Chapter IV: Phonology and Sematology (1)

“Sind doch die Lautgebilde der Vorhang, hinter welchem das
Geheimniss der Begriffe steckt, das vom Sprachforscher
Aufdeckung erwartet.”—POTT.

The skeleton of language is formed by those phonetic utterances into which significancy must be breathed before they can become living speech. They are the outward vestment of the thought that lies within, the material in which the mind of man finds its expression. Thought, it is true, may be conveyed through gesture and picture-writing as well as through phonetic utterance, but in phonetic utterance alone does it find a vehicle sufficient and worthy of itself. Like the marble in the hands of the sculptor, however, sound not only embodies meaning; it also limits and defines the expression of that meaning, and confines it within barriers which it may not pass. The language of man is conditioned by his physical structure and organization.

What anatomy is to physiology, that phonology is to the science of language. Comparative philology is based upon phonetic laws; the relation of words, of forms, of dialects, and of languages is determined by the laws which govern their outward shape. Languages are grouped together because they have a common stock of roots and a common grammar; and the identity of roots and of grammar is on the outward side an identity of phonetic sound. The laws of scientific philology are for the most part the laws which regulate the change of sounds, and these are dependent on the physiological structure of the organs of speech. The priority of sounds, of words, and even of dialects, is frequently to be discovered by an appeal to the formation of the throat and lips. We may lay down the general rule that the harder sound passes into the easier, rather than the easier into the harder; but it lies with phonology and physiology to determine which is really the harder sound. It is phonology which has created the modern science of language, and phonology may therefore be forgiven if it has claimed more than rightfully belongs to it or forgotten that it is but one side and one branch of the master science itself.

The empirical laws of the interchange and equivalence of sounds in a special group of tongues are ascertained by comparative philology; the explanation of these laws, the assignment of their causes, the determination of the order followed by phonetic development or decay, belong to the province of phonology. Phonology touches on the one hand upon physics in so far as it is concerned with the analysis of the sounds of speech, and on the other upon physiology in so far as it studies the nature and operations of the vocal organs themselves. It is, in fact, as much a branch of physiology as it is of the science of language, dealing as it does with a special department of physiology; but it passes beyond the province of physiology when it investigates the nature of the sounds produced by the activity of those organs with which alone physiology is concerned. But whether it touches upon physiology or upon physics, phonology is equally one of the physical sciences, pursuing the same method and busied with the same material. So long as philological research is purely phonological, so long have we to do with a physical science; it is only when we turn to the other problems of glottology, only when we pass from the outward vesture of speech to the meaning which it clothes, that the science of language becomes a historical one. The inner meaning of speech is the reflection of the human mind, and the development of the human mind must be studied historically. Those, therefore, who refuse to regard glottology as other than a physical science, take as it were but a half-view of it; they are forced to confine themselves to its outward texture, to be content with a mere description of the different families of speech and their characteristics, like the botanist or the zoologist, and to leave untouched the many questions and problems which a broader view of the science would present to them. It is true that even upon the broader view, the method of the science is as much that of the physical sciences as the method of geology; it is also true that the doctrine of evolution has introduced what may be termed the historical treatment even into botany and zoology; but nevertheless linguistic science as a whole must be included among the historical ones, unless we are to narrow its province unduly and identify it with the subordinate science of phonology. The physical science will give us the skeleton of speech, the dry bones of the anatomist’s dissecting-room; for life and thought we must turn to history.

We must not forget, however, that we can understand the past only by the help of the present. An antiquarian study of philology will enable us to trace the history of words and forms, to group languages into families, and to discover the empirical laws of phonetic change; to interpret and verify these laws, to correct our classifications and conclusions, to learn what sounds really are, we must examine the living idioms of the modern world. The method of science is to work back from the known to the unknown, and if we are to study glottology to any purpose and to extend and confirm its generalizations, it must be by first observing and experimenting on actual speech. We must begin by disabusing our minds of the belief that words consist of letters and not of sounds; on the contrary, letters are at best but guides to the sounds they represent, and only the experienced student of actual sounds is in a position to determine their real value. Phonology stands at the threshold of linguistic science, and those alone who have honestly wooed and won her can enter into the shrine within. The physical science leads upward to the historical science; the key to the past is to be found in the present.

Now the first question we have to ask is, What is a sound? The most general answer we can give to this question is that a sound is the impression made upon the organs of hearing by the rapid swinging of an elastic body in an elastic medium, which is usually the air. The vibrations set on foot by this rapid swinging reach the ear under the form of waves, and these may succeed each other at either irregular or regular intervals. In the first case we have what is called a noise—a source of constant delight to the savage and the infant, but exceedingly painful to the sensitive ear. In the second case musical tones are produced, among which must be counted the utterances of articulate speech. Tones, or rather full tones (as opposed to partial ones), are distinguished from each other by their (1) strength or loudness, their (2) height or pitch, and their (3) quality or _timbre_. The strength depends upon the amplitude of the vibrations produced in the elastic medium, the pitch on the number of the vibrations in any given space of time, or, what amounts to the same thing, on the length of time occupied by each vibration, and the _timbre_ (also called “tone”) on the form assumed by the vibrations or waves of sound, that is to say, on the relations of the vibrations one to the other.

There are but few musical instruments that produce a simple tone; in fact, among those usually employed the tuning-fork is almost the only one from which we can hear it. All other musical tones result from a combination of simple, or as they have sometimes been termed, “partial” tones, whose double vibrations or “swing-swangs,” as De Morgan named them, stand to one another in the relation of 1, 2, 3, 4, &c. The Pythagoreans of the fourth century B.C. were already acquainted with the fact that the respective lengths of the fundamental note with its octave, fifth and fourth, must be as one to two, as two to three, and as three to four.[136] This fundamental note, or deepest partial tone, is the starting-point from which we ascend upwards; it forms the standard by which the pitch or ascending scale of sounds is measured, while the remaining partial tones go by the name of the harmonics or upper tones. The partial tones coalesce so closely into a full tone as almost to escape the notice even of the trained ear, but their co-existence may be easily detected by the help of resonatory instruments. The full tones themselves, however, which we shall henceforth call tones or notes,[137] may not be able to make the impression upon the nerves of hearing needful for conveying a sense of sound to the brain within. The tone produced by any number of vibrations less than sixteen a second is wholly inaudible except by the help of the microphone, and even this number of vibrations brings out so deep a pitch as to be scarcely perceptible.[138] “For practical purposes,” says Professor Max Müller,[139] “the lowest tone we hear is produced by thirty double vibrations in one second, the highest by 4,000. Between these two lie the usual seven octaves of our musical instruments. It is said to be possible, however, to produce perceptible musical tones through eleven octaves, beginning with sixteen and ending with 38,000 double vibrations in one second, though here the lower notes are mere hums, the upper notes mere clinks.” The sense of sound is not stronger and more trustworthy than the other senses of sight, of touch, of taste, of smell. On all sides we are strictly limited by the conditions which surround us, and even science, though she may assist the senses by instruments which enlarge and extend their powers, reaches at last a boundary which she cannot pass. The world is a vast sounding-board, even if we know it not; the infinitesimally small and the infinitesimally great alike lie beyond our apprehension. Above and below there is infinity, and “the music of the spheres,” of which the old Greek thinkers dreamed, is not, after all, so very far removed from the truth that science has revealed to us. The notes or partial tones that we hear are the purely mechanical product of a definitely determined number of double vibrations, and the variations in pitch we notice between them are due to the length of time occupied by these vibrations. If, for instance, one note takes half the time another does, if the number of oscillations in the second is twice that required by the fundamental note, the interval between the two notes is what is called an octave. If, again, the proportion between the two notes is as three to two, three waves of the one occupying the same time as two waves of the other, the interval between them is a fifth; while a major sixth represents the interval between two notes, which stand to each other as five to three. Consequently, if we divide into two equal parts a tense cord, which, when made to vibrate throughout its whole length, yields its fundamental note, and vibrate either part, we shall hear the octave above that fundamental note. In other words, the number of the vibrations of any two cords having the same degree of tension is (other things being equal) inversely as their length. In the case of two elastic rods or rigid tongues, the number of vibrations is inversely as the square of the length; hence an elastic rod six inches long will vibrate four times more rapidly than a rod of the same material and equal thickness twelve inches long. The number of vibrations is also dependent on the thickness and tension of the cords or rods, being inversely as the thickness of the cords and directly as the thickness of the rods, and in both cases proportional to the square root of their tension. It must be remembered that membranous tongues like our own _chordæ vocales_, act in accordance with the same general law as tense cords and not as elastic rods.

Every body capable of producing sound has a tone peculiar to itself; a stringed instrument, for instance, and a trombone differ in the tones they give forth, and we may even divide the air into definitely circumscribed portions, or “chambers of resonance,” each of which will have its own peculiar tone. The form assumed by the double vibrations, the ultimate causes of sound, determines these differences in the quality of the tones we hear. Sometimes the vibrations will run in zigzag course through the elastic medium; sometimes their shape will be rounded; sometimes, again, it will be angular. The simplest wave of sound, that produced by a tuning-fork, flows in a succession of spiral lines, and the partial tones or harmonics of other instruments may also be assumed to be so many simple waves of sound of the same form. In fact, even if a harmonic may be resolved into a combination of other harmonics or partial tones, and these again into yet simpler and fainter harmonics, we must come at last to simple notes, corresponding with the note emitted by the tuning-fork and composed of vibrations that have the same spiral shape. It is the varying amalgamation of these simple spirals that occasions the varying forms of the full tones; each full tone (the simple tone alone excepted) being made up of harmonics and consequently of their spirals in different proportions, and in this difference of mixture lies the difference of quality in the tones we hear.

Ohm, Fourier, and others first proved that the simple pendulous oscillation is the only vibration unaccompanied by harmonics, and that all full tones can be decomposed into the simple vibrations of which they consist. Helmholtz has now ascertained the exact form of many of these compound tones, as well as the conditions under which the by-notes or harmonics are present or absent. In the violin, for example, as compared with the guitar or the pianoforte, he finds that the primary note is strong, the partial tones from two to six weak, and those from seven to ten clearer and more distinct.[140] He was first led to detect the variations of form they assume by applying a microscope to the vibrations of different musical instruments, and the fact was further confirmed by the discovery made by himself and Donders that the sounds articulated by the human voice are composed of vibrations which each assume their own special shape. The phonautographs since constructed by Scott and König actually delineate the forms of these waves of sound either on a plate of sand, or in the flickerings of a gas-flame, or in the movements of a writing pencil, and the microscopic examination of the impressions produced by articulate sounds in the tinfoil of the phonograph shows a series of indentations of various but determinate shapes.

The number of forms which can be assumed by the waves of sound is naturally limited in kind, while various bodies may emit sounds containing the same harmonic or partial tone. The quality or timbre which depends on the relation and strength of these partial tones, and of the composite form assumed by the sum of their vibrations, constitutes what we have called a peculiar tone. This, as we have seen, is a simple one in the case of the tuning-fork, but in other cases it forms part of a full or complex group. We may find an illustration in the characteristic lines of light which we learn from the spectrum analysis are projected by substances; where we are dealing with a simple elementary substance, the line thrown upon the spectrum is correspondingly simple; where, on the other hand, the substance is compound, its spectrum also is compound, reflecting the several chemical elements of which it is made up. The simple spectrum answers to the simple harmonic or partial tone with its varying pitch and invariable form, just as the compound spectrum answers to the full note or peculiar tone with its characteristic quality and diversified grouping of partial tones. Now, if a body which has a certain peculiar tone is struck by a sound which contains a partial tone in any way similar to this peculiar tone, the body in question vibrates in sympathy, and we hear what is known as a by-note or harmonic. This by-note reacts upon the partial tone which has caused it, strengthening the partial tone and so modifying the quality of the complex sound. If, for instance, we play a note such as C on a violin, the strings of a piano representing C as well as the harmonics allied to it will vibrate in sympathy. Of course the more elastic the body which is struck, the louder and clearer will be the by-note, and of all elastic bodies none are better than those chambers of resonance into which we can divide the air. Such chambers of resonance are afforded by wind instruments of all kinds, whose shape determines the peculiar tone they are to emit. If the instrument is so constructed as to change its shape at will, now round, now straight, now broad, now narrow, the number of different chambers of resonance, and consequently the number of different peculiar tones, may be almost indefinitely increased.

It is this variability of form which makes the human throat such a marvellous instrument for the production of manifold sounds. Like most chambers of resonance, it has the hollow reed-like shape which connects it most readily with the primary source of sound. In analyzing the material of language we must never forget that we have to do with the most perfect wind instrument that exists, a wind instrument, too, of infinite pliability and power of change, and thus in constant and ready sympathy with the harmonics that are struck by the other organs of speech.

We must now pass from the science of acoustics to the science of physiology. We have seen what are the conditions under which musical notes are produced, we have also seen that among these musical notes the utterances of articulate speech have to be classed; we have next to examine into the nature and conformation of the physical organs to which these utterances owe their origin. In the first place, the organs of speech may roughly be divided into three groups:—the breathing apparatus, or lungs, the _trachea_ or windpipe with larynx and bronchial tubes, and the chamber of resonance or mouth and nose. The lungs provide the material which is worked up into inarticulate noises and articulate sounds by the _trachea_ and chamber of resonance. As long as the breath flows out of the throat and mouth quietly and without interruption language of any sort is out of the question. The organs of speech are at rest, and all that can be done is to propel the breath with greater or less violence. We may breathe hard through the mouth, we may even make noises like that of snorting through the nose, but as yet there is nothing which can constitute a starting-point for articulate speech.[141] Mere _breath_, as distinguished from _voice_, only supplies the material out of which words and sentences may afterwards be created. Voice is breath, acted upon and excited into waves of sound by the organs of the throat and mouth; a larger quantity of air than is needed for simple breathing is rapidly taken into the lungs, and immediately expelled in intermittent gusts, but with varying degrees of force. Almost all the sounds we utter are accompanied by exspiration; only such sounds as an occasionally mispronounced _ja_ in Germany or our own surprised _Oh!_ are produced while the breath is being drawn in. Experiment will at once show how difficult it is to pronounce a sound at the same time that this is being done.

The breath, then, is the passive instrument through which language is formed by the trachea and chamber of resonance. This trachea is a long cartilaginous and elastic pipe ending in the bronchial tubes, through which the air is admitted to the lungs. Its upper part is termed the larynx, consisting of five cartilages and situated in the throat. The lowest of these cartilages is the _cricoid_, which resembles a ring with the broad flat surface turned downwards. Over this comes the _cartilago thyroidea_ or Adam’s apple, with two wings which partly enclose the _cartilago cricoidea_, and form a link between it and the _os hyoideum_,[142] or bone of the tongue, which has somewhat of the shape of a horseshoe. The space surrounded by these two cartilages may be compared with a hollow reed, out of the back part of which a piece has been cut. From the base of the latter and the upper rim of the _cartilago cricoidea_ spring two small pyramidal cartilages, the arytenoids, which resemble the horns of an ox and almost touch one another. Their roots are connected with one another and with the cricoid and thyroid cartilages by the so-called _processus vocales_, which in spite of their name have little to do with the formation of speech. The horns of the arytenoids serve to unite two elastic bands to the opposite surface of the thyroid cartilage. These bands are formed of muscle enveloped with mucous membrane, and are the famous _chordæ vocales_ upon which as upon the strings of a piano the manifold modulations of human language are played. So long as they remain, the other vocal organs, not excluding the tongue, may be removed without depriving the patient of the faculty of articulate speech.[143] Their length differs in men and women, in children and adults; the average length in men being about one-third greater than in women, and occasioning the different pitch of male and female voices.[144] The two _chordæ vocales_ run obliquely across the cavity enclosed between the thyroid cartilage and a small projection on the front part of the arytenoid cartilage, an aperture which is called the glottis, or _glottis vera_. They can be relaxed or contracted at will by the muscles of the cartilages to which they are attached, and a portion of them can even be deadened by pressure from a small protuberance on the under side of the epiglottis. The glottis itself is divided into two parts, one the space between the vocal chords and the lateral thyro-arytenoid and crico-arytenoid cartilages, the other the triangular space between the vocal chords themselves, the latter allowing a passage for breath, the former a passage for voice. Both spaces can of course be narrowed or enlarged by the contraction or relaxation of the vocal chords, and the junction of the latter will close one or both altogether. It is in this secret chamber that the phonetic substance of speech is moulded into shape; the vibrations of the _chordæ vocales_ in the breath of the glottis are the ultimate cause of syllables and words.

Above this chamber of the voice the trachea or windpipe again widens, and a second chamber is formed by two cavities on either side, called the ventricles of the larynx (the _ventriculi Morgagni_). Each cavity leads, at the back, into a pouch of the mucous membrane called the laryngeal sac and covered with sixty or seventy mucous glands, the secretion from which acts like oil on a piece of machinery by keeping the vocal chords and the surrounding parts in a moist condition. Stretched across the cavities are two thick ligaments, the false vocal chords, like the true _chordæ vocales_ below them. They differ from the vocal chords in having no muscle of their own, but like the latter can contract or enlarge at pleasure the false glottis (_glottis spuria_), the space, that is, which is enclosed between them. The false glottis, which, like the false vocal chords, takes no part in the creation of language, is shut by an elastic cartilage, called the _epiglottis_, the lower point of which is attached to the thyroid cartilage immediately above the _chordæ vocales_, while the upper end broadens out like a leaf and falls over the fissure of the false glottis. This corresponds with the entrance of the larynx. The upper surface of the epiglottis is concave, and in swallowing it is allowed to drop upon the larynx. At other times it may be depressed over the false and true vocal chords.

Such is the machinery whereby breath from the lungs is transformed into voice in its passage through the windpipe; and voice is next taken up by what we have termed the chamber of resonance and modified in various ways. If we may call the glottis the manufactory of voice, we may call the mouth and nose the manufactory of the articulate sounds into which voice is divided. At the back of the epiglottis lies the _pharynx_, leading into the _œsophagus_, and the pharynx is bounded on the side of the mouth by the posterior pillar or _arcus pharyngo-palatinus_, opposite to which is the anterior pillar or _arcus glosso-palatinus_. Between them are the tonsils, and above these again the _uvula_, a sort of pendent valve which hangs downwards from the top of the anterior pillar towards the posterior pillar behind. The uvula is attached to a piece of yielding muscle known as the soft palate or _velum palati_, which with the uvula separates the throat from the entrance to the nostrils. The soft palate can move either backwards or forwards; in pronouncing the guttural (_ng_) for instance, it is pressed forward against the tongue, shutting off the throat; in pronouncing the vowels, on the other hand, it is pressed backward, and so cuts off the flow of breath to the nose. Above the soft palate comes the arch of the hard palate or roof of the mouth, and below this the tongue with its two roots and pointed tip. The teeth that enclose the mouth, along with their alveolars that form the front wall of the hard palate, have much to do with the formation of specific sounds, while it is hardly necessary to refer to the phonological importance of both nose and lips. As is well known, a leading characteristic of cultivated English is the little use it makes of the latter.

It is now time to consider the precise parts played by these different organs of speech, in producing the various elements of spoken language. We must begin by putting out of sight all inarticulate sounds or noises, such as the clicks of the Bushman or the Hottentot, which have entered into the composition and framework of actual speech. Such inarticulate sounds are but the stepping-stones to real language, the first steps of the ladder, as it were, which were eventually to lead to articulate words. They are the natural cries of man like the natural cries of the animals from which they in no way differ; and just as on the one side the barking of the dog and the mewing of the cat are said to be attempts to imitate the human voice, so on the other hand the inarticulate cries of the _infant_ or “non-speaker” are on the same level as the roar of the lion or the shriek of the cockatoo. We are told that the cynocephalic ape of the Upper Senegal, whose form is depicted on the monuments of ancient Egypt, utters clicks which sometimes contain a distinct _d_,[145] and the Bushmen themselves show a true instinct when they make the beasts in their fables talk not only with the clicks of the Bushman dialects, but even in the case of some animals with clicks that do not otherwise occur.[146] If we watch the first endeavours of children to speak, we may discover inarticulate noises gradually becoming articulate sounds with definite meanings, and we may even trace a recollection of the first efforts of man to create a language for himself in the guttural aspirates heard for instance in some of the Semitic dialects. Indeed, the name given to the hard breathing (_h_) by the Greeks, πνεῦμα δασύ or “rough aspirate,” reminds us of the guttural noises, not yet phonetic sounds, made by the child; in forming this sound we jerk out the breath at the same time that we narrow the glottis, adding if we like various degrees of hoarseness by further stopping its free flow. The glottal catch, which is heard in Danish after vowels, and according to Mr. Bell is substituted in the Glasgow pronunciation for “voiceless stops,” is really a mere cough. Even the _spiritus lenis_ or soft breathing, heard before a vowel, partakes in some measure of the nature of a noise. It is true that the rough breathing cannot be sung while the soft breathing may be; but this is because in the case of the latter the breath is checked near the vocal chords and can therefore be intoned. Professor Max Müller is doubtless right in holding that all that the Greeks meant by πνεῦμα ψιλόν as opposed to πνεῦμα δασύ was “a negative definition of another breath which is free from roughness,”[147] just as the ĕ-´psilon is negatively contrasted with the _êta_. Neither breathing was regarded as constituting as yet a true sound or “voice.”

The true sounds of language, however, were distinguished but roughly and imperfectly one from the other. Plato, in his Kratylus, divides them into φονηέντα or “vowels,” and ἄφωνα or “mutes,” these last being further subdivided into semi-vowels which are neither vowels nor mutes (φωνηέντα μὲν οὔ, οὐ μέντοι γε ἄφθογγα) and ἄφθογγα or real mutes. The term ἄφωνα, mutes, afterwards came to be restricted in its sense as a simple equivalent of Plato’s ἄφθογγα, its place being taken by the term σύμφωνα or “consonants,” letters, that is to say, which must be sounded along with a vowel. These consonants were next classed as ἡμίφωνα or semi-vowels (_l_, _m_, _n_, _r_, and _s_), ὑγρά or “liquids” which covered all the semi-vowels with the exception of _s_, and ἄφωνα or “mutes.” The mutes fall into three classes, the ψιλά or “bare” (_k_, _t_, _p_), the δασέα or “aspirates” (_kh_, _th_, _ph_) and the μέσα which stood, as it were, “between” them. The Latin translation of the latter term has given us the _mediæ_ of modern grammars.

Far more thorough-going and scientific were the phonological labours and classification of the Hindu _prâtiśâkhyas_. Instead of starting from written speech like the Greek grammarians, they had to do with an orally-delivered literature, and hence while the Greeks never got beyond the belief that the tongue, teeth, and lips were the sole instruments of pronunciation, the Hindus had carefully analyzed the organs of speech some centuries before the Christian era, and composed phonological treatises which may favourably compare with those of our own day. They knew, for example, that in sounding the _tenues_, or hard letters, the glottis is kept open, while in sounding the _mediæ_, or soft ones, it is closed; they knew also that _e_ and _o_ were diphthongs analyzable into _a_ + _i_ and _a_ + _u_; and they explained _k_ and _g_, _p_ and _b_, as formed by complete contact of the vocal organs. They had noted the _repha_ or “Newcastle burr,” and had divided the nasals into their several classes. The names they gave to the various sounds, and the groups into which they were classified, were descriptive of their mode of formation, like the names similarly applied by modern phonologists. Thus the guttural sibilant formed near the root of the tongue (χ) was called _Jihvâmûlîya_, “the tongue-root letter,” and the labial sibilant (φ) _Upadhmânîya_, “to be breathed upon.” The consonants were classed both according to the place where they were formed, and according to their _prayatna_, or “quality,” the mutes and nasals, for instance, being formed by “complete contact” of the vocal organs, the semi-vowels by “_slight_ contact” (_îshat sprishṭa_), the sibilants by “slight opening” (_îshad vivṛita_), and the vowels by complete opening. A controversy even sprung up among the grammarians as to the extent of this opening of the organs. “Some ascribe to the semi-vowels _duḥspṛishṭa_, imperfect contact, or _îshadaspṛishṭa_, slight non-contact, or _îshadvivṛita_, slight opening; to the sibilants _nemaspṛishṭa_, half-contact; _i.e._, greater opening than is required for the semi-vowels, or _vivṛita_, complete opening; while they require for the vowels either _vivṛita_, complete opening, or _aspṛishṭa_, non-contact.”[148]

Leaving the speculations of the past, let us now pass on to the results which have been obtained by modern research. Thanks to the labours of men like Alexander Ellis, Melville Bell, Helmholtz, Czermak, Brücke, Sweet, and others, the mechanism of speech has been fairly settled; and though many points are still open to discussion, the main facts have been thoroughly ascertained and adequately explained. We have learnt the real nature and causes of those phonetic elements of speech which the old grammarians first tried to separate and classify; we have cleared away the confusion from which even the Vedic scholars of India could not wholly escape, and have discovered that in phonology as elsewhere, the convenient systems of practical life do not bear a close scientific investigation. Even the ordinary distinction of vowels and consonants is exposed to more than one objection. It rests not upon the essential character of the sounds themselves, but upon mere differences of function, and its advocates have to invent a series of semi-vowels or semi-consonants, a name which of itself indicates how incomplete and unsatisfactory the distinction must be. The distinction, indeed, has a basis of fact, but the fact is one which has been misapprehended or overlooked.

Apart from the respiratory organs which supply the fuel, the chief agents in the manufacture of speech are the throat and mouth. The breath, as it makes its way upward, passes the vocal chords, causing these to vibrate; and while the forms taken by the vibrations determine the quality or timbre of the sound to be uttered, the very essence of a vowel, for instance, consisting in the quality of the voice, the number of the vibrations determines its pitch.

In the pitch we have to distinguish between two things, the chest or true notes and the head or falsetto notes, respectively due to the position and action of the vocal chords. In the chest notes the vocal chords are stiffened and laid side by side, so that when the flow of breath comes from the lungs, they are forced aside for a moment, to spring back the next and cause a series of intermittent puffs of breath. In the falsetto notes, on the other hand, the muscles of the vocal chords are not contracted, nor is the glottis wholly closed; hence only the inner membrane of the chords is set in motion by the breath, and instead of actually meeting one another, the chords merely narrow or enlarge the aperture of the glottis.[149]

The forms assumed by the vibrations depend, of course, on the anatomical structure of the vocal chords, their greater or less elasticity, and the like. Besides quality and pitch, however, we must also take account of the _intensity_ of the sound, this intensity or emphasis arising from the force with which the stream of breath is expelled from the lungs, and the corresponding strain of the muscles of the trachea and vocal chords.

In whispering, the amount of intensity is considerably diminished, though the pitch is quite as distinct as in loud voice. The glottis is not completely closed, but the upward flow of breath is not strong enough to do more than produce a sort of friction, or imperfect vibration in the vocal chords. The latter incline towards each other on the side furthest from the arytenoids, and so give the glottis a triangular shape; the larynx, however, may also assume other forms. Hence it is that we may distinguish three kinds of whispered voice. We may either have a soft whisper, where the whole glottis is narrowed, and the force with which the breath is emitted is very slight; or a medium whisper, where the force is greater, and only that part of the glottis left open which lies between the arytenoids; or a loud whisper, where the force is considerable, the false vocal chords are in close contact, and the epiglottis bent stiffly downwards, allowing but a very small opening for the escape of the breath. A loud whisper is rare; a medium whisper the most common. Sighing, it may be added, is produced above the larynx, which takes no part in its production; when the vocal chords are brought into action, the sigh becomes a groan.

It needs but a short experience to discover the numberless varieties of voice that may exist, and it is not uncommon for a blind man by this means not only to distinguish the age and sex of those he meets, but even to recognize his friends. In fact the human voice, from the deepest male to the highest female voice, has a range of nearly four octaves, the lowest note being E, produced by 80 vibrations per second, and the highest C, produced by 1,024 vibrations per second. But Vierordt has shown that in extreme cases its range is nearly 5½ octaves, from F (produced by 42 vibrations) to A (produced by 1,708 vibrations). In the same individual it is rare for the range of the voice to be more than two octaves, and in ordinary speech it is generally only half an octave. These different notes are due to changes in the length and tension of the vocal chords and their approximation or separation, the lower notes, for instance, requiring them to be longer, looser, and more widely separated than in the case of the higher notes, and consequently to admit a larger but less rapid current of air. It has been calculated that 240 different states of tension of the vocal chords must be accurately producible at will, in order to cause all the notes and intermediate tones heard in a perfect voice of ordinary range. Madame Mara could effect no fewer than 2,000 changes. The four chief varieties of the voice—the bass, the tenor, the contralto, and the soprano—are dependent on differences of pitch, that is ultimately on differences in the length of the vocal chords. The bass and the tenor with the intermediate baritone characterize the man, the contralto and soprano with the intermediate mezzo-soprano characterize the woman. The lowest note of the contralto is about an octave higher than the lowest note of the bass, the highest soprano about an octave higher than the highest tenor. Sometimes, however, we find a bass voice singing the higher notes of a tenor, and yet at the same time remaining bass. The reason of this is that the various kinds of voice differ not only in pitch, but also in timbre. This is caused by differences in the vocal organs. The larynx of women is smaller than that of men; the angle formed by it in front is less acute, and the cartilages are softer. The voice of boys is either contralto or soprano, like that of women, though generally different in tone. There is, however, no difference in the larynx of either boys or girls up to the age of puberty, when in the case of boys it rapidly increases in size, and the vocal chords become longer, thicker, and coarser.

The elevation or depression of the larynx exercises a certain modifying influence upon the voice. When the voice is raised from a low to a high pitch, the whole larynx, together with the trachea, is lifted towards the base of the skull. The exact way, however, in which the trachea and the parts above the glottis affect the voice is by no means clear. The thyro-arytenoid muscles, which extend from the arytenoids to the recessed angle of the thyroid cartilage, have much to do with the production of these higher tones. They narrow the diameter of the larynx just below the vocal chords, and the diminution of the calibre of the wind-tube nearest the chords thus occasioned heightens the pitch. On the other hand, the pitch is made to fall by semitones when the tube is lengthened. In short, the greater the strength of the current of air the higher is the pitch. The depression of the larynx produces the so-called veiled voice (_vox clandestina_), the larynx itself being then covered by the entire pharynx, the root of the tongue approximated to the palate, and the voice being thus made to resound in the upper part of the pharynx under the skull.

The precise nature of ventriloquism is not quite certain. J. Müller states that it may be produced by speaking through an extremely narrow glottis, during a very slow exspiration, performed only by the lateral walls of the chest, a deep inspiration having been first taken, so as to cause the protrusion of the abdominal viscera by the descent of the diaphragm. Magendie, however, considers it to be produced in the larynx by variously modifying the voice so as to imitate the changes otherwise effected in it by distance.

The character of the voice is necessarily modified by changes in the structure of the vocal organs, whether due to old age, to weather and climate, to exhaustion, or to disease. In old age the ossification of the cartilages, the diminution of muscular and nervous power, and the degeneration of the larynx, make the voice weak, tremulous, and “piping.” In damp chilly weather the voice is often lowered by as much as two or three notes: indeed, nothing affects it more rapidly than a damp and depressing atmosphere. Exhaustion, again, accounts for the dissonance sometimes perceived in the voice of singers, while inflammation of the lining membrane of the larynx, and other diseases, will impair or wholly destroy the power of utterance. Loss of voice during a bad cold is a familiar instance of the latter fact.

Lisping, stammering, and other kinds of imperfect speech, are mainly due to nervous disease, stammering being usually caused by temporary spasm of the glottis. Too high a palate is another cause of irregular utterance. Dumbness, when not occasioned by deafness, as is generally the case, must be ascribed either to malformation of the vocal organs, or, more commonly, to disease of the nervous centres. Whistling, it must be remembered, results from the vibration caused by the friction of the breath against the edges of the open lips, and is wholly formed in the mouth.

The mouth, or chamber of resonance, is especially important for the creation of articulate speech. On the one side there are a great many sounds which owe to it their origin, on the other side even the sounds which are formed in the throat are necessarily modified in passing through the mouth. While _t_, _p_, or _k_ have no existence until the voiced breath has reached the region of the mouth, the vowels which are formed in the throat cannot be heard in their pure and original state, but must pass through a chamber of resonance and so become more or less transformed. The throat, again, may remain passive, but the mouth must always be active. Of course the mouth forms a chamber of resonance not only for the sounds produced by the throat, but also for those produced by itself; the larger part of the mouth, for instance, forms a chamber of resonance for the palatal _ch_. We must remember, moreover, that a sound can be more variously changed and modified, the larger and more variable is the part of the mouth which serves as a chamber of resonance, that is to say, the further back the place is in which it is manufactured. The vowels consequently come first in capability of modification, then the gutturals and dentals, and finally the labials. It has often been observed that children when learning to speak are apt to change a guttural into a dental, and say _do_ instead of _go_, the guttural being formed further back than the dental, and so undergoing a greater amount of modification in its passage through the mouth.

A vowel is voice freely emitted through the throat and mouth without interruption, and modified only by the different positions assumed by the tongue. The essence of a vowel is the quality or timbre of the voiced breath, and this quality, as we have already seen, is due to the varying forms taken by the vibrating vocal chords when played upon by the breath. Necessarily, however, the quality of the voice as it leaves the throat must be always the same, since the throat is a musical instrument which possesses its own peculiar tone. What, then, is the cause of the differences we notice in the quality of the vowels? Simply the mobility of what we have called the chamber of resonance, the manifold shapes the organs of the mouth are able to assume being so many musical instruments, each with its peculiar tone. The partial tones or harmonics which go to make up the quality of the voiced breath are strengthened by the corresponding peculiar tones of the several shapes assumed by the mouth, while at the same time those harmonics which do not agree with the peculiar tones are dulled or deadened. Hence a vowel is the quality of voiced breath produced by a combination of the forms of the vibrations of the vocal chords with those of the vibrating air in the various shapes taken by the chamber of resonance. The pitch of the vowel depends of course on the number of vibrations during the time of utterance, and may be detected even when the vowel is whispered. Indeed, as Donders and Helmholtz have shown, every vowel has its characteristic pitch, whether it is voiced or whispered. The different vowels can be heard in cases of aphonia, where the vocal chords are more or less paralyzed, while the _vox clandestina_ is able to rise or fall. This is explained by the fact that even in whispering a certain friction is exercised on the vocal chords. If, for instance, we whisper the sound of _ü_, and then let the whisper gradually pass into a whistle, we shall always get the same tone, and Professor Max Müller thinks that the indications of musical pitch in the whispered vowels must be treated as “imperfect tones; that is to say, as noises approaching to tones, or as irregular vibrations, nearly, yet not quite, changed into regular or isochronous vibrations.”[150]

The number of possible vowel-sounds is almost infinite. The vocal chamber of resonance is almost infinitely variable in the forms it may assume, and it is in these forms, as we have seen, that we must find the origin of the vowels and their _nuances_ of sound. In Prince L.-L. Bonaparte’s alphabet, as given in Mr. A. J. Ellis’s “Early English Pronunciation,” seventy-five vowel-sounds (exclusive of _ḷ_ and _ṛ_) are distinguished from one another, ten of which occur in no actual language, and of the remaining sixty-five, fifty occur each in less than nine European dialects. For practical purposes, however, it is necessary to analyze the formation of those vowels only which are heard most usually in spoken language, always remembering that the _nuances_ of which these are capable are nearly unlimited, and that the same speaker is constantly varying what he intends and believes to be the same vowel-sound. Speaking generally, we may say that in pronouncing the vowels we invariably raise the tongue towards the palate, but not so as to touch it—as in the case of the consonants—the lips being passive in some instances, and rounded in others. It is needless to note that in phonology, as in all other departments of the science of language, the Italian pronunciation of the vowels must be adopted. Our erroneous pronunciation of the vowel-symbols is not one of the least important reasons for urging a reform of English spelling.

The three fundamental vowels, round which all the others group themselves, are _a_, _i_, and _u_; and though it is not necessary to hold that these were the first vowel-sounds articulated by man, it is necessary to regard them, for analytical purposes, as the primary elements to which the rest may be ultimately referred. According to Winteler, these three vowels must be arranged in a straight line, of which _i_ forms one end and _u_ the other, _a_ standing in the middle.

In forming _a_ the tongue is in a more constrained position than in the case of any other vowel; it lies flat and retracted, while the lips are wide open. Helmholtz makes its inherent tone B″ flat. Owing to the constrained position of the tongue, this vowel is more liable to be modified than any other; the “neutral” _a_ is scarcely ever heard, produced as it is by the gradual narrowing of the movement of the tongue from the back of the mouth, where the obscure _a_ of _father_ is heard, to the front of the mouth, where we get the broad _ä_ of _pair_. This neutral _a_ which may be heard in the Italian _ămātă_ is not the “natural” sound it is sometimes called; different parts of the mouth must be modified to create it, occasioning the nasal sound we perceive in moaning if the mouth remains passive, or the shrill _ä_ of the new-born child, if the nasal orifice is closed by the elevation of the soft palate.[151] The belief that language was once in a stage in which the neutral _a_ was the only vowel known is contradicted by the facts of phonology.

A stronger effort of articulation is required for _i_ and _u_. The lips must be slightly opened, the larynx raised, and the tongue pushed upward, so that its front approaches the hard palate, if we want to produce _i_, the natural pitch of which is said to be D⁗. The movement of the tongue from the back to the front of the mouth, with a gradual narrowing of the air passage, forms both the _i_ of _mill_, and the _i_ of _meal_.[152] As we shall see, the position of the tongue in forming _i_ approaches that required for forming the palatals, and thus explains the relationship that exists between them. For _u_ the tongue is raised towards the soft palate, the larynx lowered, and the lips rounded; hence the connection between this vowel and the labials. Its connection with the gutturals, as illustrated by the change of _werra_ into _guerre_, or _vespa_ into _guêpe_, is explained by the position of the tongue, which approaches the soft palate in forming _u_, and touches it in forming _k_ or _g_. The rounded shape of the mouth needed by _u_, as compared with its narrow neck-like appearance needed by _i_, strengthens the deep partial tones, and dulls the sharp ones, thus occasioning the converse effect of _i_. In fact, _u_ is essentially the vowel of the bass, _i_ of the soprano. The inherent tone of _u_ is F.

It is obvious that an almost endless series of modifications may be made in the primary vowels by slight changes in the position of the organs by which they are produced. Between _a_ and _i_ stands _e_; between _i_ and _u_, _o_. In pronouncing _e_ the tongue is less raised than in pronouncing _i_; for _o_, the back of the tongue is less raised and the lips more widely opened than for _u_. In _o_, however, as in _u_, the lips have to come into play; hence it is that these two sounds are so frequently weakened to _e_ and _i_, whereas the converse change never takes place. In _e_ and _i_ we have a simple and not a double action. According to Helmholtz, the inherent pitch of _o_ is B′ flat, of _e_, B‴ flat or F′.

But _e_ and _o_ may again undergo considerable change. If while pronouncing close _e_ (as in the French _été_ or German _see_) we round the lips, the sound is produced which is represented by _ö_ in Middle and Southern German and _eu_ in French, the short sound of which may be heard in the German _böcke_. It lies, it will be observed, between _e_ and _o_, and its inherent pitch is C‴ sharp. Closely related to this _ö_ is the German _ü_, French _u_. This sound is produced by rounding the lips when the organs of speech are in position for pronouncing _i_, which explains the use of _ü_ and _i_ as rhyming equivalents in German poetry. _Ü_ consequently lies between _i_ and _u_, though, from another point of view, it may be described as standing furthest from _a_ in a series of which _ö_ forms the centre. The inherent pitch of _ü_ is G‴.

Besides _o_, we have also the sound heard long in words like _bought_ or _aúgust_, and short in words like _not_ and _augúst_, formed by slightly depressing the tongue, widening the air-passage, and rounding the lips to a less extent than in the case of _o_.