Common Sense in Pronunciation

THE degeneration of the ways and customs of the present from those of the good old times, is a common and ancient source of complaint among people who have experienced the supposed benefits of the superiority of the men and conditions of former days. All of us have doubtless heard our grandmother or maiden aunt bewail the lack of reverence and the incapacity for useful work manifested by the younger generation. This same spirit, no doubt, leads them to deprecate also the many changed pronunciations and different modes of speech, which they stigmatize as new-fangled or ridiculous, and quite unheard of in their day. The younger members of the family may imagine that their own pronunciation has always been the standard and preferable one, and commiserate their elders for not having discovered it lurking in some corner of the dictionaries, the Webster, the Standard, and the Century, these three, — or rather in that particular one which they consider the greatest of these. They do not realize that the pronunciation recognized as correct half a century ago, when grandmother was young, often differs very radically from that which prevails to-day.

Of course, we may refuse to admit that our pronunciation is degraded, but we cannot deny that it is different from the standard of usage of the previous generation. Language, it must be remembered, is in all its phases a growth, and every living tongue suffers change not only in form and significance, but also, and perhaps more noticeably, in utterance. From the period when our pre-historic ancestors first succeeded in communicating with each other by intelligible, articulate sounds, language has been undergoing a constant and inevitable change. The fact, therefore, that the pronunciation of a particular word has changed essentially in half a century or less, or even that in the process of change two pronunciations are coexistent, is by no means a cause for surprise and alarm, but rather an evidence of the vitality of our language. If the Ben Greet players, to give a specific example of this process, besides reverting to the Elizabethan stage-setting, or lack of it, should revive also the Elizabethan pronunciation of English, a modern audience would have great difficulty in understanding all but the very familiar lines of Shakespeare, so different from our own was the speech of little over three centuries ago. Pronunciations which in Johnson’s time were decidedly vulgar or dialectical, have since become refined or national. Then, for instance, ‘golden girls and lads,’ as well as the washerwoman, asked for a ‘ cup of tay.’

What was ridiculous even fifty years ago is now unobjectionable, and what is in good usage at present may be antiquated in a decade. The realization that this conflict between the old and the new, the difficult and the easy, the conservative and the radical, is inevitable and associated with one of the fixed principles of language, is essential to a true conception of the question of our pronunciation, of its absurdities and its difficulties.

In the first place we must recognize that the difficulties which the subject of pronunciation presents to-day, though they are greatly magnified by the very general interest which the subject excites, are quite insignificant in comparison with those which existed a few centuries ago. Indeed, the orthoepic situation, so to speak, when contrasted with the anarchistic state of our language in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, is not alarming or even deplorable. Uniformity of pronunciation necessarily varies directly with the advance of civilization. Among uncivilized races it is often impossible for the inhabitants of villages but a few miles apart to comprehend each other’s dialect. In civilized countries, however, the existence of innumerable and widely diverse dialects is being rendered impossible by the increasing facilities for communication, the dissemination of newspapers and literature of all sorts, and the progress of education. At the present time we undoubtedly have greater uniformity of pronunciation than ever before in the history of the English language.

Nevertheless, one cannot be very sanguine of approximate uniformity in our pronunciation ever being attained, even among the educated classes, since the counteractive influences are often as deep-rooted as those which tend toward the desired goal. Our present orthography, with its inconsistencies and abundance of useless members, eliminates the possibility of our pronouncing according to the appearance of a word. The composite character of our language, and the consequent absolute lack of rule, are accountable for the fact that several English-speaking people, when confronted with a word hitherto unfamiliar,are certain to differ in pronouncing it if it presents any possibility of variation; a situation in which Frenchmen or Germans would encounter no difficulty at all. Again, the increase, in every walk of life, of technical terms with which the layman is naturally unacquainted, is becoming a peculiar source of difficulty.

Perhaps the most potent of influences toward diverse pronunciation, especially difference in accent, is the fact that we seldom or never hear in conversation a vast number of words which nevertheless constitute an important and indispensable part of our vocabulary. ‘By silent reading and neglect of conversation, language itself,’ declares Richard Grant White, ‘is coming into disuse.' The result of this practice is not only that we are always mentally registering pronunciations peculiar to ourselves, which we have no means of ascertaining to be uncommon or ridiculous, but also that the natural tendencies of our language, unrestrained by the conservative force which occasional use in conversation might exert, rapidly foster new pronunciations and produce a diversity of pronunciation even among the most careful speakers. All these influences obviously supplement each other in resisting any trend toward uniform pronunciation, and facilitate the progress of the tendencies of speech peculiar to our English tongue.

One of the strongest tendencies of language in general is toward ease of utterance. In English, especially, lingual laziness is responsible for many of the changes which have occurred and are still occurring both in the pronunciation and even in the written form of words. Thus ac’ceptable, u’tensil, and con’fessor, the prevalent pronunciation in Walker’s time, have submitted to this principle. This same influence reveals itself to-day in the common pronunciation, indissolubl’e, which threatens to supersede the very awkward indis’soluble. Similarly splenetic, which was formerly accented on the first syllable is now almost universally pronounced splenet’ic, in spite of the opposition of the dictionaries.

A tendency apparently contrary, but actually identical, is the gradual transference of accent to the first syllable of the many trisyllabic verbs which originally bore the accent on the second, in compliance with the familiar Latin rule that a vowel followed by two consonants is long by position. Thus demonstrate and compensate have been completely emancipated from this rule; illustrate and enervate are rapidly following their example; although remonstrate is still almost unaffected by the sedition of its brethren.

The case of the trisyllabic nouns from the Latin, noticeably those ending in -ator, is precisely similar. Or’ator and sen’ator, for example, have long been universal, although dicta’tor and specta’tor are still clung to by careful speakers. As with these words from the Latin, it is natural that we should accent all derived words for a certain length of time as they were originally accented in the foreign language from which they are borrowed. At present, ally and address are gradually conforming to our natural accentuation of dissyllabic nouns, though the corresponding verbs are, of course, still accented on the last syllable.

Analogy, too, though its effect is too complex to be clearly distinguished or easily analyzed, affords an excellent opportunity even to those whose education has gone far beyond the three R’s, for novel or unscholarly pronunciations. The word extant for example, which the scholar naturally associates with distant (one from Latin extans, the other from Latin distans), the layman, ignorant of etymology, just as naturally associates with extent, not from any relation of derivation or meaning, but from the great similarity of appearance, and accordingly accents on the second syllable. The results of these tendencies and the conflicts necessarily arising between them may offer an additional proof that divided usage is both a natural and an inevitable condition.

These tendencies have, however, one common bond in that they find their readiest agents and their most loyal supporters among the less educated classes, who represent the radical movement as naturally as the more highly educated represent the conservative. The latter cling, quite unconsciously perhaps, to the Latin manner of accenting trisyllables, while those ignorant of Latin follow the natural tendency of the vernacular. While some remember the French origin of such words as finance and romance, those ignorant of the language accent the words on the first syllable, from the analogy with all our indigenous substantives. The pronunciation of the absolutely uneducated is not of course referred to, since, as Professor Lounsbury states, ‘the language of the illiterate is to a great extent archaic.’ Moreover it has at the present a negligible influence upon our orthoepic development. But the speech of those who have any right, at all to profess themselves educated is tinged by no shade of unusual antiquity. From the less educated classes come the vast majority of our new pronunciations which assert themselves more and more and are finally established as standard.

This state of affairs is obviously an uncomfortable one for the purist. Even though

he has no control over the vagaries and destinies of pronunciation. The realization that he must passively observe his far more ignorant countryman assume, though it be only unconsciously, the role of innovator in orthoepy, is mitigated only by the fact that at least the better educated determine the time when such innovations may be deemed permissible in cultured speech. Though comparisons are somewhat odious in such a ticklish matter as pronunciation, the analogy with slang in this connection becomes at once apparent. In each case the position and relation of the purist and the innovator are the same. As the question is continually arising as to just when slang breaks the chrysalis of vulgarity and is transformed into legitimate speech, so we are continually in a quandary whether to regard certain pronunciations sufficiently wide-spread in educated and cultured circles as permissible or, as our pronunciation fiends maintain, correct.

The problem here is identical. Since the time of Johnson the dictionaries have attempted to record the pronunciations prevalent among the best speakers of English in their generation. That they should dictate pronunciation was of course as ridiculous as it would have been futile. But, as in the case of Cæsar, the honor of dictator seems to have been thrust upon them. Those who found themselves wallowing in the slough of despond because of conflicting pronunciations appealed to the dictionary as their arbiter and protector, and for their future safety exalted it to the position of a despot. Thus, while nobody searches the dictionary to avoid those words which it stigmatizes as slang, the pronunciation fiend is continually devouring its pages lest he commit the unpardonable sin of uttering a syllable not sanctioned by its authority.

Certainly, however, the decision of t he dictionary regarding orlhoepic problems is no more authoritative than its opinion on the question of slang. If certain of us who pride ourselves on correctness of speech should examine the dictionary in order to avoid slang and vulgarisms of speech with the same avidity with which we devour its orthoepic decisions, we should be somewhat astonished at the impurity of our English. The fact is that the dictionary in each case is extremely conservative. In endeavoring to record the standard usage the orthoepists, whether from fear of departing from the path trodden by their predecessors, or from the inherent tendency of the scholar toward conservatism, are slow to record new pronunciations, some of which are continually used by the most careful speakers. When we once realize that diversity and change in pronunciation are natural conditions of our language, and that the orthoepists, quite uninspired by any mystical arbiter, face exactly the same problem — though, to be sure, with a wider range of observation—that every Tom, Dick and Harry of us faces, we ought to understand more clearly the true position of the dictionary, and view the whole question of pronunciation in a much saner and more unprejudiced light. There is of course no harm in preferring and consulting our particular dictionary, if we do not attempt to impose its single authority upon all those whose preference differs from our own.

Even the consensus of all the dictionaries is but an approach to an unattainable limit. A few examples will suffice to prove to what intellectual gymnastics obedience, even to the relatively indulgent sway of these combined authorities, would lead us. The pronunciation per’emptory was until very recently the only one recognized, at least by our American dictionaries. To be sure, Shakespeare so accented it, but it has long been almost universally pronounced with the accent on the second syllable. Similarly the s in pre-sentiment was given by all orthoepists only the sound of s in sent which it certainly had in its infancy, though usage, except in certain few localities, had long been overwhelmingly in favor of the z sound. When the victim of the dictionary-warship, struggling against the tide of universal usage to utter per’emptory and pre-sentiment, has finally conquered his tongue as well as his common sense, he discovers that after all his orthoepic deity has relented and he may revert to his original pronunciation.

We do not mean to advocate any anarchistic, anti-dictionary doctrine, though this would undoubtedly bring the greatest balm to the weary evercorrected. It is not the use, but the misuse, of the dictionary that is deplorable. When one happens upon a strange word it is quite natural to refer to the dictionary, both for its meaning and its pronunciation. The pronunciation of technical terms of an art or science with which we are unfamiliar can often be learned in no other way. But when the dictionary is appealed to as an infallible however unreasonable judge, when monstrosities and century-old fossils are exhumed from its pages to be flaunted in the faces of our friends, it is time to recall its true function of mere recorder.

If we should use our energies, spent in this pleasant but absurd revival of antiquities, in occasionally noticing pronunciations which, though common, slight reflection would prove to be at least extremely careless, we should appease the goddess of orthoepy in a much more satisfactory manner.

Such are the pronunciations of portentous and tremendous as portenshus and tremenjus, of sacrilegious as sacreligious, of zoölogical as if it were spelled zoo-ological, and of aeroplane as if the e followed the r. These pronunciations, though not unaccountable, are quite unwarranted by the spelling of the words. Such pronunciations, which the orthoepist and common sense concur in declaring unwarranted, are often used by the very persons who wage the futile war over different accents, which both the disagreement of the orthoepists and common sense prove equally permissible. Here, too, the dictionary might offer legitimate help, if only to fix in our minds the actual spelling of the word.

The question of accent, nevertheless, continues to be the centre of conflict among the enthusiasts in pronunciation, to give them a less opprobrious appellation. There are, indeed, several reasons why it should be the greatest source of dispute. It is naturally more noticeable than the difference in the sound of a single letter or syllable. Moreover, since it is not, like vowel sound, a difference in dialect, or rather a sectional variation of pronunciation, but a result only of the continual struggle between the old and the new, it affords greater ground for dispute among those dwelling in the same community. This distinction, though not absolute, may aid in destroying our distorted notions of the difficulties of pronunciation. The two accentuations of advertisement and illustrate, to choose but two of innumerable possible examples which will occur to every one, exist side by side in California as well as in New England. On the other hand, the natural pronunciation of the four words bog, fog, log and moss is in most parts of New England bŏg, fŏg, lŏg and mŏss; in the writer’s section of Pennsylvania bŏg and fŏg, but commonly lawg and mawss; and in the southern part of Ohio, as in the South in general, bawg, fawg, laivg, and mawss. Difference in vowel sound is almost invariably a geographical difference, the exceptional instances being isolated and comparatively insignificant. Different accentuations, on the other hand, are rarely indicative of different localities. Both theory and practice, so to speak, support the validity of such a distinction. We judge a man a native of Louisiana or Vermont not because of the manner in which he accents his words, but because his vowels are different in quantity or quality from our own.

If, then, the question of accent may be considered one distinct phase of pronunciation it may be disposed of, though indeed no thoroughly satisfactory conclusion can be reached, quite apart from, any discussion of the superiority of one dialect or geographical pronunciation over another. The premises of our conclusion regarding diversity of accent have already been stated. Since the accent is shifting according to the fundamental principles and tendencies of the English language, this diversity, it has been shown, is naturally inevitable, and universal agreement as to just when a pronunciation comes into good usage or falls into desuetude cannot be obtained. In a great number of cases two pronunciations are almost equally prevalent. Nor are we bound to be always consistent. If a person accents illustrate on the first syllable, it would be absurd as well as impolite to accent it consciously on the second. It is really as ridiculous to declare one person’s pronunciation wrong, as it would be to declare his style of hat wrong. Antiquated or unbecoming it may be, but a personal preference ought to be respected in orthoepy as well as in fashion. As Ruskin tells us that we are all poets to a greater or less degree when we read poetry, so we may consider ourselves in a certain sense orthoepists when we pronounce words. Common sense is in most cases the best dictator. Though such advice may appear rather unsatisfactory, we may at least try to avoid what is outlandish, obsolescent, and novel. For Pope’s conclusion is the only reasonable one, and particularly applicable to pronunciation: —

The time element, however, does not enter into the second phase of the question, that of geographical differences in sound. Nor can we speak of the pronunciation of the centre of population as furnishing possibly a satisfactory compromise between that of the different sections of our country. Even in the most cultured speech of each section we discern very obvious variations when compared with that of other regions. The above-mentioned sounds of o furnish an excellent example of these geographical differences. The so-called ‘ Italian a,’ as in father, is, in such words as laugh and path, flattened to a as in cat in many sections of the United States. In most of these cases it would be difficult to abandon entirely our native pronunciation, if, indeed, any cogent reason could be urged for abandoning it.

A professor in a German university declares concerning this question of dialect in his native language: ‘He speaks the best German who has to such an extent eliminated his native dialect that one cannot ascertain from which section of the country he comes.’ There can, of course, be no objection to an American’s cherishing this ideal. Here in America, however, where our dialects are by no means so marked and troublesome as in Germany, to at tempt consciously to eliminate all traces of our native pronunciation is quite unnecessary and not particularly desirable, except perhaps in public speaking.

Orthoepic intolerance has not perhaps been manifested in the particular question of dialect so much as in other phases of pronunciation. In each case petty wars enough have been waged. These disputes may have furnished amusement for the family circle. They even may have aroused interest in the wonderful phenomena of language. But as a means of rendering our speech more intelligible and more refined, as an attempt to improve our English, to remedy its weakness and to preserve its power, the strife of the pronunciation fiend has been and was destined to be futile. For, it must be remembered, that even if there is no standard, even if there is no right or wrong in pronunciation, there must be a way by which we can improve it, a better mode of speech to strive to attain and a worse to endeavor to avoid.

What phase of pronunciation, then, if not one of these already discussed, is worthy of our attention, and will really reward our pains? If we should ask our transatlantic brethren, since we must not choose a judge among ourselves, the disputants, they would not complain primarily of our having abandoned any particular sounds which they still cherish. They would, however, and do complain that our utterance is in general slovenly and indistinct. Henry James, whose residence in England has perhaps forced him to this conclusion, declares: ‘Our national use of vocal sound in men and women alike, is slovenly — an absolutely inexpert daub of unapplied tone.’ If instead of imitating the Englishman’s pronunciation of a few particular words, we should imitate his general distinctness of tone and proper valuation of sound, the improvement of our speech would be much more permanent and noticeable. Only in maintaining the secondary accent , which in such words as difficulty and missionary the Englishman is likely to omit altogether, can we be said to have any advantage over him in clearness of utterance. Even here it might be urged that we go to the other extreme in giving these words two almost equal accents.

In all unaccented syllables, however, the American pronunciation is characterized by a general disregard of the vowel. The vowel in the final syllables of profligate, target, and spirit often has in ordinary conversation the same phonetic value as the “ in Farragut. Though it is perhaps pedantic to give such final vowels their full value, to make no distinction at all between the unaccented vowels is certainly unrefined. That the endings -ment and -ness should be allowed to degenerate into the vague -munt and -nuss is really deplorable. This negligence is even more noticeable and inexcusable in vowels at the beginning of words. Theordinary pronunciation of enough and opinion might be represented by unnough and uppinion, though the first syllable is in fact nothing more than a grunt. No distinction is made even between such confusing words as affect and effect. The Sunday-school children sing invariably of ’Jerusalum the goldun,’ and loudly praise the ‘ blessud Trinuty.' Let those who pride themselves upon their pronunciation beware of the unaccented vowel, lest this one weakness in their speech bewray them! Richard Grant White declares unhesitatingly: ‘It is in the delicate but firm utterance of the unaccented vowel with correct sound that the cultured person is most surely distinguished from the uncultured.’

Our carelessness is manifested not only in the particular instance of the unaccented vowel. Our consonants suffer likewise from our general negligence of speech. If any combination is at all difficult of utterance we offer no resistance at all to our tendency to change or omit a letter or two. We change partner into pardner, and ‘used to’ into ‘usta’ with the hissing sound of s. Moreover we are continually ‘mouthing’ and swallowing our words in a manner impossible of description or illustration. One needs, however, only to hear a conversation between two American children to realize that the utterance of Americans in general is marked by an unpleasant indefiniteness. This weakness, like every bad habit of our nation, has been ascribed to the hurry of our American life. To this it may be indirectly due. The direct cause is, however, our seeming unwillingness to change the position of our mouths, and our lack of training in exerting those organs which control the modulations of our speech. Our inertia, the effects of which threaten to be so pernicious to the speech of future America, both the home and the school should unite in attempting to eradicate.

This aspect of pronunciation has strangely never appealed to those who have been somewhat harshly designated as ‘pronunciation fiends.’ Mere indistinctness of utterance in any one instance might indeed seem to them a trivial matter. The total effect of this weakness, operating upon and enfeebling every word that we utter, must be recognized as no insignificant menace to the vitality of our speech. Since it is a spot where every American is vulnerable, we might combine our forces, instead of wasting them in useless civil strife. The difficulty of avoiding slovenliness is, it must be confessed, greater than that of changing our pronunciation in other respects. The danger of tolerating it is correspondingly greater, since this very carelessness is the most detrimental force at present working upon our speech. The endeavor to utter distinctly every syllable and to discriminate carefully every sound is the most reasonable and effective means of improving our pronunciation.