Persons to whom my style is not entirely distasteful, sometimes ask:
"Why use the short sentence when it deprives the period of eloquence and
rotundity?"
"Because I do not desire eloquence or rotundity," I reply. "Furthermore,
I avoid them." The vast majority of Spanish purists are convinced that
the only possible rhetoric is the rhetoric of the major key. This, for
example, is the rhetoric of Castelar and Costa, the rhetoric which
Ricardo León and Salvador Rueda manipulate today, as it has been
inherited from the Romans. Its purpose is to impart solemnity to
everything, to that which already has it by right of nature, and to that
which has it not. This rhetoric of the major key marches with stately,
academic tread. At great, historic moments, no doubt it is very well,
but in the long run, in incessant parade, it is one of the most deadly
soporifics in literature; it destroys variety, it is fatal to subtlety,
to nice transitions, to detail, and it throws the uniformity of the
copybook over everything.
On the other hand, the rhetoric of the minor key, which seems poor at
first blush, soon reveals itself to be more attractive. It moves with a
livelier, more life-like rhythm; it is less bombastic. This rhetoric
implies continence and basic economy of effort; it is like an agile man,
lightly clothed and free of motion.
To the extent of my ability I always avoid the rhetoric of the major
key, which is assumed as the only proper style, the very moment that one
sits down to write Castilian. I should like, of course, to rise to the
heights of solemnity now and then, but very seldom.
"Then what you seek," I am told, "is a familiar style like that of
Mesonero Romanos, Trueba and Pereda?"
No, I am not attracted by that either.
The familiar, rude, vulgar manner reminds me of a worthy bourgeois
family at the dinner table. There sits the husband in his shirt sleeves,
while the wife's hair is at loose ends and she is dirty besides, and all
the children are in rags.
I take it that one may be simple and sincere without either affectation
or vulgarity. It is well to be a little neutral, perhaps, a little grey
for the most part, so that upon occasion the more delicate hues may
stand out clearly, while a rhythm may be employed to advantage which is
in harmony with actual life, which is light and varied, and innocent of
striving after solemnity.
A modern poet, in my opinion, has illustrated this rhetoric of the minor
key to perfection.
He is Paul Verlaine.
A style like Verlaine's, which is non-sequent, macerated, free, is
indispensable to any mastery of the rhetoric of the minor key. This, to
me, has always been my literary ideal.