If style cannot be imparted, what, then, is the next best thing to
do, after a close study of the masters? We should say, go in a
chastened mood to the nearest newspaper office and apply for a
humble position on its staff. Then one will come to grips with life,
the pacemaker of style. There is a lot of pompous advice emitted by
the college professor--the Eternal Sophomore--about fleeing
"journalese"; whereas it is in the daily press, whether New York,
Paris, Vienna, or London, that one may find the soundest, most
succinct prose, prose stripped of superfluous ornament, prose bare
to the bone, and in fighting trim. But not elevated prose,
"numerous" prose, as Quintilian hath it. For the supreme harmony of
English prose we must go to the Bible (the Authorised, not the
Revised, the latter manufactured by "the persons called revisers,"
as George Saintsbury bluntly describes them); to Shakespeare, Jeremy
Taylor, Sir Thomas Browne, Walter Raleigh, Milton, De Quincey,
Ruskin, Swinburne, Cardinal Newman, Pater, and Arthur Symons. And
not forgetting the sweet intimacy of Charles Lamb, the sly charm of
Max Beerbohm, or the harmonious and imaginative prose of W. H.
Hudson, whose Green Mansions recalls the Châteaubriand of Atala,
without its hateful note of morbid egotism.
Nor are the exponents of the grand manner, of an ornate style, to be
patterned after. If elevation of theme is not present, then the
peril of "fine writing" is scarcely to be avoided. Better follow
such writers as Bacon, Bunyan, Hobbes, Swift in preference. Or the
Augustan group, Dryden, Addison, Shaftesbury, and Temple. But Doctor
Johnson, Burke and Gibbon are not models for the beginner, any more
than the orotund prose of Bossuet, the musical utterance of
Châteaubriand, or the dramatic prose of Hugo are safe models for
French students. The rich continence of Flaubert, the stippled
concision of Mérimée or the dry-sherry wit of Voltaire are surer
guides. And the urbane ease and flowing rhythms of Thackeray are
preferable to the baphometic verbal baptisms of Carlyle the
Boanerges.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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