CHAPTER II

THE CRITERION OF PITCH

The second criterion is that of Pitch. By Pitch is meant everything that has to do with the acuteness or gravity of the tone,--in other words, with keys, melodies, inflections and modulations. Again we are indebted to Professor Raymond for a clear statement regarding this most subtle of all the elements of expression. His words are as follows: “The melody of the movement taken by the voice represents, therefore, like the melody in music, the _mind’s motive_,--indicates its purpose in using the particular phraseology to which the melody is applied; and because pitch, through the kinds of inflections and melody chosen, reveals the motives, we shall find that the use of this element in ordinary conversation is constantly causing precisely the same phraseology to express entirely opposite meanings.” Before proceeding further, it may be well to illustrate this principle, in order that the reader may follow more clearly the subsequent discussion.

Let us suppose some one to ask the question, “Do you think Mr. Jones is a good teacher?” and that the reply is given, “Oh, yes,” with a melody that virtually says, “Oh, I suppose so; he is not a very great teacher; in fact, there are many things about his teaching that might be a great deal better, but he manages to get along.” Now, all of this paraphrase, which reveals the motive, is manifested in the significant melody upon the two words, “Oh, yes.” Let us suppose further that a few days later Mr. Jones comes to us and calls us to account for speaking disparagingly of his teaching. “What,” we reply, “we say anything against your teaching! Why, when Smith asked us whether we considered you a good teacher, we said in the most unequivocal manner, ‘Oh, yes’!” And this time we utter the words with strong, positive assertiveness. The words in both cases are the same, but the different melodies indicate entirely opposite motives behind the words.

Read aloud such a sentence as, “John rode to the park last Christmas,” changing the meaning by transferring the significant inflection successively to all the important words, thus:

_John_ rode to the park last Christmas.

John _rode_ to the park last Christmas.

John rode to the _park_ last Christmas, etc.

Does it not appear that, with each change in the motive, the melody changes?

We often hear it said that in such cases as the last we have been changing the emphasis. This is true. But emphasis is a broad term, and one often confused with force. As a matter of fact, the changes in the successive readings were changes of melody due in every case to changes of motive.

Again, “When we are in our graves our children will honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivities, with bonfires, with joy.” The inflections on the last four nouns would probably be falling. Why? Because each would be held to be of sufficient importance to be emphasized by itself, and cut off from the others. To read them with rising inflections would be to manifest the fact that the mind was thinking of them in the aggregate. Once again, the melody shows the motive.

The melody is an indubitable sign of the discriminative ability of the reader. It is the severest test of his power to perceive sense, or logical, relations. So important a feature of the work is this that it appears necessary to emphasize it and to illustrate it in many ways.

Bassanio desires to show his love for Antonio. He says:

Antonio, I am married to a wife, Which is as dear to me as life itself; But life itself, my wife, and all the world, Are not with me esteem’d above thy life: I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all Here to this devil, to deliver you.

It is evident that he does not wish to assert that he is married, nor that he is married to a wife; but that he is married to a wife as dear as life itself. And yet many a pupil reads the passage as if Bassanio were desirous of insisting upon the fact that he is married to a wife. Not a very remarkable condition of affairs, truly. It is no argument to say that the comma after “wife” indicates the necessity of a rising inflection on that word. As has been already intimated, and as will be later developed, the punctuation has nothing to do with the inflection.

Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, Sullen and silent and disconsolate. Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear, With look bewildered, and a vacant stare, Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, His only friend the ape, his only food What others left,--he still was unsubdued.

In the preceding passage, note that from the third line to the clause at the end of the sentence the mind is glancing forward, and this fact will be evident in the rising inflection at the end of every important statement. Notice, further, that all of these statements will be uttered in what is virtually the same melody. The reason for this is that they are co-ordinate, and having the same motive behind them will be read with the same melody.

Observe the different melodies in the following sentences, and how the difference manifests the varying motive:

When Mark Antony uses the phrase, “honorable men,” in the beginning of his oration, there can be no doubt that he avoids even the slightest indication of sarcasm in his voice. Whatever his ultimate purpose may be, his immediate intention is to conciliate the mob. This purpose, his motive, is shown by the unequivocal melody with which he says:

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,-- For Brutus is an honorable man, So are they all, all honorable men,-- Come I to speak on Caesar’s funeral.

It is hardly necessary to consider this aspect farther. Let us, however, examine the subject in detail. The first consideration is that of Key. Key has been defined as “the fundamental tone of a movement to which its modulations are referred, and with which it generally begins and ends; keynote.” (Webster.) Perhaps the meaning of the current phrases “high key” and “low key” will make the definition clear. When we say of one that he speaks in a high key, we should be understood as meaning that his pitch is prevailingly high; and that the reverse is true when we say of one that he speaks in a low key. While it is true that the key differs in individuals, yet experience shows that within a note or two we all use the same keys in expressing the same states of minds. The question for us is, What determines the key? It can be set down as a fixed principle that controlled mental states are expressed in the low keys, while the high keys are the manifestation of the less controlled mental conditions.[1] This principle will be more readily understood when we consider the states finding expression in low or high key in music. We should hardly awaken much enthusiasm by playing _Yankee Doodle_ in a key an octave below that in which it is written; nor should we catch the subtle meaning of Chopin’s _Funeral March_ if it were played in a key an octave higher than the original key. Let the reader study the spirit of the following extracts, and read them aloud. He will find in such practice the best proof of the truth of the principle we are here discussing:

Over his keys the musing organist, Beginning doubtfully and far away, First lets his fingers wander as they list, And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay: Then, as the touch of his loved instrument Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent Along the wavering vista of his dream.

--_The Vision of Sir Launfal._ LOWELL.

It is but a legend, I know,-- A fable, a phantom, a show, Of the ancient Rabbinical lore; Yet the old mediæval tradition, The beautiful, strange superstition, But haunts me and holds me the more.

When I look from my window at night, And the welkin above is all white, All throbbing and panting with stars, Among them majestic is standing Sandalphon the angel, expanding His pinions in nebulous bars.

And the legend, I feel, is a part Of the hunger and thirst of the heart, The frenzy and fire of the brain, That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, The golden pomegranates of Eden, To quiet its fever and pain.

--_Sandalphon._ LONGFELLOW.

I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguished; and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless; and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came, and went,--and came, and brought no day.

The world was void; The populous and the powerful was a lump,-- Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,-- A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay. The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still; And nothing stirred within their silent depths: Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea; And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropped, They slept on the abyss without a surge;-- The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave; The moon, their mistress, had expired before; The winds were withered in the stagnant air; And the clouds perished: Darkness had no need Of aid from them, She--was the universe.

--_Darkness._ BYRON.

A fool, a fool!--I met a fool i’ th’ forest, A motley fool;--a miserable world!-- As I do live by food, I met a fool; Who laid him down, and bask’d him in the sun, And rail’d on lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms,--and yet a motley fool. “Good morrow, fool,” quoth I; “No, sir,” quoth he, “Call me not fool, till heav’n hath sent me fortune;” And then he drew a dial from his poke: And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says, very wisely, “It is ten o’clock; Thus may we see,” quoth he, “how the world wags; ’Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine; And after one hour more ’twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot, And thereby hangs a tale.” When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep contemplative. And I did laugh, sans intermission An hour by his dial. O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear.

--_As You Like It_, Act ii., Sc. 7.

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek, And love to dwell in dimple sleek; Come, and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.

--_L’Allegro._ MILTON.

Where sweeps round the mountains The cloud on the gale, And streams from their fountains Leap into the vale,-- Like frighted deer leap when The storm with his pack Rides over the steep in The wild torrent’s track,-- Even there my free home is; There watch I the flocks Wander white as the foam is In stairways of rocks. Secure in the gorge there In freedom we sing, And laugh at King George, where The eagle is king.

--_Song._ T. B. READ.

The reason for low pitch or high pitch is psycho-physiological. Nerve tension means muscular tension, and, since the muscles controlling the vocal chords are subject to the same laws as the other muscles, the greater the tension the higher the pitch. Hence, since what we have called the controlled states are accompanied by relatively low muscular tension, it necessarily follows that they will be expressed in relatively low keys.

The desire to communicate thought to another has a tendency to raise the key. To illustrate: if we are addressing an audience in a small room, we shall speak in a moderately low key. If the auditorium is large, the key will be higher. If we are speaking in the open air, the chances are that we shall use a key considerably above that of ordinary conversation. On the other hand, when one is communing with himself, the absence of desire to reach others removes the tension, and in consequence the pitch is low. It is well to bear in mind that all soliloquies are not read in low key. Soliloquies are often full of uncontrolled passion, in which case the principle first laid down would apply, and the pitch would be high, according to the degree of tension. What has been said in this paragraph we may sum up in a few words: those states in which there is strong desire to communicate (objective states) are manifested in high key; while the introspective (subjective) states find expression in the lower keys. Henry V., inciting his soldiers to attack the enemy’s fortifications, says:

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace, there’s nothing so becomes a man, As modest stillness, and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favor’d rage: Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry through the portage of the head, Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it, As fearfully as doth a gallèd rock O’erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height!--On, on, you noblest English, Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!--

* * * * *

The game’s afoot; Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge, Cry--God for Harry! England! and Saint George!

--_Henry V._, Act iii., Sc. 1.

The tension of the speaker is evidently high, owing to the exhilaration of the moment, and to the desire to project his voice (of which he may be unconscious), and consequently the key will be high. It is the joy of the English people that Tennyson voices in his Welcome to Alexandra. Again the key is relatively high.

Sea-kings’ daughter from over the sea, Alexandra! Saxon and Norman and Dane are we, But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee, Alexandra! Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet! Welcome her, thundering cheer of the street! Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet, Scatter the blossoms under her feet! Break, happy land, into earlier flowers! Make music, O bird, in the new-budded bowers! Blazon your mottoes of blessing and prayer! Welcome her, welcome her, all that is ours! Warble, O bugle, and trumpet, blare! Flags, flutter out upon turrets and towers! Flames, on the windy headland flare! Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire! Clash, ye bells, in the merry March air! Flash, ye cities, in rivers of fire! Rush to the roof, sudden rocket, and higher Melt into stars for the land’s desire! Roll and rejoice, jubilant voice, Roll as a ground-swell dashed on the strand, Roar as the sea when it welcomes the land, And welcome her, welcome the land’s desire, The sea-kings’ daughter as happy as fair, Blissful bride of a blissful heir, Bride of the heir of the kings of the sea. O joy to the people and joy to the throne, Come to us, love us, and make us your own; For Saxon or Dane or Norman we, Teuton or Celt, or whatever we be, We are each all Dane in our welcome of thee, Alexandra!

--_Welcome to Alexandra._ TENNYSON.

Hamlet’s soliloquy will find expression in moderately low key when one grasps the idea that Hamlet is meditating upon:

To be, or not to be,--that is the question; Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die,--to sleep,-- No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to,--’tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish’d. To die,--to sleep;-- To sleep! perchance to dream!--ay, there’s the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there’s the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, The pangs of disprized love, the law’s delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus made With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death,-- The undiscover’d country from whose bourn No traveler returns,--puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought; And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.

--_Hamlet_, Act iii., Sc. 1.

The following lines are delivered by Hamlet when he appreciates the fact that while his father’s blood cries out for vengeance he stands idle, beset by doubts and fears. The speech is a soliloquy, but it would be rendered in a moderately high pitch owing to the mental tension of the speaker:

O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit, That from her working all his visage wann’d; Tears in his eyes, distraction in ’s aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing! For Hecuba! What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? What would he do, Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have? He would drown the stage with tears, And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; Make mad the guilty, and appal the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing; no, not for a king Upon whose property and most dear life A damn’d defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by th’ nose? gives me the lie i’ the throat, As deep as to the lungs? who does me this? Ha! ’Swounds, I should take it; for it cannot be But I am pigeon-liver’d, and lack gall To make oppression bitter; or, ere this, I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave’s offal. Bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! O vengeance!

--_Hamlet_, Act ii., Sc. 2.

The principle just discussed,--that key depends on the degree of tension, first mental, then physical,--is of very wide application. As a matter of fact, it explains the whole subject of melody. In passing from a controlled to a less controlled state, the voice rises, and vice versa. To illustrate: Brutus says to Cassius, “You yourself are much condemned to have an itching palm”; and Cassius replies, “I an itching palm!” On the word “I” the voice of Cassius strikes upward through, perhaps, an octave of the scale, and this inflection manifests the increasing tension of Cassius’ mind as he utters the exclamation. It is almost impossible to restrain the tension of throat and hand while reading the passage. Note how the muscular tension increases while one is speaking the words of Cassius. Bearing in mind what has been said of the relation of bodily tension to pitch, the explanation of Cassius’ inflection will not be far to seek. Again, Brutus says, “The name of Cassius honors this corruption, and chastisement doth therefore hide his head.” Cassius replies in one word, “Chastisement.” There are two interpretations of this word: one, that Cassius replies, as if questioning, “Do you dare say this to me?” and the other, that, astounded at the bluntness of Brutus’s speech, Cassius replies, speaking to himself, “He dared speak of chastisement to me!” In the first case the inflection would be rising, denoting the increase of tension; in the second case, the inflection would be falling, marking a gradual decrease of tension. Let the reader experiment on this example, and observe how the mental tension corresponds with the physical tension.

The melody in which any phrase or sentence is given consists of a series of waves, the crests of which mark the maximum of tension. It is a difficult matter to indicate speech melody, but it is hoped the following illustrations will be at least sufficiently suggestive to make clear the psychology of melody. In the following sentence there is a gradual ascent of the voice, since the intensity increases from the first word to the end.

Again, we have a very similar melody in this:

Would you wrest the wreath of fame From the hand of fate?

The descending melody, denoting that the maximum of tension is at the beginning of the sentence, is found in the following:

“Dead” marks the crest of the wave of tension in the following. Observe how the melody rises to that word and descends after it:

For those who have no musical ear, it may be somewhat difficult to catch these speech melodies. But, fortunately, in most cases, an acute musical ear is not necessary. Melody takes care of itself. When we have determined the principal word in each phrase, the melody will rise or fall from that without any effort on our part. And furthermore, even those without an ear for tune recognize instinctively the appropriateness of a given melody which they may be unable to analyze in detail. Nevertheless, the ability to analyze speech tunes is a great aid to the teacher; and it is to be hoped that the foregoing explanation will materially assist him in his work of developing the logical acumen of his class.

Melody is made up of skips and inflections. The inflection needs no definition; the skip is simply a discreet passage from one note to another. As the violinist draws his bow over the string and simultaneously runs his finger up or down the string, we have the analogy of the inflection. The pianist cannot do more than skip from one note to another, although there is an approximation to the glide, or inflection, in _legato_ playing. The skip is found in such a sentence as this:

The psychology of the skip is precisely that of the inflection, i. e., transition from less to more tension, or the reverse. In such an exclamation as, “Thou tattered upstart!” it is next to impossible to use the wide rising inflection that would be natural on the first syllable of “upstart,” owing to the nature of the syllable. Hence, there would be a skip between “up” and “start.” But let it be carefully observed that, including the skip, the voice traverses exactly the interval it would have passed through had it been possible to use one inflection, as, for instance, on “boy” in “Thou tattered boy!” Our attention may now be turned to inflections.

Inflections are not a matter of accident, nor are they a conventional device. Their meaning is definite and fixed, and their force instinctively recognized by all. Although we do not stop to analyze them, they convey to all alike a distinct shade of thought. And further, the same shade of thought will always find expression through the same inflections. We must bear in mind that it is not claimed that all will be moved in the same way by the same stimulus, nor that all will take the same meaning from a given passage. What is claimed is, that the same purpose will find expression, with all, in fundamentally the same melody (of which inflections form the larger part). If this were not so, how should we understand one another? We discern a speaker’s purpose quite as much in his melody as in his words. For example, if one were to ask, “Are you going out?” with the object of acquiring information, he would use instinctively a rising inflection on “out.” If he were surprised at our intention to go out, he would use a wider rising inflection. And if he had asked the question several times without receiving a reply, and were now insisting on an answer (his motive now being to assert his right to an answer) he would use a wide downward inflection on “out.” And so should we all under like conditions, and the meaning of all would be alike understood by all. We need enlarge no further on this. Let it suffice that if given inflections had not always the same meaning and were not always instinctively used to express the same purpose, conversation would be impossible.

The rising inflection is the sign of incomplete sense. Whenever the mind points forward the significant inflection is upward. Test this in the following illustrations. The rising inflection will be particularly noticed on the italicized words, which are not necessarily to be strongly emphasized:

In _1815_ M. Charles _Myriel_ was the bishop of D----. He was a man of about seventy-five years of _age_, and had held the see of D---- since 1806. Although the following details in no way affect our _narrative_, it may not be useless to quote the rumors that were current about _him_ at the moment when he came to the diocese; for what is said of _men_, whether it be true or _false_, often occupies as much space in their _life_, and especially in their _destiny_,[2] as what they do.

The beams of the rising _sun_ had gilded the lofty domes of _Carthage_, and _given_, with its rich and mellow _light_, a tinge of _beauty_ even to the frowning ramparts of the outer harbor.

When, for any reason, we do not desire to assert strongly; when what we have to say is trite, trivial, repetitious; when we are uncertain or doubtful; when we entreat; when we ask a question to which the answer yes or no is expected, we also use the rising inflection.

I do not claim this is the only method.

I cannot promise definitely, but I think you may rely upon getting it.

I shall wait for you in the lobby, if you don’t tarry too long.

It doesn’t look like rain, does it?

There are some arguments in its favor, but they are not weighty.

No, nobody claims that.

I grant I may have taken the honorable gentleman by surprise.

I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life, but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself.

I do not charge the gentleman with wilful _misstatement_, but I would rather say he is a great economizer of the truth.

I do not like to think that the opposition is purposely delaying the vote on this question.

Never fear _that_: if he be so resolved, I can o’ersway him.

You won’t leave me, father.

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up to such a sudden flood of mutiny!

O, Hamlet, speak no more.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man.

It would be idle to base an opinion on any argument of Mr. Webster.

O, that is of no consequence; you don’t believe that.

It is hardly necessary for me to go over the charges of the attorney for the _plaintiff_; they are trivial and unimportant.

It goes without saying that you know the early history of these people.

There are very few who haven’t a bowing acquaintance with this subject.

You know me well, and herein spend but time To wind about my love with circumstance.

Not that I loved Caesar _less_, but that I loved Rome more.

It is not that I doubt the gentleman’s _honesty_, but that I question his authority.

It was at the end of the war that this incident occurred; not at the _beginning_.

Uncertainty, confusion, hesitation, and other forms of doubt, are really questions,--the mind seeking solution of difficult and perplexing problems.

I wish I could find some way out of this, but--

There ought to be some other method of solving this _difficulty_: let me see, let me see.

I would I had been there.

Are you the owner of this house?

Can you tell me what time it is?

Care must be taken not to confuse this form of interrogation with Figurative Interrogation. The latter is often strongly assertive. For instance:

God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?

This is equivalent to asking a question and answering it at the same time. It asks in words, “was ever?” It answers in inflection, “there never was.” Grammatically, then, it is a question; rhetorically, it is an exclamation. Here is another form of Figurative Interrogation:

Are you going out? (No answer.) Are you going out? (I demand an answer.)

In this case, the second question becomes a demand. The speaker cares for an answer not so much because of any interest in it as such, but because he desires his authority respected.

The following examples of Figurative Interrogation should be carefully studied:

Is there a single atrocity of the French more unprincipled and inhuman than that of Russia, Austria, and Prussia, in Poland?

Did he not know that he was making history that hour? Did he not know this, I say?

If I were to propose three cheers for Washington, is there a single man, woman, or child in this vast audience who would refuse to lift his voice?

Have you, gentlemen of the jury, considered the price the state asks the prisoner to pay for what is only an indiscretion at most? I repeat, have you considered the price?

Has the gentleman _done_? Has he _completely_ done?

A very interesting psychological question arises in connection with Figurative Interrogation. It has been shown how the grammatical question becomes an oratorical assertion; but there is a point in assertion beyond which it may pass and become an intense emotional question. In this sentence, “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?” we have an illustration. There are three possibilities here. First: a simple question looking for information. Second: an exclamation equivalent to, Who does not know that the Judge of all the earth shall do right? Third: a skeptical question (with considerable emotion) is it possible that any one would deny that the Judge of all the earth shall do right?

It would be easy to multiply examples and make many refinements of this principle underlying the use of the rising inflection. A careful study, however, of those given should suffice to impress upon the reader that the rising inflection will be given whenever for any reason whatsoever there is no desire to assert.

Incompleteness (implied or otherwise) is marked by the rising inflection; completeness by the falling. We are all aware that the falling inflection marks completed sense, so that this principle will require neither elaboration nor illustration. Attention must be called, however, to the fact that we often assert strongly in the middle of a sentence. This phase of the subject has been so well described by another[3] that we quote as follows:

“Momentary Completeness.--This applies to any clause, phrase, or even word, which has, for any reason, enough separate force to constitute, at the moment, an entire thought, and to call for a separate affirmation of the mind. This momentary completeness may arise:

“1. From the logical importance of the clause, phrase, or word requiring a strong affirmative emphasis.

“2. From an elliptical construction--one in which each part could be reasonably expanded into a complete proposition.

“_Example_ of 1 would be this sentence from Webster:

It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force.

“Here the ideas of spontaneity, originality, nativeness, are each so important to the thought that the mind is called upon to make a separate affirmation upon each one.

“_Examples_ of 2 are found in some of the connected clauses in this passage from Byron’s _Dream of Darkness_:

I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars Did wander, darkling, in the eternal space, Rayless and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air. Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light.

“The ‘loose’ sentence presents a typical case of momentary completeness, each added clause or element giving a separate, subjoined thought.

“In the following cases the period mark inclosed in brackets, [.], indicates the place at which the sentence might close; and the words in parentheses are those which might be supplied in constructing separate complete propositions. The reconstruction suggests the probable process of thought.

The next day he voted for that repeal [.], and he would have spoken for it too [.], if an illness had not prevented it.

The Englishman in America will feel that this is slavery--that it is _legal_ slavery, will be no compensation, either to his feelings or his understanding.

“The Englishman in America will feel that this is slavery [.]. (The mere fact) that it is _legal_ slavery will (in his estimation) be no compensation (at all). (It will not be (in any degree) satisfactory) either to his feelings or his understanding.

“Completeness is marked in the voice by a falling slide; that indicating finality usually descends at least a fifth (from _sol_ down to _do_), and is preceded by a more or less distinct rising melody. This cadential melody may carry the voice so high in pitch that the falling slide will be as great as an octave. The indication of momentary completeness is also a falling slide, varying in extent from a third to a fifth, but not so marked as that of finality, and usually not preceded by any special rising melody.

“In the following example note momentary completeness on ‘man,’ ‘woman,’ ‘child,’ and finality on the climacteric word ‘beast.’ Thus:

“It is especially important to study the relation of momentary completeness in connection with dependent clauses. As a rule, a definitive clause does not stand in the relation of momentary completeness, but in that of subordination or anticipation. A supplemental clause, on the other hand, is distinctively complete. This relation is not always shown, either by the punctuation, or by exact use of relative pronouns. In strictness, ‘who’ and ‘which’, as already said, should always mark supplemental relations; ‘that,’ definitive. Considerations of euphony, however, often overrule grammatical and rhetorical principles. The problem in regard to dependent clauses is; to decide whether the subordinate clause contains additional thought, or only modifying thought. The best practical test will be found in paraphrasing. If a dependent clause is truly definitive, it may be reduced to a brief element,--often to a single word, which may be incorporated in the first clause.

_Example._--Lafayette was intrusted by Washington with all kinds of services ... the laborious and complicated, which required skill and patience; the perilous, that demanded nerve.--EVERETT.

“In this example, it is obvious that the clause introduced by ‘which’ and the one beginning with ‘that’ stand in precisely the same relation, the change being made for euphony. It is obvious also that both dependent clauses are supplemental rather than definitive. In both of these clauses, therefore, there is an added thought, and this gives the relation of momentary completeness at the words ‘complicated’ and ‘perilous.’

“The ear, under the guidance of the logical and rhetorical insight, gives a much more sensitive and more accurate punctuation than can be indicated by printer’s marks or grammarian’s rules. Not the words, nor the grammatical elements, nor the customary and traditional rendering, determine grouping or inflection, but rather the speaker’s immediate purpose at the moment of the utterance.

“The principle of momentary completeness is strikingly exemplified in the case of a ‘division of the question’ in parliamentary proceedings. Division is called for because each item is considered as separately important enough to demand the entire attention. The same is often true in the announcement of a proposition containing several different elements, or of a text of Scripture suggesting many separate thoughts.”

It need hardly be said that the rule so often given, that “the voice should rise at a comma,” is ridiculous. It often does, it is true,--not because of the comma, but because of the motive.

The purpose of the following drills is not to train the student in the manner of making inflections, but rather to impress upon his mind the fact that rhetorically a sentence may be complete even though the point of completion be not marked by a full stop. In other words, the drill is one in mental, rather than vocal, technique.

The student must determine the purpose in every case, and then trust his voice to manifest that purpose.

Hence! _home_,[4] you idle _creatures_, get you home.

_Speak_, what trade art thou?

Where is thy leather _apron_, and thy rule?

You _blocks_, you _stones_, you _worse_ than senseless things.

Many a time and oft Have you climb’d up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to _chimney-tops_. Your infants in your _arms_, and there have sat

* * * * *

To see great _Pompey_ pass the streets of Rome.

Be gone! Run to your _houses_, fall upon your _knees_, Pray to the gods to intermit the _plague_ That needs must light on this ingratitude.

Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great _value_, worthy cogitations.

I was born free as _Caesar_, so were you; We both have _fed_ as well, and we can both Endure the winter’s _cold_ as well as he.

His coward lips did from their color _fly_, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre.

Ye _gods_, it doth _amaze_ me, A man of such a feeble temper should

* * * * *

... bear the palm alone.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a _Colossus_, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonorable graves.

Let me have men about me that are _fat_, _Sleek-headed men_, and such as sleep o’ nights.

Seldom he _smiles_, and smiles in such a sort, As if he mocked himself.

Such men as he be never at heart’s ease Whiles they behold a greater than _themselves_, And therefore are they very dangerous.

Come on my _right_ hand, for this ear is _deaf_, And tell me _truly_ what thou think’st of him.

Why, there was a _crown_ offered him; and, being offered him, he put it by with the back of his _hand_, thus.

I can as well be _hanged_ as tell the manner of it; it was mere _foolery_, I did not mark it.

You look _pale_, and _gaze_, And put on _fear_, and case yourself in wonder, To see the strange impatience of the heavens.

Stand _close_ awhile, for here comes one in haste.

How that might change his _nature_, _there’s_ the question.

But when he once attains the upmost round He then unto the ladder turns his _back_, Looks in the _clouds_, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend.

... let us not break with _him_, For he will never follow _anything_ That other men begin.

It is often a matter of judgment whether we shall interpret a phrase as momentarily complete or as pointing forward, incomplete. Sometimes either interpretation would be acceptable, but, as a rule, one conveys the author’s intention better than the other. For instance, in the following extract from _The American Indian_, the author says:

As a race they have withered from the land. Their arrows are broken, their springs have dried up, their cabins are in the dust. Their council-fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast fading to the untrodden West.

It seems clear that in the second sentence the author is not enumerating minor details which form one larger whole, but that each statement is a sentence complete in itself, and so important that spontaneously we separate it from the others not merely by a pause but by a downward inflection.

If we were saying to another, “I bought my children firecrackers, torpedoes, skyrockets, and pinwheels,” we should use rising inflections until we closed our sentence on “pinwheels.” But it would be quite natural for the child, greatly excited by his presents, to use the downward inflection on those words, and these inflections would mark the importance, to him, of each separate gift. He would say, “I have firecrackers,--torpedoes,--skyrockets,--and pinwheels.”

Circumflex inflections are the expression of complex mental states. Note this in the following examples:

Not inferior to this was the wisdom of him who resolved to shear the wolf. What, shear a _wolf_! Have you considered the _danger_ of the attempt? No, says the madman, I have considered nothing but the _right_.

_Oh, no!_ He wouldn’t accept a _bribe_; of course not.

You meant no _harm_; oh, no: your thoughts are innocent.

It isn’t the _secret_ I care about; it’s the slight, Mr. Caudle.

Difficult as is the subject of circumflex inflections, the difficulty is very much reduced when we bear in mind that the elements which compose them are the same as those with which we have been dealing. In Longfellow’s _King Robert of Sicily_, the Angel asks the king, “Who art thou?” To which Robert answers, sneeringly, “I am the King.” Now, on the word “I” we may expect to hear the rising circumflex (composed of a falling followed by a rising inflection) which the following paraphrase will justify: He dares ask me who I am! What audacity! Do you dare ask such a question of me? Would you know who I am? Perhaps a diagram will make this clearer:

Professor Chamberlain has made this question so clear that we quote from him again:

“Paraphrase for Complex Relations: These, as already seen, are cases of combined ideas, expressed by composite motions of the voice, called circumflexes. In order to justify such double motion of the voice, the mind of the reader needs to recognize the combination implied in the words. He will make himself surer of this by analyzing, or separating into its component parts, each composite idea.

Be not too tâme neither.

“Here is a plain implication of one member of the antithesis; and it might be expanded thus, As you are not to be too extrávagant in your expression, so you are not to be too quìet.

“This combination of separable elements might be illustrated by diagram, thus:

“Here the negative, or anticipatory, clause is, in the condensed form, suggested by the negative, or rising, part of the circumflex; the positive clause, by the falling part of the tone.

“In a similar way two separate elements, both of which are verbally expressed, may be combined in one elliptical or complex clause; e. g.:

I come to bûry Caesar, not to práise him.

“Inverting clauses:

“The same method of illustration may be extended _ad libitum_.”

There is one feature of circumflex inflection somewhat common but seldom treated, the understanding of which is very helpful to the teacher. This feature is observed when there are assertion and incompleteness in the same word. For instance, “John Brown,” being the important idea in the following sentence, would be uttered with a falling inflection; but since the mind is glancing forward from “Brown” the rising inflection would mark that fact. Hence, the two states of mind would be manifested in a combined inflection the psychology of which should now be clear.

John Brown was one of the most striking figures of the anti-slavery agitation.

We have the same phenomenon on the word “Sicily” in the following extract, except that the falling inflection is on the first two syllables and the rising on the third:

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine

* * * * *

... heard the priests chant the Magnificat.

The extent, or width, of the inflection depends upon the amount of collateral thinking. Thus a simple question as, “Is your name Brown?” will take an inflection of about a third of the musical scale, while the inflection of Cassius on “Chastisement,” in the example previously given, will be probably a full octave. The length of the inflection is explained by the philosophy of “Time”: it is a matter of the importance or non-importance of the idea. The direction of the inflection is explained by the philosophy of “Pitch”: it is determined by the purpose, or motive.

Varied melody is found in the speech of every-day life. Note how the voice continually runs up and down in a conversation on commonplace topics. The moment the subject grows serious and dignified, the discriminative elements largely disappear and with them the varied melody; until in solemn prayer, invocation, and certain forms of meditation in the absence of desire to insist on the importance of any one word, or the absence of the purpose to discriminate between one phase and another, we approach very close to the monotone. Let us remember, however, that it is not the emotion as such that affects the melody, but the mental content of the emotion.

In order that the reader may see the application of the foregoing principles, an analysis of a complete poem is appended. There may be a difference of opinion concerning details, but it must be remembered that the value of this analysis for the student lies in the fact that it should teach him that some interpretation is to be definitely decided on. The average reading is haphazard; so that one must gain a great deal through the mental drill necessary to decide the various questions that come up in the course of such an analysis as that here undertaken. It is a common experience to hear a pupil read a passage one way at one time and a different way at another. It would therefore seem to be better to read a passage incorrectly with some reason behind the error, than to read it correctly as a matter of accident, with the chance that the next time it is read the expression will be quite different. The greatest value of such analyses is found in the improvement in the student’s power of discrimination. _The melody, which manifests the purpose, the motive, is the very life of good reading._

Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep, 5 Apple and peach tree fruited deep,

Fair as the garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee marched over the mountain wall; 10

Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars,

Flapped in the morning wind: the sun 15 Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down; 20

In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat left and right 25 He glanced; the old flag met his sight.

“Halt!”--the dust-brown ranks stood fast. “Fire!”--out blazed the rifle-blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash. 30

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will.

“Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 35 But spare your country’s flag,” she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came;

The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman’s deed and word; 40

“Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!” he said.

All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet:

All day long that free flag tost 45 Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night. 50

Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er, And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave, 55 Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!

Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town! 60

--_Barbara Frietchie._ WHITTIER.

l. 3.--Note momentary completeness on “Frederick.”

l. 1-3.--These lines are anticipative.

l. 5, 6.--Each line a complete affirmative statement, although separated from the rest of the poem only by commas.

l. 7.--“Lord,” momentary completeness.

l. 8.--Rising inflection on “horde,” since the sense is incomplete until we come to “wall.” A good example, since lines 9 and 10 would make very good sense without the succeeding two.

l. 12.--Momentary completeness on “foot.”

l. 13-14.--The motive being the same in both lines, note that the melody is the same.

l. 16.--“Noon” is contrasted with “morning”; hence the rising circumflex on the former word.

l. 17.--Transition here. Observe the higher key commencing on “up.”

l. 19.--This line is anticipative. Supply “being” before “bravest,” and note how the temptation to use the falling inflection on “town” disappears.

l. 21.--Optional rising or falling inflection on “set.”

l. 23.--Transition in key. Why?

l. 24.--What difference in motive would be conveyed by rising and falling inflections on “Jackson”?

l. 25-28.--Transitions on “under,” “halt,” “the,” “fire,” “out.” Explain.

l. 29.--Note the comma after “window.” What is its function?

l. 31.--Observe that “as it fell” is subordinate. Many read this couplet incorrectly. The idea is not “as it fell from the broken staff,” but that she snatched it “from the broken staff.”

l. 33.--Anticipative.

l. 35.--Transition.

l. 37.--(1) Observe how the key lowers. Why? (2) What shades of meaning are conveyed by the following readings: _a_, momentary completeness on “sadness,” and “shame”; _b_, anticipation on “sadness,” momentary completeness on “shame.” Which do you prefer? Why?

l. 41.--Transition. Is the key higher or lower?

l. 43-44, 45-46, 47-48.--Why is the melody about the same in these couplets?

l. 49-50.--Many opportunities for choice of inflection on “hill-gaps,” “light,” “over.”

l. 51.--Rising or falling inflection on “o’er”? Why?

l. 56.--No momentary completeness on “Union.” Why?

l. 59, 60.--Contrast between “above” and “below.”

No attempt has been made in this analysis to do more than direct attention to the portions of the poem in which inflection and melody are affected by the interpretation.

PEDAGOGICAL ASPECTS.

Much of what has been said concerning the pedagogical aspects of the discussion of “Time” may be repeated here. Drills in inflections as such are of very little value and potentially very harmful. Occasionally we hear the argument that a pupil has no ear for inflections, and that the drill is to train his ear. Most pupils have no difficulty in making proper inflections, so that for them class drills are time wasted; for those whose reading is monotonous, because of lack of melodic variety, the best drills are those which teach them to make a careful analysis of the sentences, and those which awaken them to the necessity of impressing the thought upon others. We deceive ourselves when we proceed to correct the error of monotony in any mechanical, artificial way.

We have learned that, when a pupil has the proper motive in mind and is desirous of conveying his intention to another, a certain melody will always manifest that intention. The melody, then, is the criterion of the pupil’s purpose. We expect a certain melody with certain phrases. When that melody is heard, we are scarcely conscious of its presence; when another is heard, we are struck as by a discord of music when we expect concord. The moment a pupil loses sight of the exact meaning of a phrase and its relation to the other phrases, that moment his melody betrays him. Now the teacher must be able to translate the false melody. He must determine the pupil’s purpose (or absence of any purpose) behind the incorrect melody, remove the wrong purpose, put in its stead the true purpose, and rely upon natural instincts to do the rest. Herein lies the great value to the teacher of a knowledge of the psychology of the criterion of pitch.

Suppose a pupil reads, “Up from the meadows green with corn,” using a rising circumflex on “meadows.” This would show at once that “meadows” was contrasted in his mind with something else. Remove the contrast, direct his mind forward from that word to the next phrase, and the proper melody will come. Some teachers, especially those engaged in the teaching of young children, have a somewhat patronizing melody in all they say and read. This melody is overflowing with circumflexes, which are soon copied by the class. Let the teacher free himself from this patronizing mental condition and talk to the children as if they were men and women, and the peculiar melody will disappear from the voices of both teacher and pupil. It is rather difficult to present this melody in graphic form, but the following diagram may prove suggestive:

It is hardly to be believed that there is so much ignorance as to the meaning of inflection. During the past two years, in schools of our largest cities, the author has heard teachers reprimand their pupils for allowing their voices “to fall at a comma.” As if commas were intended to indicate vocal expression! Once when a bright lad used a falling inflection on “want,” in such a sentence as “What do you want?” a class nearly shook their hands off in their endeavors to attract the teacher’s attention, in order that, when he said, “What’s wrong?” they might shout at the top of their voices, “He let his voice down at a question mark.”

One of the commonest of misunderstandings that prevail among us, is that the rising inflection is always to be given upon words preceding commas, and also that it must never be given at the end of a sentence. It is hoped that these fallacies have been entirely exploded, and that the teacher has learned that motive, and motive only, governs the inflection. We used to be told to count one at a comma, two at a semi-colon, and four at a period. Such admonitions are exactly on a par with those just referred to.

Teachers should bear in mind that pupils do not need to have a musical ear in order to read with correct melody. As we have stated again and again, melody is the result of varying tension, and that has nothing to do with the ability to recognize tones. With singing this is different. There we must strike certain notes, and ear training is necessary; but speech melody is instinctive, and all that is necessary for its development is mental training and practice in reading--not voice drills as such.

The melody of long sentences presents a case of peculiar difficulty. Where the sentence is long, especially where it is long and involved, the pupil’s melody is often faulty because he cannot hold the thought in mind from beginning to end. Pupils should be trained on sentences specially chosen to develop their powers of continuous thinking. These sentences should be carefully analyzed and thoroughly discussed before reading. The following examples, while too difficult for younger pupils, will afford good practice for the teacher:

While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, not a single star obscured--bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as, “What is all this worth?” nor those other words of delusion and folly, “Liberty first, and Union afterward;” but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart--“Liberty _and_ Union, now and forever, one and inseparable.”--_Reply to Hayne_. WEBSTER.

Note that the force of “may I not see him” continues to “fraternal blood,” and consequently that there should be rising inflections on “Union,” “dissevered,” “discordant,” “belligerent,” “feuds,” and “blood.” And note further that “What is all this worth?” and “Liberty first, and Union afterward,” are anticipative and hence will take a rising inflection on “worth” and “afterward.”

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town Of ancient Roman date but scant renown, One of those little places that have run Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun, And then sat down to rest, as if to say, “I climb no further upward, come what may,” The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame, So many monarchs since have borne the name, Had a great bell hung in the market place.

--_The Bell of Atri._ LONGFELLOW.

The town would have used a falling inflection on “may” because for it the sense would have been completed with that word; but with us this phrase is subordinate, and hence the inflection on “may” will be rising.

And as a hungry lion who has made A prey of some large beast--a hornèd stag Or mountain goat--rejoices, and with speed Devours it, though swift hounds and sturdy youths Press on his flank, so Menelaus felt Great joy when Paris, of the godlike form, Appeared in sight, for now he thought to wreak His vengeance on the guilty one, and straight Sprang from his car to earth with all his arms.

--_The Iliad_, Book II. HOMER (BRYANT).

But when public taste seems plunging deeper and deeper into degradation day by day, and when the press universally exerts such power as it possesses to direct the feeling of the nation more completely to all that is theatrical, affected, and false in art; while it vents its ribald buffooneries on the most exalted truth, and the highest ideal of landscape, that this or any other age has ever witnessed, it becomes the imperative duty of all who have any perception or knowledge of what is really great in art, and any desire for its advancement in England, to come fearlessly forward, regardless of such individual interests as are likely to be injured by the knowledge of what is good and right, to declare and demonstrate, wherever they exist, the essence and the authority of the beautiful and the true.--_Modern Painters._ RUSKIN.