attitude toward objects.
To illustrate this psychological distinction between the 323sense of beauty as inherent in style, and style as mere force and clearness, I instance further only this sentence from Mr. W. D. Howell’s Italian sketches125, describing a side wheel steamer in motion: “The wheel of the steamer was as usual chewing the sea, and finding it unpalatable, and making vain efforts at expectoration.” This is the ne plus ultra of a pseudo literary style, of affected and strained literary art. An ugly metaphor, forcible and clear enough, is relentlessly126 pursued to its ugliest conclusion. Here is style in pin feathers, and we are glad to remember that it was writ11 in callow youth. It brings “the mind by a bound to the desired conception,” but this does not sanction it as fine art, for it is utterly127 without taste and beauty.
I believe then from considering the previous examples—and they might be indefinitely extended—that the main function of literary art is not intelligibility, and that pleasure in style in its specific quality does not arise out of economy of attention, but it is a direct communication of pleasant ?sthetic emotion artistically128 conveyed. Intelligibility is a regulative by-law of art, but it is neither standard nor goal. Literary art is then a compromise between intellectual and emotional motives129, between sense and sensibility. The natural choice and order of words for easiest apprehension is rarely the artistic order, as every littérateur knows full well. It is, for example, simplest and clearest to repeat the best and exact word, yet the literary artist avoids, and rightly, the repetition of words in the same sentence or paragraph. Thus also, while, as Mr. Spencer suggests, rhythm and euphony may often help sense, yet I believe they as often distract from it. We often tend to turn over in a very senseless way words and verses which please the ear. As language is both an organ for meaning and for beauty, literary art, like architectural, is always a compromise between utility and beauty, that is, neither literature nor architecture are pure and perfectly130 independent arts. However, it is possible 324that poetic license131 may, as has already been done to some extent in English, ultimately develop a pure poetic language, entirely132 distinct from the utilitarian product, and bound by none of its practical rules; then and then only will literature become a pure art.
Further, that literary art does not always imply clearness and consequent economy of attention is evident when we reflect that the nature of emotion is to disturb the mind, and hence also the language expression. Incoherence, dimness, darkness, as qualities of ?sthetic emotion, render literary art correspondingly broken and obscure. The weird133, fantastic, and mysterious issues in style which is far from being easily intelligible. In the dreamy poetry of the Orient all is hazy134 and evanescent, and the mind strives in vain for clear impressions, yet here is the peculiar charm of style. Among Occidentals William Blake, with his childish incoherence, and Robert Browning, with his harsh abruptness135, have a certain obscurity, but both are great stylists and great poets.
Style then is at bottom something quite distinct from either ease or difficulty of apprehension. It is founded, not on apprehension at all, but on emotional receptiveness. Hence very active and intellectual natures seem ever debarred from really entering the realms of art, because they ever fail to appreciate that the function of art is not practical, or ethical136, or scientific, or philosophic137, but emotional. The man of business, of politics, of science, of thought, cannot give himself up without questioning to be thrilled and suffused138 by the unanalyzable charm of mere beauty. Such natures seem incapable139 of receiving, they must get and acquire, and so they miss all that art to which the only open sesame is a quiet inattention and a wise passiveness. The kingdom of art is not taken by violence, and the violent do not take it by mere intellectual force.
As to the origin and nature of the feeling for beauty 325in style as for beauty in general, the reason may be sought in survivals of primitive140 pleasures. Thus the expression, before quoted, “starred with innumerable globes of their ripening fruit,” aside from the pleasure in sonorous quality and artistic construction, pleases mainly as awakening141 the feeling for natural beauty. But what is the psychological explanation for this ?sthetic emotion in presence of tree, fruit, flower, sky, and all landscape features. It may largely be a revival of feelings felt long since by our arboreal142 and forest-haunting ancestors, “combinations of states which were organized in the race, during barbarous times, when its pleasurable activities were chiefly among the woods and waters” (Spencer, Psychology, Sect143. 214). In the woods and by the streams there tends to revive the long outgrown144 physical emotion; the old savage145 feelings of delight and excitement in the chase come back to the civilized146 man, and in stealthy approach of game and skilful slaying147 the modern man re-experiences far distant ancestral joys. Now literary art by skilfully setting forth148 scenes of savage life may renew, the old survival feelings to a certain degree of illusive149 life. This is done to a large extent by pastoral poetry, mythic story, legend and fairy tale, whereby we drop back into a very old and simple mode of enjoyable mental life. The basis of primitive psychosis is in the particular concrete and animate110, and literary art, especially in its highest manifestation150, poetry, as becoming simple, sensuous, and impassioned, has a foundation in survival tendencies. Through literature mankind renews its youth. Similarly we may suppose that if in the future psychic evolution of the race the present mode of thinking in general and abstract terms should be succeeded by some new and higher phase, then the artificial stimulating the revival of this outgrown abstract phase would constitute a source of pleasure and might be achieved through a style. As a means toward revivals literary style is a backward moving spirit in sharp 326contrast to science, which, as generalizing and depersonifying, is the forward moving process.
However, we have sharply to distinguish between what is given in a survival state and that which accompanies it. Primitive realization151 is always single and na?ve, but when it comes up in a survival it is generally consciously contrasted with accustomed modes by consciousness, and there arises a reflective pleasure of contrast which is not contained in the survival itself, but of which the survival is merely a condition. Further, our realization of the outgrown psychic elements is very generally dramatic. We take self-conscious pleasure in investigating, assuming, and re-enacting past psychic phases. Even when a survival state arises spontaneously and naturally, it holds consciousness at best in its original status for a moment only, for self-consciousness quickly occurs and brings in a variety of secondary emotions. However attained152, the obsolescent153 type of consciousness does not stand in its simple original force, but most often there is more or less make-believe, some sense of its artificial and unreal nature: we do not become children by playing at being children. Children and savages154 are in the animistic psychic stage, but the poetic interpretation155 of nature by adult man is plainly far more than mere revival of this stage, it is dramatic self-conscious realization. Original animism is often painful; the savage fears his gods and the child dreads156 ghosts; but myths and ghost stories are sources of amusement to us, and the twinge of fear which comes up as survival loses its real force and is dramatically realized and enjoyed. Literary art is a dramatic induction157 into the past rather than incentive158 to mere revival; and it makes us to pleasurably renew alike the outgrown pains and pleasures. We certainly should go far astray if we should consider style as effectual mainly by its exciting to revival of ancestral experiences. What is recurrent is but a small element compared to what is concurrent159.
327We must note the particular case of landscape beauty. Shelley’s description of the orange tree laden160 with fruit excites in us the feeling of pleasure in the beauty of nature, a feeling which is declared by some to be merely the reminiscent revived feelings which our distant progenitors161 felt in the presence of natural forms and forces. But what was the emotion our remote progenitor162 felt at sight of a well-fruited orange tree? Did he feel moved as Shelley was and as we through Shelley are? and is our emotion but a faint survival of that which welled up in him at viewing the mass of green and gold, or has it any relation thereto? The civilized traveller in wild regions is often charmed by the beauty of the scenery which the savage natives do not in the least appreciate. But the revival feelings which come over him must be identical with the feelings of his un?sthetic companions who are totally insensible to natural beauty. The reversal tendency can give to the traveller only an animal pleasure in viewing an orange tree as satisfying to the taste and stomach; a fine, bright day can only suggest the pleasure of a sluggish163 basking164. Goethe rejoiced that, though the incidental pains of ?sthetic sensitivity were great, yet he could see in a tree shedding its leaves more than the approach of winter. Bare revival then cannot in itself constitute ?sthetic pleasure or explain it. A savage race transferred to a civilized land for a few generations and then returned to their native haunts have acute pleasures of revival, but these are not of the ?sthetic quality. An outcropping survival tendency may serve as itself an object for emotion and ?sthetic emotion to the mind experiencing it, but thereby the survival is like any other object, physical or psychical165, which excites ?sthetic sensibility, and it no more explains the emotion for beauty than any other object.
It is evident thus far that the psychological basis of stylistic effect is very complex, and in this essay we 328certainly lay no claim to making an exhaustive enumeration166 of its factors. However, we have still to consider one more element, and perhaps, at least for cultivated minds, the most important psychic element of literary art. Read now the following extract, and analyze167 the impression it makes:—
“The natural thirst that ne’er is satisfied
Excepting with the water for whose grace
The woman of Samaria besought168,
Put me in travail169, and haste goaded170 me
Along the encumbered171 path behind my Leader,
And I was pitying that righteous vengeance172;
And lo! in the same manner as Luke writeth
That Christ appeared to two upon the way
From the sepulchral173 cave already risen,
A shade appeared to us, and came behind us,
Down gazing on the prostrate174 multitude,
Nor were we 'ware175 of it, until it spake,
Saying, 'My brothers, may God give you peace.'”
Here, surely, is neither facility, nor beauty of expression, nor deft and subtle art to please the mind, yet it attracts and interests. The main secret of the effect of Dante’s style is as revelation of personality. Art with Dante is the child of life, the product of long and deep-felt experience; and because he is an original reality he achieves in his writings that distinctiveness176 and distinction which is the truest and highest mark of style. Again, it is not the lucidity177 of Sam Weller’s remarks that pleases us, but rather their characteristic flavour. We delight to come in contact with originals, and we relish178 the characteristic for its own sake, even when ugly or when most unlike ourselves in tendency, and so the modernest of the moderns enjoys Dante, the typical medi?valist. Style is the man. This is the best definition of style and the best explanation of its peculiar effect. Style is expression of subjective179 quality. While scientist and philosopher aim to be objective, to justly reflect and interpret outward reality the literary artist aims merely to give a perfect exposition 329of himself. Style is the literary expression of self-realization. Hence the greatest stylists write to please themselves, and are their own severest critics. Style is timbre180, and the best style is that in which this peculiar tone of the individual mind is most perfectly revealed. A great style is, then, the expression of a great man, and the consummation of style occurs when the genius has grown to the highest point of his individuality—and individuality is genius—with corresponding power of expression. Among Tennyson’s poems the most Tennysonian has the greatest style. When we quote from Wordsworth such lines as,—
“The world is too much with us: late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers”—
and say of them that they are eminently181 Wordsworthian, that no one else could have written them, we have said the highest word for the style.
In the very largest sense style is the evolution of the characteristic; development physical and psychical is but a movement toward style. The progress from homogeneity to heterogeneity182 in matter; the morphological development of animate things from indefinite formless beings to definite, complex types; biological integration183 and specialization—all this is progress of style. Thus the most lion-like lion and the most elephantine elephant respectively achieve the highest style of animal in their kind. The development in the human race is mainly psychic, and includes psychic classes, orders, genera and species, not as yet so clearly tabulated184 as in general natural history. A genius is the inauguration185 of a new genus, style, or type of man; he is a psychic “sport,” to borrow a botanical term. A new mode of personality is achieved and may manifest itself in various ways of action, thought and emotion. If the expression is through literature a great style is generated, and this style grows with the growing individuality—the productions of youth have little style—and culminates186 with its culmination187.
330To discover style is almost as rare a gift as to achieve it. The critical sense is about as uncommon188 as the creative power; hence the greatest masters of style have had often to wait long for recognition, which would hardly be the case if the main value of style was in economising attention. According to this theory, we should expect the stylist to be welcomed with instant and universal appreciation, a phenomenon which rarely or never occurs. With very many writers, as with Wordsworth, recognition is very tardy189, and with some only posthumous190. Many readers fail even with the utmost attention to appreciate the greatest artists, and can make nothing out of them; a few rise at length to some understanding; but only rare and select spirits find themselves at once en rapport191. The true connoisseur192 and critic must introduce and interpret to us the characteristic quality or style of the littérateur, else we may never know and feel it. Recognition and appreciation of style as the characteristic is, then, for the vast majority an acquired taste; it is slowly and painfully learned, and so the emotion for style as specific mode of expression must be pronounced a very late psychic development.
The taste and emotion for the characteristic as such, whenever and however acquired, is certainly a peculiar and definite mode of emotion. It is far from being the feeling of discipleship193, and is often excited by that which is most remote and opposite to ourselves. We say of a certain person, “He is a character,” and he interests and pleases us as such, though entirely foreign to us in either sympathy or antipathy194. As an entirely disinterested195 emotion, the ?sthetic is beyond the range of common na?ve consciousness. The enjoyment of the characteristic per se is specially58 for the analytically196 super-conscious cosmopolite and for the cultured critic. The pleasure comes partly from the novelty and the contrast reflectively understood, partly from admiration197 for the forcefulness of creative personality, 331its plastic power in forming its material of expression, and largely a teleologic81 pleasure in perceiving fulness and purity of type. The emotion for style as characteristic expression is plainly one of those which is not due to the utility in the struggle for existence, but has arisen when experience comes to be cultivated for its own sake.
When, as in eras like our own, personality weakens, and the inner plastic and creative force of conviction and emotion decreases, the writer is driven to technical treatment. The littérateur, as he has little or nothing to say, contents himself with playing tricks on language, and elaborating rhythms and cadences198. Style becomes finicky; a race of prinking poetasters and priggish prosaists arise, punctiliously199 formal, and superlatively dainty, who attain57 the art of saying nothing very elegantly, elaborately, and brilliantly. An over-conscious, over-subtle technique destroys the grand style as transmitter of characteristic quality.
I trust I have, in this brief study, made it clear that the psychology of literary style is far from simple, and that a number of factors are involved, which are slighted by Herbert Spencer and others of that school. I believe that any one at all conversant200 with literature who will reflect upon the pleasures he receives from reading, will perceive that the pleasure of smoothness and facility, of moving along rapidly and easily, is but one, and that generally a minor201 factor in literary enjoyment. Beside this, he often has the pleasure of difficulties overcome, of ideas grasped, and delicate emotional touches appreciated by triumphant202 attentive effort. Again, he receives pleasure in perceiving literary skill, the adaptation of artistic means to the artistic end. But, as I have maintained, the chief mode of pleasure is through style as transmitter of ?sthetic emotion and as expression of the characteristic, achieving its acme203 when both these functions are simultaneously204 performed most fully and perfectly.
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1
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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economize
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| v.节约，节省 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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apprehends
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的第三人称单数 )； 理解 | |
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rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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intelligibility
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| n.可理解性，可理解的事物 | |
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propounded
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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radically
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| ad.根本地，本质地 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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oratorical
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| adj.演说的，雄辩的 | |
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precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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29
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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30
physiological
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| adj.生理学的，生理学上的 | |
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physiology
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| n.生理学，生理机能 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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aural
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| adj.听觉的，听力的 | |
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physiologists
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| n.生理学者( physiologist的名词复数 )；生理学( physiology的名词复数 )；生理机能 | |
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35
alphabetical
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| adj.字母（表）的，依字母顺序的 | |
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phonetic
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| adj.语言的，语言上的，表示语音的 | |
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37
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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revivals
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| n.复活( revival的名词复数 )；再生；复兴；（老戏多年后）重新上演 | |
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revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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40
depicting
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| 描绘，描画( depict的现在分词 )； 描述 | |
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41
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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42
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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43
alliteration
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| n.（诗歌的）头韵 | |
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euphony
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| n.悦耳的语音 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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46
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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51
orthography
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| n.拼字法，拼字式 | |
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52
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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56
attainment
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| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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60
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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62
deduct
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| vt.扣除，减去 | |
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plausibility
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| n. 似有道理, 能言善辩 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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66
defers
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| v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的第三人称单数 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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deferring
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| v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的现在分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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thwarting
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| 阻挠( thwart的现在分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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dilettante
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| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
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deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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crucible
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| n.坩锅，严酷的考验 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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analogous
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| adj.相似的；类似的 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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ascertaining
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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teleologic
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| adj.目的论的 | |
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teleologically
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| adj.目的论的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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renderings
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| n.（戏剧或乐曲的）演奏( rendering的名词复数 )；扮演；表演；翻译作品 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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subsisting
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的现在分词 ) | |
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112
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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visualizing
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| 肉眼观察 | |
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117
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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118
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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119
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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120
extraneous
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| adj.体外的；外来的；外部的 | |
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121
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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122
pedant
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| n.迂儒；卖弄学问的人 | |
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123
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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124
economizing
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| v.节省，减少开支( economize的现在分词 ) | |
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125
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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126
relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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127
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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128
artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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129
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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131
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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133
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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135
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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136
ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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137
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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138
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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140
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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141
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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arboreal
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| adj.树栖的；树的 | |
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sect
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| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
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outgrown
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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147
slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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148
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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149
illusive
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| adj.迷惑人的，错觉的 | |
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150
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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151
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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152
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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153
obsolescent
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| adj.过时的，难管束的 | |
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154
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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155
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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156
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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induction
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| n.感应，感应现象 | |
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158
incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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concurrent
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| adj.同时发生的，一致的 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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progenitors
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| n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 )；先驱；前辈；原本 | |
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progenitor
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| n.祖先，先驱 | |
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163
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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psychical
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| adj.有关特异功能现象的；有关特异功能官能的；灵魂的；心灵的 | |
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166
enumeration
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| n.计数，列举；细目；详表；点查 | |
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167
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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168
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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169
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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170
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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172
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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173
sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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174
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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175
ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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176
distinctiveness
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| 特殊[独特]性 | |
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177
lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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178
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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179
subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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180
timbre
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| n.音色，音质 | |
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181
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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182
heterogeneity
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| n.异质性；多相性 | |
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183
integration
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| n.一体化，联合，结合 | |
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184
tabulated
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| 把（数字、事实）列成表( tabulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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185
inauguration
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| n.开幕、就职典礼 | |
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186
culminates
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| v.达到极点( culminate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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187
culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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188
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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189
tardy
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| adj.缓慢的，迟缓的 | |
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190
posthumous
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| adj.遗腹的；父亡后出生的；死后的，身后的 | |
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191
rapport
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| n.和睦，意见一致 | |
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192
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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193
discipleship
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| n.做弟子的身份（期间） | |
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194
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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195
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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196
analytically
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| adv.有分析地，解析地 | |
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197
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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198
cadences
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| n.（声音的）抑扬顿挫( cadence的名词复数 )；节奏；韵律；调子 | |
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199
punctiliously
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200
conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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201
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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202
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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203
acme
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| n.顶点，极点 | |
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204
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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