The Expressive Power of English Sounds

THE first necessity, the first law, of all language is clearness. Aristotle and common sense tell us this. Clearness is a fundamental requirement in the expression of thought. “ If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do ? ”

A second necessity and law of language is some measure of conciseness, economy of effort. “ The thread of the discourse ” should not be drawn out “ finer than the staple of the argument.” Ease of utterance calls for some care in the arrangement of accents and pauses. Such arrangement gives us prose rhythm. But we seek pleasure from language, and not simply clearness and conciseness. According to “ the law of the nearest,” language may have been the earliest as it is the finest of the fine arts. Poetry chooses in each tongue some additional principle of form which gives to language special beauty and power. In Hebrew there is parallelism ; in an English poem we have some time-and-accent unit, giving verse rhythm.

I must notice one more characteristic of artistic language before I come to my subject proper. The scientist asks only for the accepted, literal meaning of each word. The artist asks further : What is its history? what company has it kept? If it once bore a bad character, but has reformed, how long since it was received into good society ? Does it sometimes forget its new surroundings, and, so to speak, wear its hat in the parlor? If the word has thoroughly reformed, or always borne a good character, what are its present tendencies ? In its many different uses, are there any degrading or trivial offices which it performs ? By all this interrogation, I mean that the artist considers the history, associations, and affinities of a word as truly as its simple, dictionary meaning. The necessity that the writer’s words shall suggest what he wishes to have suggested, as well as express what he wishes to have expressed, I will call the law of suggestiveness.

But the artist may question this personified word as to its intrinsic as well as its accepted character; he may scan the lines of its face, and seek to learn its very nature and fibre. He may say, “My faithful servant, I cannot use you with the greatest effect known to language unless both your accepted and your real character mark you out as the word for my thought.” That is to say, those words can he used most effectively whose accepted meanings coincide with and are reenforced by the natural expressive power of the sounds which compose them.

The question whether the sounds of the English language have each a peculiar expressional value, a natural significance, is a topic on which a great deal has been written, — much of it nonsense, if I may speak in the bold manner of Carlyle. It is, perhaps, the failure to discriminate between very different kinds of expressiveness in the use of sounds that has led many to believe that the whole subject is entirely vague and personal, incapable of anything approximating accurate treatment. But let us see if there are not some clear lines of distinction of which we can be certain.

Who can be deaf to the force of these sounds ?

Is not one element of expression in these lines the muscular imitation in the widely parted lips of the sympathetic reader as he utters the words in italics, especially gapèd, if the first vowel is pronounced with the sound of a in father ? That we have striking instances of muscular imitation in the following cases will be plain to the attentive reader : —

To ask the gentle reader to find distinct muscular imitation in his reading of the following passages is rather daring, but he must admit that his jaws fly open in a very expressive fashion : —

In metaphorical uses of the word swallow, the conception is usually that of engulfing something rather than of deglutition. The wide separation of the lips and their quick return give to this word great natural expressiveness.

Every reader will feel that the imaginary struggle of Clarence is imitated as well as narrated in the following words :

The imitative effect of the following lines, as they go tip - tonguing through the mouth, must be plain to all: —

It is plain, then, that the sounds of language are sometimes expressive through what we may call muscular imitation, — an approximate imitation by the muscles employed in articulation of some shape or some motion. A more exact name, but also a more clumsy one, would be articulatory imitation. Much more common than this is what we may call muscular analogy, or muscular symbolism. Pope says, in a passage that has been quoted almost to death, —

The action of the organs of articulation as they pronounce the troublesome consonant combinations in the first of these lines is not an imitation of the muscular effort of Ajax as he tugs at the mighty stone, but the struggle in the mouth is analogous to the striving of the hero, and is highly expressive.

When “the splinter’d spear-shafts crack and fly,” in Sir Galahad ; when it is said of Isolt, meeting Tristram, that she “ belted his body with her white embrace” (The Last Tournament), the energetic consonants express the energy of the action. The phrase “ the wrestling thews that throw the world ” (The Princess, VII.) has greater power of expression than the dictionary can explain.

The line to be cited next is, in strictness, a case of expressive versification, not of the expressiveness of the sounds and sound-groups in themselves considered. Pompilia and Caponsacchi, escaping, glide

The even fall of the syllables, caused by the uniform action of the muscles of breathing and of the voice, symbolizes the even fall of the gliding feet; but this analogy comes out in the movement of the line, not in the expressiveness of the sounds in themselves considered. In many passages the versification and the sounds are both expressive. In the following line expression is given by the unexpected accent on plumb, and also by the nature of the sounds in the word : —

In this next passage, the irregular accent on dropt and the abrupt close of the word impress upon us the violence of the shock which puts an end to Vulcan’s fall, and lames him forever : —

The line that follows furnishes a striking instance of muscular analogy : —

I have now noticed two kinds of expression through speech-sounds, and have suggested for them the names “ muscular imitation” and “ muscular analogy.” Let us take up next the common phenomenon of sound-imitation, or, to give its learned name, onomatopœia.

Imitative effects in language are, of course, only approximate ; they can never be perfect. The names whippoorwill and cuckoo (European) are highly successful imitations of the notes of those birds. All persons feel the force of the line, —

It is stated that the makers of the great dictionary of the English Philological Society found the number of distinctly imitative words that begin with the letter b to be unexpectedly large. The strongly explosive quality given to that letter by the energetic springing apart of the lips seems to fit it for many onomatopoetic effects. In bow-wow we have both muscular imitation and sound-imitation.

Concerning the sage elders of the Trojans, we are told in Bryant’s translation of the Iliad : —

The specific word in this last line is delicate ; the accented vowel of the word is e, a small, light vowel with a high natural pitch ; the similar vowels of sit and trees reënforce this effect. The words sounds and utter have vowels of low natural pitch, but these are generic expressions, in the use of which the poet seems to have no choice. I am sure that the sensitive reader will feel that, while all the words of the last line are intended by the poet translator to be effective as words, in accordance with their accepted meanings, the light, high-pitched vowels of sit, trees, and delicate are intended also to imitate the shrill note of the cicada. For a passage in which low-pitched vowels are used imitatively, call to mind these lines from Macbeth : —

Here the imitative force is especially concentrated in drowsy hums.

The booming of the giant breakers changes to the hissing and spattering of the spray as they are shattered upon the shore, in this line : —

The most subtle form of expression through the sounds of language remains to be considered. It is what has sometimes been termed tone-color ; I shall call it here sound-analogy, or sound-symbolism. We have felt its force in some of the extracts that have been considered. In the line concerning the cicadas, which “ Sit on the trees and utter delicate sounds,”there is more than sound-imitation. The light, high-pitched vowels here used are small vowels ; the air is compressed through a very small passage in shaping these sounds. The smallness of the vowels symbolizes the smallness of the cicadas. I once heard Mr. Aldrich speak of the effectiveness of using delicate as metrically equivalent to two syllables. In this case, there is sound-symbolism both in the dainty, high-pitched vowels of the word, and in using its three short syllables as equivalent to two ordinary ones. In the passage already cited from Macbeth, at the same time that the dark, low-pitched vowels imitate the dull humming of “ the shard-borne beetle,” they also symbolize the mystery of the night and the awfulness of the coming crime.

In an article published a few years ago,¹ I arranged the English vowelsounds in the following scale : —

ĭ (little) ī (I) oo (wood) ĕ (met) ū (due) ow (cow) ă (mat) ăh (what) ō (gold) ē (mete) āh (father) oo (gloom) ai (fair) oi (boil) aw (awe) ă (mate) ŭh (but)

Concerning this list I ventured to say, in substance : the sounds at the beginning of the scale are especially fitted to express uncontrollable joy and delight, gayety, triviality, rapid movement, brightness, delicacy, and physical littleness; the sounds at the end are peculiarly adapted to express horror, solemnity, awe, deep grief, slowness of motion, darkness, and extreme or oppressive greatness of size. The scale runs then from the little to the large, from the bright to the dark, from ecstatic delight to horror, and from the trivial to the solemn and awful. In this table I have mingled together short and long vowel-sounds and diphthongs ; for many purposes of expression, however, the short and long vowel-sounds are distinctly contrasted with each other, and I do not claim that my scale follows an inflexible natural order of sounds.

A recognized principle of elocution helps to confirm the general truth of this scale. I have arranged the vowels, on the whole, in accordance with what is called natural, or inherent pitch. The sounds at the beginning of the list have a high natural pitch ; the ideas and feelings which I think find their most fitting expression through these vowels are those which all elocutionists would express by the use of a high pitch. The sentiments that I have assigned to the vowels of low natural pitch are brought out by a low pitch in expressive reading.

Perhaps the English language has never known a more skillful artist in the use of sound-effects than Tennyson. A phrase in Browning’s Ring and the Book, “a gleam i’ the gloom ” (II. 324), may have suggested the vowel-contrasts of this song : —

Here, gleam, bright, dream, are set over against gloom, dark, doom. The Holy Grail has this effective vowel-contrast:

Of course, poets often do not make use of contrasted vowels when the contrast of ideas would justify them in doing so. Thus Lowell has the line, —

A few passages expressive of littleness and contempt need no comment: —

(The Taming of the Shrew, IV. iii. 110.)

(Merry Wives of Windsor, I. iv. 22-3.)

An entire poem in light vowels and dainty consonant-effects, by Mr. Edgar Fawcett, appeared in The Atlantic Monthly for June, 1880. I cannot deny myself the pleasure of quoting a good portion of this delicious little monochrome.

MAIDENHAIR.

The long vowels in the closing stanza of Tennyson’s Requiescat contrast noticeably with some expressive short vowels in the opening stanza of the lyric which stands next in our editions of the poet :

THE SAILOR-BOY.

The abrupt shortness of struts and frets is very expressive in a well-known line of Macbeth: —

The most dissonant and unpleasing of all the vowel-sounds in English is that of a in flat, rang. Tennyson uses this sound to set forth the harsh appearance of all nature after the death of Arthur:

Professor Genung notes “ the harsh sibilants ” in the first of these lines, and “ the intentionally hard alliteration and utter want of rhythm ” in the second. How abundant and forcible is the sound-symbolism of these two lines !

The brassy dissonance of this so-called “ short a ” makes it very effective in some cases of sound-imitation. It is combined in the following passage with the sh, of which I speak later : —

The vowels especially fitted to symbolize richness, abundance, complete satisfaction, fullness of beauty, and kindred ideas are ō, āh, oo, ōw, ī (as in mine). These are peculiarly rich, sensuous impressions. Smooth, prolongable consonants, especially the semi-vowels, liquids, and nasals, add to the effect.

I believe that every English sound has some special expressive force. Also, since a sound may have many striking characteristics, it may have more than one natural expression. The reader will surely think, now, that I am a “ mounted specialist,” riding my hobby to death. But let him consider that although the explosive quality of initial h gives it expressiveness in

the same sound is also a guttural whisper, expressive of mystery, terror, etc., in the line, —

Other guttural sounds and other whispered ones may have similar force. Note the following lines : —

A sensitive reader will not always read the same sound in the same way. Lowell tells us, in his essay on Dry den, that the sibilants of our language can be made either to hiss or to sing. They sing in these two passages: —

In the case of r, what is called its rough, or consonantal value is exactly opposite in expressive power to its smooth, or vocalic utterance.

Sh is decidedly the most unpleasant consonant-effect in English. Because this is a whispered sound, it is also fitted to express fear, mystery, and allied ideas.

In the awful curse which King Lear pronounces upon Goneril, how expressive is the word thwart! The interference and struggle of tongue, teeth, and lips with which the word begins are a powerful symbol of the moral perversity which Lear prays may inhabit the child of Goneril.

In contrast with thwart, the powerful word disnatured gets little of its impressiveness through sound-symbolism.

In many passages in which the sounds employed are plainly significant, it is impossible to say just how much of the expression is due to each of the four sources that we have discussed, — muscular imitation, muscular analogy, sound-imitation, and sound-analogy. Some instances of this have already been noted. The first passage that we cited under muscular imitation is also a powerful illustration of sound-analogy : —

The low-pitched vowels in these lines bring out the mysterious horror of the knight’s dream. The very impressive word gloom takes no part in the muscular imitation. In this line from Browning, describing a quarrelsome household,

we undoubtedly have both muscular symbolism and sound-symbolism, one of them more prominent in the first half of the line, the other in the last half.

Although the lines,

are strikingly effective in the way of sound-analogy, who shall say that the soft sounds have no trace of muscular analogy ; that they are not also intended to bring before us the modest gestures and gentle movements of the lily maid ?

Sound-imitation and sound-analogy are both present in the striking contrast which follows: —

Every part of The Bells of Edgar A. Poe is both imitative and symbolic ; particular states of feeling are expressed by the same sounds that imitate the silver, golden, brazen, or iron bells, as they tinkle, chime, clang, or toll. The words hoarse and croaks in the following passage are distinctly imitative, yet the sound-symbolism is the especial source of their impressiveness as sounds : —

Lowell’s comments upon this passage, in the essay Shakespeare Once More, bring out other and more important factors in its power.

Muscular analogy, sound-imitation, and sound-analogy seem all to be present in these craggy lines : —

Is there any one principle to which all these four forms of sound-expressiveness can be reduced ? I think that most of the significant sound-effects in language, perhaps all of them, can be reduced ultimately to likeness of motion. This is more plainly true, perhaps, in the other cases than in those which come under sound-analogy. Is it not broadly true here ? The slow vibrations of the air in a funeral dirge and the solemn movements of the mourning train correspond to the slow vibrations, or motions, of the low-pitched vowels in speech. The quick motions of delight correspond to the rapid vibrations of the light, high-pitched vowels.

Lest any one misunderstand me, let me say explicitly that the accepted meanings of words should not be disregarded or tampered with in an effort to secure expressive sound-effects. Sound-expression, to be effective, should be added to the usual methods of expression; it should not infringe upon them. The significant use of sounds is an important element in poetry ; in proportion as prose departs in spirit from poetry and approximates science, less use will naturally be made of the expressive power of sounds.

Let me warn the reader, also, that I am not now concerned at all with soundeffects that are simply pleasing, but with those that are significant; I am discussing one method of expression ; I am not considering euphony. Swinburne is a writer who has a consuming passion for euphony, and a marvelous capacity for securing it in his poetry; Browning tends always toward expressiveness. When Swinburne sings of the “ lisp of leaves and ripple of rain,” and of “ a dead lute-player that in dead years had done delicious things,” the effect is both euphonious and expressive ; but we feel that the sensuous charm of these phrases is what especially captivated their author, as it captivates us.

It is not an unusual thing for a passage to win a sensuous charm at the expense of sound - expressiveness. The alliteration in these lines from John Fletcher’s Melancholy,

gives us a sensuous pleasure. But this sound-effect is decidedly vigorous ; it does not bring out the idea of dreamy melancholy.

Although the sounds of English have changed some since the time of Shakespeare, yet the passages which I have cited have not been materially affected by this. The Irish pronunciation of English is decidedly older in some respects than our present standard. When Pope sings,

we must pronounce tay, with the Irishman, or lose the rhyme. In general, my position would be that, whenever in the history of a language any sound or combination takes on a new pronunciation, all the words affected thereby become different poetic material because of the change, though for all ordinary purposes these words may well have the same value as before.

The analytictendency of modern thinking, the determination to leave nothing miinvestigated, to pluck the heart out of every mystery, often displeases, and even repels us. Of course I have tried my best to investigate thoroughly the phenomena here discussed ; but I also appreciate the fact that the human spirit can never be imprisoned in a formula; that the mind of man, in any of its important manifestations, will never be found out to perfection.

Although much remains uncertain in connection with the subject of fids inquiry, I hope that my readers are convinced that a delicate use of sound-symbolism is one of the innermost secrets of style.

Albert H. Tolman.