The King's English

‘To (which)’ is not common to both coordinates: accordingly the writer finds it necessary to give ‘it’ in the second. But, even if we respect our superstition, and exclude ‘which Sweden will not assent to, but will not go to war to prevent’, we have still the two possibilities of (1) complete relative coordination, ‘to ..., but which ...’; (2) subordination, ‘though she will not go to war to prevent it’.

In our next example, Lord Rosebery, again for fear of a preposition at the end, falls into the trap clumsily avoided by the Times writer:

So perhaps Bagehot, though his verb may be conceive of:

(iii) When the relative is the subject of both coordinates, or the object of both, its repetition in the second is a matter of choice. But to omit the relative when it is in a different case from the first is a gross, though not uncommon, blunder. The following are instances:

It is just conceivable that in the last of these the subject of ‘are’ is ‘we’: if so, the sentence is to be referred to (i) above (wrong coordination of an independent sentence with a defining relative clause).

It is not easy to see why the relative more than other words should be mishandled in this way; few would write (but see p. 61, s. f.) ‘This league we kept and has proved advantageous’.

The condensed antecedent-relative ‘what’ is only an apparent exception to this universal rule. In the sentence ‘What I hold is mine’, ‘what’ is only object to ‘hold’, not subject to ‘is’; the subject to ‘is’ is the whole noun-clause ‘what I hold’. Sentences of this type, so far from being exceptions, often give a double illustration of the rule, and leave a double possibility of error. For just as a single ‘what’ cannot stand in different relations to two coordinate verbs in its clause, so a single noun-clause cannot stand in different relations to two coordinate main verbs. We can say ‘What I have and hold’, where ‘what’ is object to both verbs, and ‘what is mine and has been fairly earned by me’, where it is subject to both; but we cannot say ‘what I have and has been fairly earned by me’. Similarly, we can say ‘What I have is mine and shall remain mine’, where the noun-clause ‘what I have’ is subject to both verbs, and ‘What I have I mean to keep, and will surrender to no man’, where it is object to both; but not ‘What I have is mine, and I will surrender to no man’. Of the various ways of avoiding this error (subordination, adaptation of verbs, insertion of a pronoun, relative or otherwise), that chosen by Miss Brontë below is perhaps the least convenient. Her sentence is, however, correct; that from the Spectator is not.

‘Things that were once realities, and that I long have thought decayed’; a pair of defining clauses.

The condensed ‘what’ must of course be distinguished from the ‘what’ of indirect questions, which is not relative but interrogative. In the following example, confusion of the two leads to an improper coordination.

In the first sentence, ‘what’ is an interrogative, in the second, a condensed antecedent-relative, standing for ‘the sums that’. It is the sums that were enormous: it is the answer to the question ‘What sums did he make?’ that can only be conjectured. The mistake is possible only because ‘can’ and ‘must’ do not reveal their number: ‘can’ is singular, ‘must’ plural.

The differentiation between the two whats and their equivalents is not, indeed, complete: just as the condensed antecedent-relative resembles in form, though not in treatment, the unresolved interrogative, so the interrogative, by resolution into ‘the ... that (which)’, not only resembles, but is grammatically identified with, the uncondensed relative and antecedent. The resolution is, no doubt, convenient: it should be noticed, however, that the verbs with which alone it can be employed (verbs that may denote either perception of a fact or other kinds of perception) are precisely those with which ambiguity may result. ‘I know the house (that) you mean’: it may (antecedent and relative) or may not (resolved interrogative) follow that I have ever seen it. ‘We must first discover the scoundrel who did it’; antecedent and relative? then we must secure the scoundrel’s person; resolved interrogative? then only information is needed. ‘I can give a good guess at the problem that is puzzling you’: and the solution?—I know nothing of the solution; I was resolving an interrogative.

This, however, does not affect sentences like the Macaulay one above: for although the resolved or uncondensed forms (‘the ... which’) are grammatically identified, the condensed or unresolved forms (‘what’) are not.

(iv) The omission of the relative in isolated clauses (as opposed to coordinates) is a question not of correctness but of taste, so far as there is any question at all. A non-defining relative can never be omitted. The omission of a defining relative subject is often effective in verse, but in prose is either an archaism or a provincialism. It may, moreover, result in obscurity, as in the second of our examples, which may possibly puzzle the reader for a moment:

But when the defining relative is object, or has a preposition, there is no limit to the omission, unless euphony is allowed to be one. We give three instances in which the reader may or may not agree that the relative might have been retained with advantage:

(v) When a defining relative has the same preposition as its antecedent, it is not uncommon, in the written as well as in the spoken language, to omit the preposition in the relative clause. There is something to be said for a licence that rids us of such cumbrous formulae as ‘in the way in which’, ‘to the extent to which’, and the like; in writing, however, it should be used with caution if at all.

In the first place, if the preposition is to go, the relative should go too, or if retained should certainly be ‘that’, not ‘which’; and if the verb of the relative clause is the same as in the main sentence, it should be represented by ‘do’, or (in a compound tense) by its auxiliary component.

‘In a way no other book in the world could’: ‘in the way (that) Sir E. Satow has done’.

A further limitation is suggested by our next example:

Here, of course, the relative cannot be omitted, since relative and antecedent are one. But that is not the principal fault, as will appear from a resolution of the antecedent-relative: ‘they are ending with the very thing (that) they ought to have begun ...’. We are now at liberty to omit our relative or retain it, as we please; in either case, the omission of ‘with’ is unbearable. The reason is that ‘with’ does not, like the ‘in’ of our former examples, introduce a purely adverbial phrase: it is an inseparable component of the compound verbs ‘end-with’ and ‘begin-with’, of which the antecedent and relative are respectively the objects. Similarly, we cannot say ‘He has come to the precise conclusion (that) I thought he would come’, because we should be mutilating the verb to ‘come-to’; we can, however, say ‘to the conclusion (that) I thought he would’, ‘come-to’ being then represented by ‘would’.

Finally, the omission is justifiable only when antecedent and relative have the same preposition. Sentences like the next may pass in conversation, but (except with the one noun way) are intolerable in writing:

(vi) The use of ‘such ... who (which)’, ‘such ... that (defining relative)’, for ‘such ... as’ is sometimes an archaism, sometimes a vulgarism.

f. ‘It ... that.’

Two constructions, closely allied, but grammatically distinct, are often confused: (i) Antecedent ‘it’ followed by a defining relative clause with ‘that’ (who, which); (ii) ‘it’ followed by a clause in apposition, introduced by the conjunction ‘that’. The various correct possibilities are represented in the set of examples given below. Relative clauses are marked R, conjunction clauses C. One impossible example is added in brackets, to mark the transition from relative to conjunction.

In the relative construction, the antecedent ‘it’ is invariable, whatever the number and gender of the relative. The main verb is also invariable in number, but in tense is usually adapted to past, though not (for euphony’s sake) to future circumstances: ‘it was you that looked foolish’, but ‘it is you that will look foolish’.

In both constructions, the ‘that’ clause, supplemented or introduced by ‘it’, gives us the subject of a predication, the relative clause (with it) being equivalent to a pure noun, the conjunction clause to a verbal noun in apposition, partly retaining its verbal character. In both, also, the predication answers an imaginary question, recorded distinctly in the relative, less distinctly in the conjunction clause. ‘What do you want?’ ‘It (the thing) that I want is money.’ ‘To whom did you give it?’ ‘It (the persons) that I gave it to was your friends.’ ‘As to your cutting it: give particulars.’ ‘It—that I cut it (my cutting it)—was with a knife.’

From the above examples it will be seen that the two constructions largely overlap. When (as in 1, 2, 5, 8) the relative is subject or direct object of the clause-verb, or is in the possessive case, it cannot be replaced by the conjunction; but when its relation to the clause-verb is marked by a preposition, the conjunction always may take its place, and sometimes must, as in 12 and 13. For the relative clause can only be used when the question reflected in it is calculated to secure the right kind of answer. Now the natural answer to the question ‘What did you cut it with?’ is not ‘difficulty’ but ‘a knife’. The misleading ‘with’ is therefore removed from the relative clause in 13, and placed within the predicate, the definite question ‘What did you cut it with?’ giving place to the vague demand for particulars. ‘With’ being removed, the relative clause falls to pieces, for want of a word to govern the relative, and the conjunction clause takes its place. In the same way, ‘it was a cab (but not high indignation) that he drove away in’; ‘it was a concert (but not curiosity) that I was returning from’; ‘it was a beech-tree (but not unpleasant circumstances) that I found him under’. And, generally, it will be found that a preposition is admissible in the relative clause only when used in the literal or the most obvious sense.

The conjunction clause is, as we have said, a verbal noun; so far a noun that things can be predicated of it, and so far a verb that the things predicated of it are verbal relations and verbal circumstances, indirect object, agent, instrument, means, manner, cause, attendant circumstances; anything but subject and direct object. ‘My giving was to you’; ‘my offering was provisionally’; ‘my concealing it was because I was ashamed’.

The mistakes that constantly occur in careless writers result from hesitation between the two forms where both are possible. The confusion, however, ought not to arise; for always with a relative clause, and never with a conjunction, the complement of the main predicate (the answer to the suppressed question) is a noun or the grammatical equivalent of a noun. ‘A knife’, ‘Jones’, ‘you’, ‘my friend in Chicago’, ‘the man who lives next door’, are the answers that accompany the relative clause: ‘with a knife’, ‘with difficulty’, ‘to you’, ‘occasionally’, ‘because I was ashamed’, are those that accompany the conjunction.

Examples 15 and 16, though quite recognized types, are really artificial perversions. In 15 the true question and answer in the circumstances would be, not, as the sentence falsely implies, ‘When did the plague break out?’ ‘That too happened in this same spring’, but ‘Were there any other notable events in this spring?’ ‘Yes: the plague broke out’. Impressiveness is given to the announcement by the fiction that the reader is wondering when the plague broke out; in fact, he is merely waiting for whatever may turn up in the history of this spring. In 16 we go still further: the implied question, ‘What were your feelings on receiving a (not the) note ...?’ could not possibly be asked; the information that alone could prompt it is only given in the ‘that’ clause.

It has been pointed out in b. that a relative clause with antecedent ‘it’ particularly calls for the relative ‘that’, in preference to ‘which’, and even to ‘who’. Even when the relative is in the possessive case, ‘that’, which has no possessive, is often retained by transferring to the main predicate the noun on which it depends; 8 thus gives place to 9, even at the risk of ambiguity; for the relative clause now supplies us with the question (not ‘whose hat ...?’ but) but ‘what did you borrow?’ leaving us theoretically in doubt whether Jones’s hat is distinguished from his other property, from other people’s hats, or from things in general.

On the other hand, the two blunders that are most frequently made almost invariably have the relative ‘who’ or ‘which’.

‘To me’ implies a conjunction clause: ‘to whom ...’ is a relative clause. ‘It is to me that...’.

‘To you that’, or ‘you to whom’.

Again a common blunder; not, however, a confusion between the two constructions above, but between one of them (the relative) and a third. The sentence explains why every one seems to prefer Shakespeare to Ouida (they are afraid to say that they like Ouida best). ‘What is the explanation of this?’ ‘It is not the plentifulness of taste, but the rarity of courage, that explains it.’ Or, less clumsily, using the construction that Stevenson doubtless intended: ‘It (the inference to be drawn) is not that taste is plentiful, but that courage is rare.’

Participle and Gerund

It is advisable to make a few remarks on the participle and gerund together before taking them separately. As the word gerund is variously used, we first define it. A gerund is the verbal noun identical in form with any participle, simple or compound, that contains the termination -ing. Thus the verb write has the active participles writing, having written, being about to write, about to write, and the passive participles written, having been written, being written, about to be written, being about to be written. Any of these except written, about to write, about to be written, may be a gerund also; but while the participle is an adjective, the gerund is a noun, differing from other nouns in retaining its power (if the active gerund of a transitive verb) of directly governing another noun.

Both these are of great importance for our purpose. The participle itself, even when confusion with the other cannot occur, is much abused; and the slovenly uses of it that were good enough in Burke’s time are now recognized solecisms. Again, the identity between the two forms leads to loose and unaccountable gerund constructions that will probably be swept away, as so many other laxities have been, with the advance of grammatical consciousness. We shall have to deal with both these points at some length.

It is indeed no wonder that the forms in -ing should require close attention. Exactly how many old English terminations -ing is heir to is a question debated by historical grammarians, which we are not competent to answer. But we may point out that writing may now be (1) participle—I was writing; I saw him writing; writing piously, he acts profanely—, (2) gerund or full verbal noun—I object to your writing that—, (3) hybrid between gerund and participle—I do not mind you writing it—, (4) detached verbal noun—Writing is an acquired art—, (5) concrete noun—This writing is illegible. Moreover, the verbal noun writing has the synonym to write, obligatory instead of it in some connexions, better in some, worse in some, and impossible in others; compare, for instance: I do not like the trouble of writing; I shall not take the trouble to write; the trouble of writing is too much for him; it is a trouble to write; writing is a trouble. The grammatical difficulties, that is, are complicated by considerations of idiom.

In these preliminary remarks, however, it is only with the distinction or want of distinction between participle and gerund that we are concerned. The participle is an adjective, and should be in agreement with a noun or pronoun; the gerund is a noun, of which it should be possible to say clearly whether, and why, it is in the subjective, objective, or possessive case, as we can of other nouns. That the distinction is often obscured, partly in consequence of the history of the language, will be clear from one or two facts and examples.

1. The man is building contains what we should all now call, whether it is so or not historically, a participle or verbal adjective: the house is building (older but still living and correct English for the house is being built) contains, as its remarkable difference of meaning prepares us to believe, a gerund or verbal noun, once governed by a now lost preposition.

2. In He stopped, laughing we have a participle; in He stopped laughing, a verbal noun governed directly by the verb; in He burst out laughing, a verbal noun governed by a vanished preposition.

3. Present usage does not bear out the definite modern ideas of the distinction between participle and gerund as respectively adjective and noun. So long as that usage continues, there are various degrees of ambiguity, illustrated by the three following examples. It would be impossible to say, whatever the context, whether the writer of the first intended a gerund or a participle. In the second, a previous sentence would probably have decided the question. In the third, though grammar (again as modified by present usage) leaves the question open, the meaning of the sentence is practically decisive by itself.

In the second of these, if sitting is a participle, the meaning is that the end will be secured by the Commission, which is described by way of identification as the one sitting in Paris. If sitting is gerund, the end will be secured by the wise choice of Paris and not another place for its scene. If Commission’s were written, there could be no doubt the latter was the meaning. With Commission, there is, by present usage, absolutely no means of deciding between the two meanings apart from possible light in the context. In the third, common sense is able to tell us, though grammar gives the question up, that what is interesting is not the other people who have them, but the question whether other people have them.

We shall, in the section on the gerund, take up the decided position that all gerunds ought to be made distinguishable from participles. We are quite aware, however, that in the first place a language does not remodel itself to suit the grammarian’s fancy for neat classification; that secondly the confusion is not merely wanton or ignorant, but the result of natural development; that thirdly the change involves some inconveniences, especially to hurried and careless writers. On the other hand it is certain that the permanent tendency in language is towards the correct and logical, not from it; it is merely hoped that the considerable number of instances here collected may attract the attention of some writers who have not been aware of the question, and perhaps convince them that the distinction is a useful one, that a writer ought to know and let us know whether he is using a participle or a gerund, and that to abandon the gerund when it cannot be distinguished without clumsiness need cause no difficulty to any but the very unskilful in handling words.

Participles

The unattached or wrongly attached participle is one of the blunders most common with illiterate or careless writers. But there are degrees of heinousness in the offence; our examples are arranged from 1. to 8. in these degrees, starting with perfect innocence.

1. Participles that have passed into prepositions, conjunctions, or members of adverbial phrases.

Regarded as participles, these are incorrect. It is not you that consider, but I; not he that sees, but we; not men that roughly speak, but the moralist; not years that look, but philosophic historians; not the Bill that assumes, but the newspaper prophet. The development into prepositions, &c., is a natural one, however; the only question about any particular word of the kind is whether the vox populi has yet declared for it; when it has, there is no more to be said; but when it has not, the process should be resisted as long as possible, writers acting as a suspensive House of Lords; an instance will be found in 4.

Three quotations from Burke will show that he, like others of his time, felt himself more at liberty than most good writers would now feel themselves.

Similar constructions may be found on almost every page of Smollett.

2. Participles half justified by attachment to a pronoun implied in my, your, his, their. These are perhaps better avoided.

3. Mere unattached participles for which nothing can be said, except that they are sometimes inoffensive if the word to be supplied is very vague.

4. Participles that may some day become prepositions, &c.

He must be the Bishop; for the immediately preceding Sir, marking the beginning of the letter, shows that no one else has been mentioned; but if we had given the sentence without this indication, no one could possibly have believed that this was so; referring is not yet unparticipled.

5. An unwary writer sometimes attaches a participle to the subject of a previous sentence, assuming that it will be the subject of the new sentence also, and then finds (or rather is not awake enough to find) himself mistaken. This is a trap into which good writers sometimes fall, and so dangerous to bad writers that we shall give many examples. It is important for the tiro to realize that he has not satisfied the elementary requirements of grammar until he has attached the participle to a noun in the same sentence as itself, not in another. He must also remember that, for instance, I went and he came, though often spoken of loosely as a sentence, is in fact as fully two sentences as if each half of it were ten lines long, and the two were parted by a full stop and not connected by a conjunction.

6. A more obvious trap, and consequently less fatal, is a change from the active construction that may have been intended to a passive, without corresponding alterations. If the writers of the next two had used we must admit instead of it must be admitted, a policy that they put forward, instead of a policy put forward, the participles hesitating and believing would have had owners.

7. Participles that seem to belong to a noun, but do not.

Does causing agree with letters? Then the letters annoy the horses. With stopping? Then stopping causes suffering by stopping (thus). With omnibuses? The horses possibly blame those innocents, but we can hardly suppose a human being, even the writer of the sentence, so illogical. The word thus, however, is often considered to have a kind of dispensing power, freeing its participle from all obligations; so:

It is not love that carries out, but the power that denies love, which is not mentioned.

8. Really bad unattached or wrongly attached participles. The reader will generally find no difficulty in seeing what has led to the blunder, and if he will take the trouble to do this, will be less likely to make similar blunders himself.

The last, as the Times reviewer has noticed, will repay analysis in several ways.

9. The absolute construction is not much to be recommended, having generally an alien air in English; but it is sometimes useful. It must be observed, first, that the case used should now invariably be the subjective, though it was otherwise in old English. Secondly, it is very seldom advisable to make an absolute construction and insert a pronoun for the purpose when the participle might simply be attached in ordinary agreement to a noun already to hand. Thirdly, it is very bad to use the construction, but omit to give the participle a noun or pronoun to itself. These three transgressions will be illustrated, in the same order, by the next three examples. But many of the wrong sentences in 5 above may be regarded as absolute constructions with the subject omitted.

The Gerund

There are three questions to be considered: whether a writer ought to let us know that he is using a gerund and not a participle; when a gerund may be used without its subject’s being expressed; when a gerund with preposition is to be preferred to the infinitive.

1. Is the gerund to be made recognizable? And, in the circumstances that make it possible, that is, when its subject is expressed, is this to be done sometimes, or always?

It is done by putting what we call for shortness’ sake the subject of the gerund (i. e., the word me or my in me doing or my doing) in the possessive instead of in the objective or subjective case.

Take the typical sentence: I dislike my best friend(’s) violating my privacy. It cannot be a true account of the matter to say that friend is the object of I dislike, and has a participle violating attached to it. For (a) we can substitute resent, which never takes a personal object, for dislike, without changing the sense. (b) If we substitute a passive construction, also without changing the sense, we find that dislike has quite a different object—privacy.—I dislike my privacy being violated by my friend. (c) Many of us would be willing to adopt the sentiment conveyed who yet would not admit for a moment that they disliked their best friend even when he intruded; they condemn the sin, but not the sinner.

Violating then is not an ordinary participle. It does not follow yet that it is a gerund. It may be an extraordinary participle, fused into one notion with the noun, so that a friend violating means the-violation-by-a-friend. The Latin scholar here at once puts in the idiom of occisus Caesar, which does not generally mean Caesar after he was killed, as it naturally should, but the killing of Caesar, or the fact that Caesar had been killed. The parallel is close (though the use is practically confined to the passive in Latin), and familiar to all who know any Latin at all. But it shows not so much what the English construction is as how educated people have been able to reconcile themselves to an ambiguous and not very reasonable idiom—not very reasonable, that is, after language has thrown off its early limitations, and got over the first difficulty of accomplishing abstract expression of any kind. The sort of fusion assumed is further illustrated for the Latinist, though not so closely, by the Latin accusative and infinitive. This theory then takes violating for a participle fused into one notion with friend. There are two difficulties.

I. The construction in English is, though in the nature of things not as common, yet as easy in the passive as in the active. Now the passive of violating is either violated or being violated. It is quite natural to say, Privacy violated once is no longer inviolable. Why then should it be most unnatural to say, The worst of privacy violated once is that it is no longer inviolable? No one, not purposely seeking the unusual for some reason or other, would omit being before violated in the second. Yet as participles violated and being violated are equally good—not indeed always, but in this context, as the simpler Privacy sentence shows. The only difference between the two participles (except that in brevity, which tells against being violated) is that the longer form can also be the gerund, and the shorter cannot. The almost invariable choice of it is due to the instinctive feeling that what we are using is or ought to be the gerund. A more convincing instance than this mere adaptation of our original example may be added:

The necessity for our infantry taught and practised is absolutely impossible. But why, if being taught is participle, and not gerund?

II. Assuming that the fused-participle theory is satisfactory and recognized, whence comes the general, though not universal impression among those who, without being well versed in grammar, are habitually careful how they speak and write, that constructions like the following are ignorant vulgarisms?—It is no use he (his) doing it; it is no use him (his) doing it; that need not prevent us (our) believing; excuse me (my) interrupting you; a thing (thing’s) existing does not prove that it ought to exist; I was annoyed by Tom (Tom’s) hesitating; the Tsar (Tsar’s) leaving Russia is significant; it failed through the King (King’s) refusing his signature; without us (our) hearing the man, the facts cannot be got at; without the man (man’s) telling us himself, we can never know. With a single exception for one (not both) of the first two, none of these ought to cause a moment’s uneasiness to any one who was consciously or unconsciously in the fused-participle frame of mind; and if they do cause uneasiness it shows that that frame of mind is not effectively present.

The Fused-Participle Theory, having no sufficient answer to these objections, but seeing that the gerund’s case is also weak, naturally tries a counter-attack:—If on the other hand the gerund theory is satisfactory and recognized, how is it conceivable that people should leave out the possessive ’s in the reckless way they do? To which, however, the Gerund makes reply:—I regret that they do leave it out, but at least we can see how they come to; it is the combined result of a mistake and an inconvenience. The mistake is caused by certain types of sentence in which a real, not a fused participle is so used that the noun and its (unfused) participle give a sense hardly distinguishable from a possessive noun and a gerund. Examples are: