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THE PRINCIPLES OF ENGLISH VERSIFICATION
BY
PAULL FRANKLIN BAUM
[Illustration]
CAMBRIDGE
HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS
1924
LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
COPYRIGHT, 1922
BY HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS
_Third printing_
PRINTED AT THE HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS
CAMBRIDGE, MASS., U. S. A.
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's note |
| |
| The following symbols have been used in the text: |
| |
| ‸ CARET a musical rest |
| |
| ◡ LOWER HALF CIRCLE an unstressed syllable |
| |
| _̷ COMBINING SHORT SOLIDUS OVERLAY a stressed syllable |
| |
| ^{x} superscript x |
| |
| [`] grave accent over the preceding unstressed syllable |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
TO
C. H. N. B.
PREFACE
Most of the older discussions of English versification labored under two
difficulties: an undue adherence to the traditions of Greek and Latin
prosody more or less perfectly understood, and an exaggerated formalism.
But recently the interest and excitement (now happily abated) over
free-verse have reopened the old questions and let in upon them not a
little light. Even today, however, a great deal of metrical analysis has
wrecked itself on the visible rocks of a false accuracy, and it is
therefore not only out of caution but also out of mere common sense that
we should eschew the arbitrary, even at the risk of vagueness and an
'unscientific' admission of uncertainty. For the only great and
annihilating danger of writing on versification is dogmatism. Our
theorists, both old and new, are first tempted and then possessed with
their theories--all else becoming wrong and intolerable. In the
following pages I have perhaps erred in a too frequent insistence on
doubts and perplexities; perhaps also, on occasion, in a too plain
statement of opinion where judgments are bound to differ--_sic se res
habent_.
Now it is plain that rhythm is one of the ultimate facts of nature and
one of the universal principles of art; and thus versification, which
is the study of the rhythms of verse, is both a science and an art. But
it differs from the other sciences in that its phenomena are not
'regular' and reducible to law, but varying and subject to the dictates,
even the whims, of genius; inasmuch as every poem involves a fresh fiat
of creation. Of course, no poet when he is composing, either in the
traditional "fine frenzy" or in the more sober process of revision,
thinks of prosody as a science, or perhaps thinks of it at all. If he
did he would go mad, and produce nothing. But the phenomena remain,
nevertheless, and the analysis of them becomes for us a science.
This analysis has what Bacon would call two inconveniences. The first is
complexity. The various ways in which the formal rhythms of verse
combine with the infinitely modulated rhythms of natural prose produce a
resultant which is complicated to the last degree and which almost
precludes orderly exposition. No system has been devised to express it.
The simpler ones fail through omission of important difficulties, the
more elaborate totter under their own weight. And thus the Gentle Reader
is either beguiled by false prophets--looks up and is not fed--or loses
heart and saves himself by flight. There is, to be sure, an arcanum of
prosodic theory which is the province of specialists. It has its place
in the scheme of things; but it is no more necessary for the genuine
enjoyment of Milton (or the 'moderns') than a knowledge of the formulae
for calculating the parallax of Alpha Leonis is necessary for enjoying
the pillared firmament. We must then compromise with a system which
reveals the existence of all the phenomena and tries to suggest their
interrelated workings.
The other inconvenience is that of seeming to deny the real poetry by
our preoccupation with its metrical expression. "Under pretence that we
want to study it more in detail, we pulverize the statue." This is an
old charge, and our answer is easy. For, however it may be with the
statue, a poem is never pulverized; it is still there on the page! No
amount of analyzing can injure the poem. If we think it has injured us,
even then we err, and need only recall our natural aversion to hard
labor. In nearly every instance it was the work and not the analysis
that bothered us.
This is a small book and therefore not exhaustive. And since it is as
elementary, especially in the treatment of the principles of rhythm, as
is consistent with a measure of thoroughness, the apparatus of mere
learning has been suppressed, even where it might perhaps seem needed,
as in footnote references to the scientific investigations on which part
of the text is based. I have consulted and used, of course, all the
books and articles I could find that had anything of value to offer; but
I have rarely cited them, not because I wish to conceal my indebtedness,
but because there is no room for elaborate documentation in such a book
as this. On the other hand, I owe a very great deal, both directly and
indirectly, to Professor Bliss Perry--although my manuscript was
finished before I saw his Study of Poetry; and this debt I wish to
acknowledge most fully and gratefully.
In lieu of a formal bibliography, I think it sufficient (in addition to
the footnotes that occur in their proper place) to refer the reader to
the larger works of Schipper and Saintsbury, to the smaller volumes of
Professor Perry and Professor R. M. Alden, and particularly to Mr. T. S.
Omond's English Metrists, 1921.
P. F. B.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. RHYTHM 3
II. RHYTHM OF PROSE AND VERSE 22
III. METRE 49
IV. METRICAL FORMS:
1. THE LINE 69
2. THE STANZA 88
3. BLANK VERSE 133
4. FREE-VERSE 150
5. EXOTIC FORMS 159
V. MELODY, HARMONY, AND MODULATION 165
GLOSSARIAL INDEX 207
CHAPTER I
RHYTHM
Rhythm, in its simplest sense, is measured motion; but by various
natural extensions of meaning the word has come to be used almost as a
synonym of regularity of variation. Whatever changes or alternates
according to a recognizable system is said to be rhythmic, to possess
rhythm. In this sense, rhythm is one of the universal principles of
nature. We find it in the stripes of the zebra, the indentation of
leaves, the series of teeth or of crystals, the curves of the horizon;
in the tides, the phases of the moon, the rising and setting of the sun,
the recurrence of seasons, the revolutions of planets; in the vibrations
of color, sound, and heat; in breathing, the throbbing of the pulse, the
stride of walking. All action and reaction whatever is rhythmic, both in
nature and in man. "Rhythm is the rule with Nature," said Tyndall; "she
abhors uniformity more than she does a vacuum." So deep-rooted, in
truth, is this principle, that we imagine it and feel it where it does
not exist, as in the clicking of a typewriter. Thus there is both an
_objective rhythm_, which actually exists as rhythm, and a _subjective
rhythm_, which is only the feeling of regularity resulting from a
natural tendency of the mind to 'organize' any irregularity that we
meet.
There are two fundamental forms of rhythm, though these are not
altogether mutually exclusive, (1) spatial, and (2) temporal.
* * * * *
_Spatial Rhythms._ The simplest spatial rhythm is a series of
equidistant points--
. . . . . . . . . .
More complex forms are the succession of repeated designs in mouldings
and wainscotings (for example, the alternation of egg and dart), the
series of windows in a wall, or of the columns of a Greek temple, or of
the black and white keys of a piano. Still more complex is the balanced
arrangement of straight lines and curves in a geometrical design, as in
certain Oriental rugs or the Gothic rose windows. And probably the most
complex spatial rhythms are those of the facades of great buildings like
the Gothic cathedrals or St. Mark's of Venice, where only the trained
eye perceives the subtleties of alternation and balance.
* * * * *
_Temporal Rhythms._ Temporal rhythms, apart from those of planetary
motion, the alternation of seasons, and the like (which are called
rhythmic by a metaphorical extension of the term), manifest themselves
to us as phenomena of sound; hence the two concepts time-rhythm and
sound-rhythm are commonly thought of as one and the same.
The simplest form is the tick-tick-tick of a watch or metronome. But
such mechanical regularity is comparatively rare, and in general the
temporal rhythms are all highly complex composites of sounds and
silences. Their highest manifestations are music and language. The
rhythm of language, and _a fortiori_ that of verse, is therefore
primarily a temporal or sound rhythm, and as such is the particular
subject of the following pages.
* * * * *
_Combinations._ Language, however, when addressed to the eye rather than
to the ear, that is, when written or printed rather than spoken, is
partly a spatial phenomenon; and, as will appear presently, the
arrangement of words and sentences on the formal page is a real factor
in the rhythm of verse. Moreover, most of the rhythms of motion, such as
walking, the ebb and flow of tides, the breaking of waves on the beach,
are composites of temporal and spatial.[1]
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| [1] One hears sometimes of 'rhythmic thought' and 'rhythmic |
| feeling.' This is merely a further extension or metaphorical |
| usage of the term. In Othello, for instance, there is a more |
| or less regular alternation of the feelings of purity and |
| jealousy, and of tragedy and comedy. In some of the |
| Dialogues of Plato there is a certain rhythm of thought. |
| This usage is fairly included in the Oxford Dictionary's |
| definition: "movement marked by the regulated succession of |
| strong and weak elements, or of opposite or different |
| conditions." |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
* * * * *
_Sound Rhythm._ These elementary generalizations must be narrowed now to
the special phenomena of sound, and then still more particularly to the
sounds of language.
All musical tones, including the phonetic sounds of words, have four
characteristics: pitch, loudness or intensity, quality or tone-color,
and duration. The last, of course, needs no definition.
* * * * *
_Pitch_ is dependent on the number of vibrations per second. The greater
the number of vibrations, the higher the pitch and the more 'acute' the
tone. The lowest pitch recognizable as a tone (as distinguished from
noise) is 8 vibrations a second; the highest pitch the ear can hear is
between 20,000 and 30,000 a second. In normal English speech among
adults the voice ranges from about 100 to 300 vibrations, but in
animated speaking this range is greatly increased.
* * * * *
_Loudness_ is a comparative term for the strength of the sensation of
sound in the ear. It is determined by the energy or intensity of the
vibrations and varies (technically speaking) as the product of the
square of the frequency and the square of the amplitude (_I=n^{2}A^{2}_).
But for ordinary purposes it is sufficient to regard loudness and
intensity as the same. The distinction, however, is clear in common
practice; for whether one says "father" loudly or quietly, there is a
relatively greater intensity of sound in the first syllable than in the
second. In speech this intensity is called _accent_ or _stress_.
The third characteristic, variously called _quality_, _timbre_,
_tone-quality_, _tone-color_, is that which distinguishes sounds of the
same loudness and pitch produced by different instruments or voices. It
is the result of the combination of the partial tones of a sound, that
is, of the fundamental and its overtones. In music, tone-quality is of
the utmost importance, but as an element of speech rhythm it is
practically non-existent, and may be wholly neglected, though it plays,
of course, a prominent part in the oral reading of different persons.[2]
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| [2] There is, however, another phenomenon (to be discussed |
| later) called by the same name, 'tone-color,' but having |
| only a metaphorical relation to it. Many words--_father_, |
| _soul_, _ineluctable_, for example--have emotional |
| associations which stand to the literal meaning somewhat |
| like overtones to the fundamental. This tone-quality of |
| language is one of the primary and most significant sources |
| of poetical effect, but it should never be confused with the |
| musical term on which it is patterned. |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
What is the relation of these physical attributes of sound to sound
rhythm? The answer lies in a closer examination of the nature of rhythm,
especially as it concerns the rhythm of speech.
Rhythm means measured flow or succession. Now first, in order that any
succession may be measured, there must be something recognizable which
distinguishes one unit from the next. In spatial rhythms the point of
division is almost always easily perceived; hence the greater difficulty
of analyzing the simplest time-rhythms as compared with the most complex
space-rhythms. Moreover, the basis of measurement, that by which the
'distance' between any point of division and that which follows it is
determined, must, by definition, be duration of time. Suppose, however,
that the time-distance between successive points of emphasis or division
is equal, is the rhythm therefore necessarily regular? No, because the
points of emphasis themselves may vary in force or energy. Thus if in
the following scheme (´ = point of emphasis; -= equal time-distance):
´-´-´-´-´-´-etc.
every ´ is not of the same value, the result might be (´´= twice as much
emphasis as ´;´´´ = three times as much):
´´-´-´´´-´´-´´´-etc.
and this could not be called regular. A simple illustration of this is
the difference in music between 3/4 time, where we count 1´ 2 3, 1´ 2 3,
1´ 2 3 and 6/4 or 6/8 time, where we count 1´´ 2 3 4´ 5 6, 1´´ 2 3 4´ 5
6. Furthermore, apart from any question of force or energy applied in
the production of a sound, it is clear that high notes seem to possess a
greater strength than low notes, and must therefore be recognized as an
element in rhythmic emphasis. For example, if the following series of
notes were sounded on a piano, and each struck with equal force--
[Illustration: Musical notes--A E A E A E] etc.
a certain 'accent' would probably be felt on the _e_ which was not felt
on the _a_. And it is well known that shrill sounds and high-pitched
voices carry farther and _seem louder_ than others.
In the simplest kind of temporal rhythm, therefore, where the beats are,
say, drum-taps of equal force, the primary element is time. But if there
is the added complication of drum-taps of unequal force, the element of
comparative stress must be reckoned with. And if, finally, the drum-taps
are not in the same key (say, on kettledrums differently tuned), then
the further element of comparative pitch must be considered as a
possible point of emphasis. In a word, pitch may sometimes be
substituted for stress.
In music rhythmic units may be marked by differences in tone-quality as
well, and thus the potential complexity is greatly increased; but in
spoken language, as has been said, this element of rhythm is
negligible. In speech-rhythm, however, the three conditions of time,
stress, and pitch are always present, and therefore no consideration of
either prose rhythm or verse can hope to be complete or adequate which
neglects any one of them or the possibilities of their permutations and
combinations. And it is precisely here that many treatments of the
rhythm of language have revealed their weakness: they have excluded
pitch usually, and often either stress or time. They have tried to build
up a whole system of prosody sometimes on a foundation of stress alone,
sometimes of time alone. The reason for this failure is simple, and it
is also a warning. Any attempt to reckon with these three forces, each
of which is extremely variable, not only among different individuals but
in the same person at different times--any attempt to analyze these
elements and observe, as well, their mutual influences and combined
effects, is bound to result in a complication of details that almost
defies expression or comprehension. The danger is as great as the
difficulty. But nothing can ever be gained by the sort of simplification
which disregards existent and relevant facts. It is to be confessed at
once, however, that one cannot hope to answer in any really adequate way
all or even most of the questions that arise. The best that can be
expected is a thorough recognition of the complexity, together with some
recognition of the component difficulties.
Moreover, only a part of the problem has been stated thus far. Not only
is all spoken language the resultant of the subjectively variable
forces of time, stress, and pitch, but these three forces are themselves
subject to and intimately affected by the thought and emotion which they
express. Though educated persons probably receive the phenomena of
language more frequently through the eye than through the ear, it is
true that words are, in the first instance, sounds, of which the printed
or written marks are but conventional symbols. And these symbols and the
sounds which they represent have other values also, logical or
intellectual and emotional values. Language is therefore a compound
instrument of both sound and meaning, and speech-rhythm, in its fullest
sense, is the composite resultant of the attributes of sound (duration,
intensity, and pitch) modified by the logical and emotional content of
the words and phrases which they represent.
For example, utter the words: "A house is my fire," and observe the
comparative duration of time in the pronunciation of each word, the
comparative stress, and the relative pitch (e. g. of _a_ and _fire_).
Now rearrange these nearly meaningless syllables: "My house is afire."
Observe the differences, some slight and some well marked, in time,
stress, and pitch. Then consider the different emotional coloring this
sentence might have and the different results on time, stress, and pitch
in utterance, if, say, the house contains all that you hold most
precious and there is no chance of rescue; or if, on the other hand, the
house is worthless and you are glad to see it destroyed. And even here
the matter is comparatively simple; for in reading the following
sentence from Walter Pater, note the manifold variations in your own
utterance of it at different times and imagine how it would be read by a
person of dull sensibilities, by one of keen poetic feeling, and finally
by one who recalled its context and on that account could enjoy its
fullest richness: "It is the landscape, not of dreams or of fancy, but
of places far withdrawn, and hours selected from a thousand with a
miracle of finesse."[3]
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| [3] Walter Pater, "Leonardo da Vinci," in The Renaissance. |
| For an account of scientific experiments on the time and |
| stress rhythm of this sentence, see W. M. Patterson, The |
| Rhythm of Prose, New York, 1916, ch. iv. An idea of the |
| complexity may be obtained from Patterson's attempt to |
| indicate it by musical notation: |
| |
| [Illustration: Metrical pattern expressed in musical |
| notation] |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
The last step of the complication, which can only be indicated here, and
will be developed in a later chapter, comes with the mutual adjustment
of the natural prose rhythm and the metrical pattern of the verse. Such
a sentence as the following has its own peculiar rhythms: "And, as
imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a
name." Now read it as verse, and the rhythms are different; both the
meaning and the music are enhanced.
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
SHAKESPEARE, Midsummer Night's Dream, V, i.
These then are the problems and the difficulties. The solutions can be
only partial and tentative, but they are the best we are able to obtain
with our present knowledge and our present capabilities of analysis. As
science today has advanced in accuracy of knowledge and understanding of
the facts of nature far beyond the powers of our ancestors to imagine,
so in the future psychologists may, and let us hope will, enable us to
comprehend the subtleties of metrical rhythm beyond our present power.
Yet there will always remain, since the ever-inexplicable element of
genius is a necessary part of all art, a portion which no science can
describe or analyze.
* * * * *
_The Psychology of Rhythm._ That nearly all persons have a definite
sense of rhythm, though sometimes latent because of defective education,
is a familiar fact. The origin and source of this sense is a matter of
uncertainty and dispute. The regular beating of the heart, the regular
alternation of inhaling and exhaling, the regular motions of walking,
all these unconscious or semi-conscious activities of the body have been
suggested; and they doubtless have a concomitant if not a direct
influence on the rhythmic sense. Certainly there is an intimate relation
between the heart action and breath rate and the external stimulus of
certain rhythmic forces, as is shown by the tendency of the pulse and
breath to adapt their _tempo_ to the beat of fast or slow music. But
this can hardly be the whole explanation. More important, from the
psychological point of view, is doubtless the alternation of effort and
fatigue which characterizes our mental as well as physical actions. A
period of concentrated attention is at once followed by a period of
indifference; the attention flags, wearies, and must be recuperated by a
pause, just as the muscular effort of hand or arm. In truth, the muscles
of the eye play a real part in the alternations of effort and rest in
reading. The immediate application of this psychological fact to the
temporal rhythms has been clearly phrased by the French metrist, M.
Verrier:
I hear the first beat of a piece of music or of a verse, and, my
attention immediately awakened, I await the second. At the end of a
certain time--that is, when the expense of energy demanded has
reached a certain degree--this second beat strikes my ear. Then I
expect to hear the third when the dynamic sense of attention shall
indicate an equal expense of energy, that is, at the end of an
equal interval of time. Thus, by means of sensation and of memory
of the amount of energy expended in the attention each time, I can
perceive the equality of time-interval of the rhythmic units. Once
this effort of attention becomes definite and fixed, it repeats
itself instinctively and mechanically--by reflex action, so to say,
like that of walking when we are accustomed to a stride of a given
length and rapidity. Here we have truly a sort of metronome which
will beat out the rhythm according as we regulate it. And it goes
without saying that with this we can not only note the rhythm in
our songs or spoken verse or movements, but also perceive it in the
sounds and movements of other persons and other things.
This metronome of attention functions, indeed, still more simply.
With attention, as with all the psycho-physiological processes,
effort alternates with rest: it grows stronger and weaker,
contracts and expands in turn. This _pulse of attention_ varies in
different persons according to the peculiar rhythm of the organism.
In the same person, under normal conditions, it remains nearly
constant. It is always subject to modification by the
psycho-physiological conditions of the moment, especially by the
emotions and by external circumstances. In a series of identical
equidistant stresses, those which coincide with the pulse of
attention seem the stronger: this is what is called _subjective
rhythm_. Since this coincidence is nearly always somewhat inexact,
there results an easy accommodation of the pulse of attention,
although even in the subjective rhythm there has already occurred
an objective influence capable of affecting us sensibly.[4]
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| [4] Paul Verrier, Essai sur les Principes de la Métrique |
| Anglaise (Paris, 1909), Deuxieme Partie, Livre II, ch. x, |
| pp. 56, 57; and cf. p. 90, n. 1. |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
Thus we have always at hand both a more or less efficient bodily
metronome in the pulse and in respiration, and also a "cerebral
metronome" capable not only of easy adjustment to different rates of
speed but also of that subtlest of modulations which psychologists call
the 'elastic unit,' and which musicians, though not so definitely or
surely, recognize as _tempo rubato_.
The sense of rhythm, as has been said, differs remarkably in different
individuals--just as the sense of touch, of smell, of hearing.[5] To
some, rhythm appears chiefly as a series of points of emphasis or
stresses alternating with points of less emphasis or of none at all;
such are called, in scientific jargon, 'stressers.' To others the
principal characteristic of rhythm is the time intervals; such are
called 'timers.' But this is a practical, not a philosophical
distinction. For it is the _succession_ of points of emphasis which
even the most aggressive stresser feels as rhythmic; and succession
implies and involves a temporal element. The stresser's only difficulty
is to feel the approximate _equality_ of the interval. The essential
thing, however, is to understand that, while time is the foundation of
speech-rhythm, stress is its universal adjunct and concomitant.[6]
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| [5] A simple experiment will illustrate this. Place two |
| persons back to back, so that they cannot see each other, |
| and have them beat time to an audible melody; as soon as the |
| music ceases they will begin to beat differently. (Verrier, |
| II, p. 65.) The difficulty of keeping even a trained |
| orchestra playing together illustrates the same fact. |
| |
| [6] "If rhythm means anything to the average individual, it |
| means motor response and a sense of organized time." |
| Patterson, p. 14. |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
The explanation of this duality is simple. A series of identical tones
[Illustration: Identical notes] etc.
contains a simple objective rhythm. The pronounced timer will feel it
clearly; the extreme stresser will not. Change the series to
[Illustration: Alternate long and short notes] etc.,
or
[Illustration: Alternate longer stressed notes and shorter unstressed
notes] etc.,
and both will feel it; for in the last example both time and stress are
obvious, and in the other the longer notes of the series produce the
effect of stress.[7] Most persons, therefore, with a greater or less
degree of consciousness, allow their physical or cerebral metronome to
affect the simple
[Illustration: Identical notes] etc.,
so that they hear or feel either
[Illustration: Alternate stressed and unstressed notes] etc.,
or
[Illustration] etc.,
It is thus that the clock says tick-_tock_, tick-_tock_, the locomotive
_chu_-chu, _chu_-chu. Timers are in the minority.
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| [7] Musicians often 'dot' a note for the sake of emphasizing |
| the accent, especially in orchestral music and with such |
| instruments as the flute, where variations of stress are |
| difficult to produce. |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
A converse phenomenon of the subjective introduction of stress into a
series of identical tones at equal intervals is the subjective
'organization' of a series of irregular beats. Some do this more easily
and naturally than others, but the tendency is present in all who are
not absolutely rhythm-deaf. The "minute drops from off the eaves" beat
out a tune, the typewriter develops a monotonous song, the public
speaker 'gets his stride' and continues in a sing-song.
Thus, when there are equal intervals but stress is absent, we more or
less unconsciously supply it; when there are distinct stresses at
irregular intervals we organize them into approximately regular
intervals. We have in us by instinct and by development both the
_ability_ and also the _need_ to draw forth rhythm wherever it is
latent. Rhythm becomes one of our physical and mental pleasures,
manifest in primitive dancing and balladry, sailors' chanteys, and the
simple _heave-ho_'s of concerted labor. It induces economy of effort,
and so makes work lighter; and it has, though perhaps not always, a
certain æsthetic value, in making labor more interesting as well as
easier. It is one of the attributes of the god we worship under the name
of System.
* * * * *
_Coördination, Syncopation, Substitution._ The processes of the
subjective organization of rhythm may best be explained under the heads
of coördination, syncopation, and substitution. Their application to the
particular problems of verse will be apparent at once, and will, in
fact, constitute the bulk of the following pages.
* * * * *
_Coördination_ has two aspects, according as it is thought of simply as
an existing fact or as a process. In the former sense it is the
agreement or coincidence (or the perception of agreement or coincidence)
between the simple normal recurrence of beats and the actual or
predetermined pattern. Thus in the lines
And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies,
MILTON, Paradise Lost, II, 950.
A sable, silent, solemn forest stood,
THOMSON, Castle of Indolence, st. 5.
the 'natural' beat of the words uttered in the most natural and
reasonable manner coincides with the 'artificial' beat of the metrical
line.
On the other hand, coordination is the process which results in one's
reduction of irregular beats to an approximately regular series. When we
hear a haphazard succession of drum-taps or the irregular click-click of
the typewriter, most of us soon begin to feel a certain orderly
arrangement, a rhythmical _swing_ in the repeated sounds, a grouping
according to a sort of unit which recurs with nearly equal intervals.
The units are not absolutely equal, but are elastic, allowing of some
contraction and expansion; yet they are so nearly equal, or we feel them
so, that the series seems regular.
Now this process of coördination involves two activities, syncopation
and substitution. The workings of both are highly complex and somewhat
uncertain; they differ greatly in different individuals, and when
analyzed scientifically seem to produce more difficulties than they
explain. But fortunately the outstanding ideas are beyond dispute, and
detailed examination can properly be left to the scientists.
* * * * *
_Syncopation_ is the union, or the perception of the union, of two or
more rhythmic patterns.[8] A familiar example is perhaps the 'three
against two' in music, where one hand follows a _tum_-te-te, _tum_-te-te
rhythm, the other a _tum_-te, _tum_-te. This complexity, which strikes
us as sophisticated subtlety and is not always easy to reproduce, is in
fact both simple and familiar to the untutored savage. We must remember
that the evolution of language and of music has been for the more part
in the direction of greater simplicity of structure. Primitive music, as
we find it in the undeveloped Indians and Australasians, is often too
complex to be expressed by our regular notation. Another familiar
example of syncopation is the negro dance, in which the "dancer taps
with his feet just half-way between the hand-claps of those who are
accompanying his performance."[9] And of course the commonest example is
the strongly marked syncopation of ragtime.[10]
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| [8] Cf. Patterson, p. 3, "... the possibility of preserving |
| a certain series of time intervals, but of changing in |
| various ways the nature of the motions or sensations that |
| mark the beats." This may be tested by a simple experiment. |
| With the foot or finger tap evenly, regularly, and rather |
| rapidly. Without changing the regularity of the tapping, but |
| merely by a mental readjustment, the beats may be felt as |
| _tum_-te, _tum_-te, _tum_-te (or te-_tum_, etc.) or as |
| _tum_-te-te, _tum_-te-te, _tum_-te-te (or te-te-_tum_, |
| etc.), or even as _tum_-te-te-te, _tum_-te-te-te (or |
| te-te-te-_tum_, etc.). It is but a step from this successive |
| perception of various rhythms from the same objective source |
| to a combined and simultaneous perception of them. |
| |
| [9] Patterson, p. xx, n. 3. |
| |
| [10] Experiments have shown that with a little practice one |
| can learn to beat five against seven, and thus actually |
| though unconsciously count in thirty-fives. (Patterson, p. |
| 6.) |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
In prose, this syncopation is evident in the apparent recognition, and
even reproduction in reading aloud, of a regularity of rhythm where none
really exists; as when protracted reading or listening develops or seems
to develop a monotonous sing-song. But this phenomenon cannot be
explained briefly, and the details must be omitted here.[11] In verse
also syncopation frequently occurs, though it is seldom recognized
except as an 'irregularity.' In the following lines of Paradise Lost the
first two coincide pretty closely with the normal beats of the measure;
while in the third line the series is an entirely different one.
So Satan spake, and him Beelzebub
Thus answered: "Leader of those armies bright,
_Which but th' Omnipotent none could have foil'd_...."
MILTON, Paradise Lost, I, 271-273.
Here to stress distinctly _but_,-_tent_, _could_ utterly ruins both the
meaning and the music of the line: to utter the words as if they were
ordinary prose would preserve the meaning, but destroy the
verse-movement. In Milton's ear, however, and in ours if we do not
resist, there is a subtle syncopation of four beats against five. (Of
course syncopation alone does not explain the rhythm of this line.) A
most startling syncopation is ventured by Milton in Samson Agonistes
(1071-72):
I less conjecture than when first I saw
_The sumptuous Dálila floating this way_.
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| [11] Those who are interested will find the scientific |
| experiments discussed in Patterson, ch. i and Appendix III. |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
* * * * *
_Substitution_ is simpler. It merely means recognizing the equivalence,
and therefore the possibility of interchange, of a long interval with
two or more shorter intervals whose sum equals the one long. That is, in
music two quarter-notes are equal to a half-note, and they may be
anywhere substituted one for the other; or a dotted half-note equal
three quarter-notes, etc. In verse it means that three syllables (or
one, or even four) may be substituted for the normal two syllables of a
foot if the three (or one or four) are uttered in approximately the same
period of time.
The term _substitution_, however, may be used in a larger sense. Thus
far only the purely temporal element of the rhythm has been thought of.
When the two others, stress and pitch, are recalled, it becomes clear
that another sort of substitution is both possible and usual, namely,
that of either pitch or stress for duration. In other words, the groups
that make up a rhythmic series may be determined or marked off by
emphasis of pitch or emphasis of stress as well as by duration of time.
In fact, it is from this habitual interplay of the three elements that
most of the complexity of metre arises; as it is the failure to
recognize this substitution which has given the older prosodies much of
their false simplicity and their mechanical barrenness.
* * * * *
_Summary._ The fundamental problems of versification are all involved in
the principles of rhythm, especially the temporal rhythm of language.
The rhythm of both prose and verse is a resultant of the three
attributes of sound: stress, duration, and pitch (the first two being
usually the determining elements, the third an accessory element)
modified by the thought and emotion of the words. The feeling for this
rhythm, or perception of it, has both physical and psychological
explanations, and varies considerably among individuals, some being
'timers,' others 'stressers,' apparently by natural endowment. The
processes of our perception of rhythm are those of coordination, or
partly subjective reduction of actual 'irregularities' to a standard of
'regularity'; this reduction being accomplished mainly by syncopation
and substitution.