THE CHOBHAM BOOK OF ENGLISH PROSE CHAPTER I ON STYLE THE "business and desire such as it is " with which I embark upon this book is to celebrate the glory of English prose from the days of the translation of the Bible down to the present time. As a vehicle of noble expression it has never been surpassed, and those who have been privileged to use it have splendidly magnified their office. The greatness of England is inseparably conjoined with the splendour of its speech. Each august moment in the long ascent of the English people to their station upon the earth as the creators and inheritors of the greatest world-empire ever known to man, has been recorded and preserved for us in pregnant passages of resounding prose by a succession of writers who seem never to fail us. The finest achievements of man, their noblest actions, their most inspired utterances, would all be lost and forgotten if the men of letters failed to record and preserve them. Everything upon the earth but the finely written word passes down at last to utter oblivion. Even a character that never existed, a figment of the imagination, presented to us in persuasive prose may outlive the memory of countless veritable worthy men whose lives no powerful pen has recorded; and the Rev. Dr Primrose, at one time Vicar of Wakefield, is beloved by tens of thousands who know nothing of, and care nothing for, many blameless Archbishops of Canterbury. Numerous praiseworthy efforts have been made by learned commentators to analyse and define the qualities that go to the formation of a fine style. But the pursuit of Letters is more an art than a science, and is less a matter of rule than of taste. Some have maintained that the first requisite for a fine style is a wide and varied vocabulary, and have cited Shakespere as a writer who used such; but they forget that the English Bible displays a masterly style with the simplest and slenderest assortment of words. Perhaps we had better recognise that the appreciation of a prose style is ultimately a matter of individual disposition. The elegance and propriety of Addison may please one person, and the sanguine eloquence of Carlyle may please another. The exact precision of John Stuart Mill may appeal to one, and the gorgeous word-music of Ruskin may appeal to another. Men's taste varies with their characters, and their characters are very much moulded by the forces of heredity, association, and education. I have never discovered any rules by which a writer can learn the secret of style. Three requisites he must acquire, and one he must possess. Firstly, he must learn to express himself with simplicity, clearness, and brevity, using the exactly right words in the precisely right places; secondly, he must constantly read the works of acknowledged Masters of style; thirdly, he must know enough Latin and Greek to be aware of the derivative meaning of all the English words that have come to us from Rome and Athens; and lastly, he must be born in the possession of an ear for rhythm and harmonious sound. Some writers gradually cultivate a palpable trick of style, as did Carlyle, whose later works display an affectation quite absent in his earlier writings. And many fine writers develop such a peculiarity of style that an extracted paragraph or two is enough for habitual readers to identify an author immediately thereby; and although from long familiarity we may come to have an affection for the quaint habit of Carlyle, or the sumptuous harmony of Ruskin, yet I suppose the counsel of perfection is to imitate a pure style that has no manner, such as is that of Lord Morley, even though its very purity may somewhat repel, as partaking of the coldness of chastity. Although Johnson wrote Rasselas to get money to send to his dying mother, such a motive is not the best that can urge a man to take up his pen. Neither want nor vanity is likely to inspire worthily. An earnest though modest desire to communicate to our fellows something within us that clamours for utterance is the true justification of all the best literature. In this book I do not present myself to the reader in any loftier character than that of a door-keeper and guide through the library in the collecting and reading of which I have spent my life. With the great Gibbon, I can truthfully exclaim, "A taste for books is the pleasure and glory of my life." The happiness I have found in their company, refining and enhancing pleasures, and mitigating and assuaging sorrows that might otherwise be insupportable, I desire to communicate to, and share with, my fellows. I speak with no authority, I pretend to no erudition, I bring to my task nothing more than love and reverence for the noblest speech, and the most splendid literature, that has yet been vouchsafed to civilised man. CHAPTER II THE BIBLE I Do not propose to invite my readers to the consideration of any English writings earlier than the translation of the Bible. To most of us the language of Chaucer is too strange to be easily enjoyed, and is certainly not English as we know it. The Bible must be regarded by us all as the foundation upon which our language has been built, and indeed never was foundation more well and truly laid.” 66 In these days of the exaltation of Science at the expense of Letters, the Bible is sinking into neglect. But if we abandon, as it seems we must, the story of the creation and of the origin of animals and man set out in Genesis, that should in no way impair our admiration of that book as one of the most magnificent works of English prose that the world has seen. In passing it may be remarked that Science in this matter is more destructive than constructive; and though Adam's creation from the dust of the ground is discarded, no very clear evidence of how he arrived is forthcoming. To require of us a belief that we came from a common ancestor with a midge, an elephant, a jellyfish, and a tadpole needs the gift of faith in as generous abundance as was ever vouchsafed for a belief in the Garden of Eden, and in Eve made out of Adam's rib. And Science has never yet attempted to explain the existence of life, nor how mind can come from matter, and so we can leave the insoluble question of how or why we came upon the world "with such large discourse, looking before and after," to those whom it may interest. What we are, and say, and do, and think, are the things that matter, and the literature of England is the true vehicle of these things, and is, therefore, of supreme importance to us. The Bible is the first great work in the English language which, by becoming familiar in every home, served to mould more than any other force the speech of our race. Sir Philip Sidney in his quaint diction upholds as supreme the writers of the Old Testament. "The chief," he says, "both in antiquity and excellence, were they that did imitate the inconceivable excellencies of God. Such were David and his Psalms; Solomon in his Song of Songs, in his Ecclesiastes and Proverbs; Moses and Deborah in their hymns, and the writer of Job; which, beside other, the learned Emanual Tremilius 1 and Franciscus Junius do entitle the poetical part of the Scripture. Against these none will speak that hath the Holy Ghost in due holy reverence." Science may preclude us from accepting as accurate history the antediluvian chapters in Genesis, but it can do nothing to impair the splendour of the story of Joseph and his brethren, which is unsurpassed as a moving narrative in all ancient literature. Beginning with the thirty-seventh chapter, ending with the forty-fifth, the story moves swiftly and surely on to its supreme consummation: 66 And they went up out of Egypt, and came into the land of Canaan unto Jacob their father, and told him, saying, Joseph is yet alive, and he is governor over all the land of Egypt. 66 66 And Jacob's heart fainted, for he believed them not. And they told him all the words of Joseph, which he had said unto them: and when he saw the wagons which 1 Tremilius published a Latin Bible about 1576. Junius assisted him in this work. |