The Abuse of Adjectives.
It is a great pity that the fairy willow whistle which blew everything
into its proper place should have burst with its first note, for there
would be such ample opportunity nowadays for the display of its peculiar
functions. Why, for instance, should modern novel-writers turn the patient
adjective into an overworked little drudge, and compel it to do thrice the
labor that it can effectually perform? Fifty years ago it led a life of
respected ease, and was only called on when it could be of some real use
to the author; now it knows no respite from its ever-increasing tasks, and
too often bears upon its weak shoulders the real burden of the book.
Formerly we were told that Tilburina had golden hair and blue eyes, or
raven hair and black eyes, as the case might be; and, that matter being
settled, we heard little more upon the subject. Now the hair and eyes
appear anew on every page, and are apparently considered the most
important element in the story.
Who has not been struck with the slighting manner in which Sir Walter
describes his heroines' charms? Edith Bellenden, we are asked to believe,
was fair without insipidity; Julia Mannering, who is to Waverley what
Rosalind is to Shakespeare, is hardly credited with being beautiful at all;
while when it comes to his heroes Sir Walter is even more strikingly
ineloquent. "A slender young man," or "a young man of genteel appearance,"
is sometimes all that is vouchsafed to us, the rest being happily left to
our imagination. Among modern writers, Trollope alone manifests this
curious indifference to the hair, eyes, noses, and mouths of his _dramatis
personae_. What was the color of Grace Crawley's hair, or of Lily Dale's
eyes? What did Archdeacon Grantby look like, or who shall venture to
describe the immortal Mrs. Proudie? George Eliot, on the contrary,
inclines, especially in her later books, to a lavish use of adjectives;
and the aspiring authoress of to-day may cite Gwendolen's "long brown
glance" as being quite as strained as any effort of her own. But then we
can no more approach George Eliot by copying a few of her mannerisms than
we can become Napoleons by wearing an old coat, or William the Thirds by
cultivating an inordinate taste for green peas.
To all, however, who wish to behold this tendency in its fullest and
freest development, we would recommend the perusal of a novel by Rhoda
Broughton, called "Second Thoughts,"--a bright, vivacious, almost witty
little book, marred only by its ineradicable defects of style. The heroine,
Gillian Latimer, is described over and over again, with as much emphasis
on every feature as if she were one of Madame Tussaud's pet creations and
had nothing but her outward appearance to suggest the real woman she
aspires to be. On her eyes alone more adjectives are brought to bear than
would have sufficed Scott for all the orbs in Waverley. They are "gray
eyes," "great gray eyes," "angry gray eyes," "steel-gray eyes," and
"displeased gray eyes;" also "grave eyes," "sparkling eyes," "clear eyes,"
"blazing eyes," "proud eyes," "great eyes," "aching eyes," "large bright
eyes," "drooped eyes," "eager young eyes," "angry eyes," "steel-colored
eyes." "sad, leave-taking eyes," "flashing eyes," and "proud, dewy eyes."
Upon one occasion she "lifts the fair stars of her gray eyes" into her
lover's face; on another, she scorches him badly with "gray eyes like
furious fires." The hero himself, a most quiet, commonplace young doctor,
is not above a little eye-work on his own account. He has alternately
"serious eyes," "cross eyes," "quiet, shrewd eyes," "coldly just, bright
eyes," "steady eyes," "calm eyes," "fiery eyes," "town-tired eyes,"--which
is quite a novelty in the list,--and "eyes of burning choler," to say
nothing of eyes that "burn like fire," while he "grows pale as ashes,"
which must have given him the effect of a conflagration, especially as he
stands once "all beflamed with sunset."
Next to the supreme question of eyes we hear most about Gillian's "blonde
head," and her "flaxen head," her "flax head," her "bowed flax head," her
"tossed head," her "wilful head," her "fair head," and her "well-poised
head," while to match these maidenly attributes she has a "fair Sphinx
face," a "tragic pale face," a "serious face," a "humiliated white face,"
a "flaming face," a "hotly-flushed face," a "sweetly apologetic face," and
a "flower-textured face." Moreover, being a very remarkable girl, she is
endowed with a "severe young figure," and a "gracious figure," whatever
that may mean, while her "lily-fair" and "delicate-cold" hands have
"satiny backs," and are "small and capable" as well. She is never merely
pretty like other women, but she has "ripe June beauty." and a "robust yet
delicate beauty." If she loses her temper, which happens rather often in
the course of the story, she manifests the same by the "red scorn of her
look," or by her "beautiful vexed eyes," which resemble a "sudden angry
gray arrow,"--imagine an angry gray arrow,--or by "flaming out into
crimson anger," or "with wreathed neck and flaming cheek," or "with
enkindled eye and vermeil cheek," both of which expressions we would
recommend to lovers of simplicity.
If she is sad, however, she "lifts the drowned stars of her impatient,
suffering eyes," or lowers them with a "moist look;" or she strays in
"confused red misery," or in a "passionate scarlet hurry," which is as
extraordinary in its way as an angry gray arrow. When her father dies, she
stands "long and craped," with a "black elbow" resting on the
chimney-place; while her various methods of blushing take up half the
volume. Never, indeed, was there a heroine who blushed so much about so
little. Sometimes it is merely a matter of "flaming cheeks," or of the
"young roses of her cheeks," or of the "mortified carmine of her cheeks,"
or of her "hot bloom," or of her "beautiful hot red roses." Sometimes it
is the "deep color of mingled shame and joy;" while on more especial
occasions we are assured that her face is "made all of poppies," that it
"changes from poppy-color to milk, and back from milk to poppy-color,"
that it "keeps shifting from frightened white to mortified red, and back
again," and, better than all, that "cheek and chin and pearl-fair throat
grow all one rose-red flame," with which triumph of compound adjectives we
will close our quotations, only remarking that Gillian's blushing chin
rivals the achievement of Ursula in "John Halifax," who, we are gravely
told, colored over her throat, neck, and arms.
All honor to the lady Olivia, who has taught us how to make a rational
inventory of a woman's charms! "Item, two lips indifferent red; item, two
gray eyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth." To
these let us add, item, one blush indifferent rosy, and then have done
with the subject forever.