The Cambridge History of English and American Literature in 18 Volumes (1907–21).
Volume XIV. The Victorian Age, Part Two.
§ 8. Plain and ornate style
Barnes represents the extreme views of the supporters of the native element in English against the foreign. This opposition is, in part, associated with the alternation in style which has been manifest most noticeably in the domain of prose, during the last three centuries—the recurrent movement between the plain, unadorned style and the rhetorical, ornate style. Each form has ebbed and flowed: neither, however, has existed absolutely alone. Each is exposed to its own danger: the plain may degenerate into the bald or the vulgar, the ornate into the extravagant or the gaudy.
Among the Elizabethans, Lyly and Sidney had endeavoured to beautify prose. In the first half of the seventeenth century, we meet with various devices to enrich literary style, exemplified by the “conceits” of Donne, Crashaw and other metaphysical poets, and, in prose, by the antitheses and tropes of Bacon, the quaintness of Burton and Fuller, the ornate splendour of Taylor, Milton and Browne. But the average reader found it difficult to comprehend their strange—often highly Latinised—vocabulary, their involved sentences, their farfetched allusions, their bold figures; and after the restoration arose the cry for a plainer, clearer style. A longing for an academy on the French model was several times expressed. In 1664, the Royal Society appointed a committee to improve the English language, but nothing resulted. One of the members of the committee was John Dryden, who had already (Rival-Ladies, dedication) lamented
Dryden, however, was destined to take the lead in adapting the conversational English of the age to be a suitable medium for the varied aims of prose; and this simpler style he also introduced into poetry. His Essay of Dramatick Poesie (1668) is written in straightforward conversational English, and may be regarded, indirectly at least, as a manifesto of the new prose. A direct manifesto had recently appeared in The History of the Royal Society, by Thomas Sprat. There he condemns “this vicious abundance of phrase, this trick of metaphors, this volubility of tongue, which makes so great a noise in the world.” He points out that the Royal Society had vigorously applied the only remedy for this extravagance;
However plausible the Society’s preference might seem, however admirably the vernacular was handled by Bunyan and Defoe, as later by Cobbett, however effective was Locke’s plain bluntness, the unmeasured use of the language of the common people nearly destroyed literary English at the end of the seventeenth century and the beginning of the eighteenth. The language of the average man abounds in colloquial elisions and abbreviations, in careless constructions, in familiar catch-words and slang. These were indulged in by L’Estrange and other writers of periodicals and controversial pamphlets. Swift, Addison and Steele, on the other hand, sought to restore the purity of the language. In The Tatler (no. 230), Swift censures elisions like can’t do’t for cannot do it, the pronunciation of absolves instead of absolveth, and shortenings like phizz, mob, rep. He pillories banter, bamboozle, country put, kidney, adding “I have done my utmost for some years past to stop the progress of mob and banter, but have been plainly bore down by numbers.”
Accordingly, he appeals to Isaac Bickerstaff to make use of his
The Spectator continued, for several generations, to be the general pattern for prose. Johnson reminds us of this when he says, “Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison.”
Occasionally, however, the model was diverged from; and style degenerated. Then, dignity was restored to prose, in different ways, by Johnson, with his Latinised diction, his antitheses, his balanced structure; by Gibbon, with his periphrases and his rolling periods; by Burke, with his eloquent copiousness and his glowing imagery.
With the romantic revival came a vital change. Eighteenth-century poets, in their efforts to distinguish the language of poetry from the language of prose, had elaborated a conventional diction. The romantic poets eagerly sought to supersede this convention by vivid, appropriate words. To obtain these, they often ransacked the older treasures of the language. Prose, also, was influenced by the romantic movement, though more slowly; and, to a certain extent, was freed from artificiality and formality of diction. In the early nineteenth century, Southey is an instance of the perfection attainable in the simple style. Since then, there have been several movements away from the standard style, some of them towards elaborate, gorgeous, rhythmical prose. The earliest movement took various directions in De Quincey, Landor, Macaulay and Carlyle. About the middle of the century, contemporary with the word-painting and music of Ruskin’s prose and the simple beauty of Newman’s, many writers showed a tendency towards a slipshod colloquialism. The reaction that followed—the effects of which are not yet exhausted—is seen in the striving after the refinements of style associated with the names of Rossetti and Swinburne in verse, and of Pater and Stevenson in prose.
Several of the suggestions to establish a censorship of English have been mentioned. But the greatest effort was Swift’s Proposal for correcting, improving and ascertaining the English Tongue (1712), in a letter to the earl of Oxford, then lord high treasurer. After repeating and amplifying his views in The Tatler, Swift asks Oxford to appoint a society with authority to remove defects in the grammar of English and gross improprieties, however well sanctioned by usage. Many words should be expelled, many more should be corrected, perhaps not a few should be restored. But the kernel of his proposal is
One of Johnson’s aims in compiling his Dictionary was to fix the English language; but, in the preface, he confessed he had been too sanguine.
Johnson’s fear of degeneration has not yet been justified. And, when we survey what English has done in the past, when we see its capacity to-day both as an instrument of clear and exact communication and as a means of artistic literary expression, we may be confident that, instead of degenerating, it will continue to advance, and to increase in strength, copiousness and flexibility.