Plural.
Nom. they selve Gen. their selve Acc. }
Dat. } them selve
Now, if we bear in mind that in these combinations the accent fell upon the word self (or selve), and that consequently the proclitic forms my, me, and thy, thee, in the genitive and dative had the same sound respectively,—and, further, that in the feminine of the third person singular (herself), these two cases were also alike,—it does not seem strange (1) that these two cases (genitive and dative) became confused, and (2) that the word self became a noun, as exemplified in such phrases as I said it to herself. Once having changed its function, the word assumed the flection of the new group to which its new function had attached it, and a plural form, as of a noun, arose—themselves, ourselves, theirselves.[116] When once a single form served in three (genitive, dative, accusative) of the four cases, it not unnaturally succeeded in ousting the last, and succeeded all the more easily as I self was, of course, wrong, if self was a noun.
It is not, however, an invariable rule that the new associations into which a word enters in consequence of its change of function entail a change of form in the word. In Latin the word frugi was originally the dative case of a word frux, gen. frugis, meaning fruit, profit, advantage; and is actually employed by Plautus, with the full consciousness of its origin, in the phrase bonæ frugi esse (Asin., III. iii. 12). In fact, this use is exactly parallel to the use of usui in bono usui estis nulli, in Plautus, Curculio, l. 499; but in this case, usui, owing to its frequent occurrence, preserved the memory of its origin fresh. Cicero, however, treats frugi simply as an indeclinable adjective: Homines et satis fortes et satis plane frugi et sobrii (In Verrem, v. 27). Instances are also frequent where a change in meaning brings about a change in syntactical construction. Thus, for instance, in Latin we find that the nominative quisque is coupled with the reflective pronoun in the plural almost in the signification of singulatim.[117] In Plautus we find præsente testibus (Amphitruo, II. ii. 203), and, in Afranius and Terence, absente nobis (Eunuchus, IV. iii. 7); in these cases the participles approach the characteristics of prepositions. A similar development gave to the present participle considering its present prepositional force. Macte is used similarly. Age! in Latin is used as generally as Come! in English, irrespective of the number of persons addressed; cave is used in the same way. Paucis is used for ‘a little’ in ausculta paucis (Terence, Andria, 536). Hélas is used in French by women equally as by men; φέρε, ἰδού, in Old Greek, are addressed to either one or many persons indifferently. In the same way, in late Greek, ὤφελον and ὤφελε were employed simply as conjunctions, without any consideration of number or person, the original construction having been Ὀλέσθαι ὤφελον τῇδ’ ἡμέρᾳ = ‘Would that I had perished on that day!’ In English albeit is used simply as a conjunction, and may be, in the sense of perhaps, is showing a tendency to fuse into one word, as it is actually written in American conversational language mebbe.
In German we find expressions like Heb hinten über sich das glas, ‘Raise your glass high’ (Uhland, Volkslieder) instead of über dich. In the same way we find in Latin suo loco, etc.; and in Latin law formulæ, Si sui juris sumus, where we should expect Si nostri juris sumus (i.e. ‘If we stand in our own rights’). In Old Norse a middle and passive is formed by the aid of a reflective -sik (sese), which is, of course, properly applicable to the third person only: it appears later as -st; thus, at kalla, ‘to call;’ at kallast, ‘to be called.’ In the same way, we have in English the words (to) bask and (to) busk,[118] where the proper meaning of the termination has so completely died out that it is possible to write busk ye. The passive is similarly formed in the Slavonic languages.
Again, change of meaning influences the construction in the case of numerous verbs in Latin, which are properly intransitive, but are used as transitives. Such are perire,[119] deperire; demori, used in the sense of ‘to be mortally enamoured of;’ stupere, ‘to marvel at;’ ardere, ‘to love with fire:’ the last-mentioned two words approximate in sense to mirari and amare respectively, and hence the instinct of language employs them in the same government.
The verb to doubt, in the etymological signification of hesitating between two beliefs, was, and is still constructed with whether. If, however, Spenser (Faëry Queene) says— ‘That makes them doubt their wits be not their aine,’
it is because the word is employed in this case, as indeed it frequently is in Shakespeare, in the sense of ‘to fear.’
The verb to babble, originally used intransitively, means to prattle or to chatter. When, however, it is employed in the sense of ‘to speak foolish words.’ or of ‘to reveal by talking,’ it is used with an object in the accusative case, and a passive is formed of it; e.g., Griefs too sacred to be babbled to the world. Again, compound words, as long as they are felt as such by the speakers, are naturally treated as such; cf. the Latin word respublica, which, though we write it as a single word, was declined in both its parts, respublica, reipublicæ, etc. But, when it had once become an indivisible unit—when the form république in French, or the English word republic, was formed with its various meanings, all closely resembling, but not identical with, that of the original compound, the word came to be treated after the analogy of other nouns, and the same derivatives are formed from it as from a simple form; cf. republican, etc. This fact is, again, instanced by such forms as high-spirited (high-spirit + ed, and not high + spirited), gentleman-like (gentleman + like, not gentle + manlike), good-natured (goodnature + ed, not good + natured).
Similarly, the Latin compound i (a demonstrative pronoun) + pse was at first declined as eumpse (e.g., Plautus, Truc., I. ii. 64), eampse, eopse, eapse, etc., all which forms are found in Plautus.[120] When, however, the word came to be looked on as a simple word, it was declined as such: ipsum, ipsam, ipso, ipsa, etc.
In German there are many instances of words compounded with adverbs of place which are specially instructive as to the way in which a word may become detached from its previous use by a change of meaning. For instance, in modern German the usage is to say wirken AUF etwas, and not IN etwas, which was the usage even in the last century. In the same way, we speak of influence over as much as of influence on, showing that we have forgotten the significance of in.[121]
The word welcome in such phrases as I made them welcome is employed as an adjective, as, indeed, it is commonly apprehended to be. It was originally a substantive, and was derived from the infinitive mood of the verb, its meaning being pleasure-comer. The word is popularly supposed to derive from well and come; but the first element in the compound is really related to will—the true sense being the will-comer, i.e. he who comes to please another’s will. (Cf. Ger. willkommen.) The change in meaning seems due to Scandinavian influence, for in the Scandinavian languages the word is really composed of the adjective well and the past participle come; cf. Danish velkommen (welcome).[122]
The expression Quin conscendimus equos (Livy, i. 57) is properly Why do we not mount our horses? but is understood as Let us mount our horses; and in accordance with such usage quin may take after it an imperative, as quin age; or a hortative subjunctive, as quin experiamur? The sense of cur in some cases approximates to that of quod; and hence we find the word followed by a similar construction, in Horace, Ep. I. 8. 9;—irascar amicis, Cur me funesto properent arcere veterno. The O.Fr. car underwent a similar change. Derived from quare it meant, in the first instance, then; as, Cumpainz Rolond, l’oliphant KAR sunez (Chanson de Roland), i.e. Compagnon Roland sonnez DONC l’oliphant;[123] it next came to be used like que or parceque after phrases like la raison est; and it then comes to be used with the conditional and imperative in the sense of utinam (cf. Diez, iii. 214).
In O.Fr. the word par (Latin per) was used for much. It took this sense from its use in combinations like perficere, perraro, etc., but it was detached from the verb, and was habitually used in O.Fr. in such combinations as par fut proz = il fut très preux; and in some cases coupled with other adverbs, like moult and tant; as, tant par fut bels = il était si beau, literally tant beaucoup (Chanson de Roland). The phrase survives in par trop.[124]
The Greek οὐκ οῦν, originally not therefore, like the Latin nonne, serves to introduce a question expecting an affirmative answer. It then comes to be used to introduce direct positive assertions; thus, οὐκοῦν ἐλευθερία ἡμᾶς μένει; from meaning ‘Does not, then, freedom await us?’ comes to mean simply ‘Therefore freedom awaits us.’ The word nanu in Sanskrit has gone through a similar development. Ne in Latin, properly the interrogative particle, comes to be used as the correlative of an:—faciatne an non faciat; or even faciat, necne. Similarly, in Russian, the interrogative particle li comes to be used as the correlative of ili (or); as ugodno-li vam eto? (‘Is this agreeable to you?’); but we then get combinations like dyélaet-li, ili ne dyélaet (‘whether he does it or no’).
The accusative with an infinitive could originally only stand in connection with a transitive verb as long as the accusative of the subject was regarded as the object of the finite verb, as audio te venire; but the accusative and infinitive came to be regarded as a dependent sentence with the accusative as its subject, and then we find the construction after words like gaudeo, horreo (Livy, xxxiv. 4. 3), doleo (Horace, Odes, iv. 4. 62), etc., which can properly speaking take no accusative of the object connected with them; as gaudere, dolere, infitias ire; nay, we find it after combinations such as spem habeo, etc. The accusative and infinitive construction then passes into sentences which depend on another accusative and infinitive, as (1) into relative sentences loosely connected; e.g. mundum censent regi numine Deorum—ex quo illud natura consequi (Cic. de Fin., iii. 19, § 64): (2) into sentences of comparison; e.g. ut feras quasdam nulla mitescere arte sic immitem ejus viri animum esse (Livy, xxxiii. 45): (3) into indirect questions; e.g. quid sese inter pacatos facere, cur in Italiam non revehi (Livy, xxviii. 24);[125] (4) into temporal and causal sentences; e.g. crimina vitanda esse, quia vitari metus non posse (Seneca, Epist., 97. 13). A similar extension of the use is found in Greek.
The possessive cases mine, thine, his, her, its, our, your, their have passed into the category of adjectives, as in the case of Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn? (1 Henry IV., III. iii. 93). The instinct of language regarded mine, thine, etc., as the equivalents of of me, of thee, etc.; and marked the function by the addition of the possessive preposition of, as in this inn of mine. Thus, again, a gerund like killing,[126] from having the same form as the participle, can be used in expressions like the killing a man, instead of the killing of a man.
We not only find that the word which changes its function undergoes the consequent changes in form or in syntax, but it also often happens that, owing to functional changes participated in by a certain group of words, such a group becomes detached, and thereby gains independence enough to influence other words that have cognate meanings. There are in Old English, as in German, many adverbs which are in their origin the genitives singular of strong masculine and neuter substantives, such as dæges (by day); but the origin of the termination has been forgotten, and the s has come to be looked upon as a merely adverbial termination. Consequently we find the adverb nihtes (by night), though niht is really feminine, and its genitive case is properly nihte. Similar formations are hereabouts, inwards, othergates (Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, V. i. 198), towards, whereabouts, etc. In the same way, the genitive plural of Anglo-Saxon substantives in -ung (later -ing) could be used adverbially; as,—án-ung-a, án-ing-a, (altogether), genitive plural of ân-ung, a substantive formed from án (one): after this analogy others were formed: as, hedling, afterwards altered to headlong; darkling, etc.
CHAPTER XIII.
DISPLACEMENT IN ETYMOLOGICAL GROUPING.
We have already more than once had occasion to point out that, in our individual vocabularies, two classes of words are inextricably confused. In the first place, we employ such words and derivatives of words as we REPRODUCE by the aid of MEMORY, which recalls to us what we have frequently heard from those with whom we have intercourse. In the second place, another part of our stock of words and verbal derivatives is FORMED by us on the MODEL OF OTHER FORMATIONS of the first class.
Only in a very few cases is it possible for any speaker to decide, with absolute certainty, whether any particular form which he may employ with perfect familiarity belongs to the former or the latter group. If, for instance, we hear the simple sentence, ‘He is walking,’ there is nothing which can help us to determine whether the speaker is merely reproducing the word walking just as he has learnt it from others, or whether he is forming the present participle of and from the word ‘(to) walk’ after the model of other similar derivatives. In the chapter on Analogy, we considered principally cases falling under the second class, in which the result of such a process as we have described proved at variance with other forms already existing in the language, i.e. where Analogy brought about certain changes. The cases in which the result was the mere production of what we should have reproduced by the simple aid of memory, we considered as of very small importance for the purpose of illustrating the operations of Analogy.
But it is far from true that they have no significance. Every time that we consciously or unconsciously form words ‘by analogy,’ our habit of doing so is strengthened, and our confidence in the results is increased; and the more we enter upon domains of thought where we are comparative strangers, the more confidently and the more consciously do we proceed ‘to make our own words.’ In this process of word-making, we follow certain models; in fact, we derive one form from others which exist in our own vocabulary.
In words and forms reproduced by memory (though only in the case of such as these) it is, strictly speaking, correct to say of each form—tense, person, singular or plural, or of each case—that it is derived, not from what our grammars call the standard forms (such as infinitives or nominative-singulars), but from the corresponding older form of that tense, person, etc., in the language as it existed before.
In words and forms produced, not from memory, but by analogy, i.e. by derivation according to a certain model, and from words which already exist in our own vocabulary, even where our result does not differ from what we might have produced by memory, it does not at all follow that our process of derivation has been the same as that by which former speakers reached their results.
For instance, suppose that there exists a class of adjectives really derived from verbs. In the course of development of the language, these verbs approach in form to the cognate nouns, or—for whatever reason—some of the verbs become obsolete. The effect will be that, in the consciousness of the ordinary speaker, the adjective appears as derived from the noun.
It is our object in this chapter to study the phenomenon of such displacements in the etymological connections and the consequences which follow therefrom.
A good instance may be found in the history of the suffixes ble, able, and their application.[127] Both these suffixes we owe to the French language, which, in turn, derived them from Latin.
In this latter language we find the suffix bili-s, bilem, forming verbal adjectives. Where the stem of the verb ended in a consonant, the connecting vowel i was inserted: vend-e-re, vend-i-bilis. Where the stem ended in a vowel this insertion was of course unnecessary: honora-re, honora-bilis, dele-re, delebilis, (g)no-scere no-bilis, etc. By far the greater number of these words in ble were derived from verbs in are, of which the present participle ends in ans, antem. Hence, though the words in ble were in reality not immediately derived from this participle, a feeling arose that such a connection existed. Among ‘the matter-groups’ in French their existed numerous pairs, such as aimant, aimable, etc. In time, all present participles in French came to end in this termination ant, after which an adjective in able, derived from such participles, nearly always supplanted the older and correcter forms in ible, etc. Hence came forms like vendable, croyable, etc.
The suffix able, introduced into English in enormously preponderating numbers, was there at first confined to words of French origin, but soon, by analysis of such instances as pass-able, agree-able, commend-able, was treated as an indivisible living suffix, and freely employed to form analogous adjectives, being attached not only to verbs taken from French, but finally to native verbs as well, e.g., bearable, speakable, breakable. These verbs have often a substantive of the same form, as in debat(e)-able, rat(e)-able, etc. Owing to this, a new displacement such as we are here studying occurred, and such words, treated as if derived FROM THE NOUN, became the models for others where able is added to nouns, such as marketable, clubbable, carriageable,[128] salable.
Another suffix, the history of which affords an instance of similar displacement is ate as verbal formative.[129]
We find in French several past participles, some due to regular historical development of the popular language, others to deliberate adoption by the learned classes, all of which differ only from their Latin prototypes in having lost the termination us: e.g., confusus, Fr. confus; contentus, content; diversus, divers. This analogy was widely followed in later French in introducing new words from Latin, and, both classes of French words (i.e. the popular survivals and the later accessions) being adopted in English provided English in its turn with analogies for adapting similar words directly from Latin by dropping the termination. This process began about 1400 A.D., and the Latin termination atus gave English at, subsequently ate, e.g. desolatus, desolat, desolate. The transition of these words from adjectives and participles to verbs is explained by Dr. Murray by a reference to the fact—
(a) That in Old English verbs had been regularly formed from adjectives: as, hwit, hwitian (‘white,’ ‘to whiten’); wearm, wearmian (‘warm,’ ‘to warm,’); etc.
(b) That with the loss of the inflections, these verbs became by the fifteenth century identical in form with the adjectives, e.g., to white, to warm.
(c) That, as in Latin, so in French, many verbs were formed on adjectives; whence, again, English received many verbs identical in form with their adjectives, e.g., to clear, to humble, to manifest.
These verbs, though formed immediately from participial adjectives already existing in English, answered in form to the past participles of Latin verbs of the same meaning. It was thus natural to associate them directly with these Latin verbs, and to view them as their regular English representatives. This once done, it became the recognised method of Englishing a Latin verb, to take the past participle stem of the Latin as the present stem of the English, so that English verbs were now formed on Latin past participles by mere analogy and without intervention of a participial adjective; e.g., fascinate, concatenate, etc. These English verbs in ate correspond generally to French verbs in er,—e.g., separate, Fr. séparer; this, in turn, gave a pattern for the formation of English verbs from French,—e.g., isoler (Ital. isolare, Lat. insulare), Eng. isolate, etc.
To this lucid and apparently adequate explanation we must, however, add another fact, which has demonstrably aided in the formation of the enormous number of English verbs in ate. From the fourteenth century onward, we find again and again such pairs as action (1330), to act (1384);[130] affliction (1303), to afflict (1393); adjection (1374), to adject (1432); abjection (1410), to abject (1430), etc.[131]
Such pairs led to the supposition that the verbs were derivable from the nouns in tion by merely omitting the ion, and this was done with many nouns in ation even where another verb (itself the ground-word for that form in ation) existed by the side of it. Thus we find, e.g., aspiration (1398), to aspire (1460), the verb aspirate (1700); attestation (1547), to attest (1596), to attestate (1625); application (1493), to apply (1374), to applicate (1531).[132]
The suffix full forms adjectives from nouns: baleful, A.S. bealofull from bealu (woe, harm, mischief); shameful, A.S. sceamfull from sceam (shame). This ending was also added to nouns of Romance origin; e.g., powerful, fruitful. In both classes, however, the word might, in very many cases, be just as well derived from a verb as from a noun, so that, e.g., thankful, which originally undoubtedly was = full of thanks, could equally well be apprehended as he who thanks; respectful, as he who respects; etc. It is similar with such words as harmful, delightful, etc. That such a grouping has actually been made, is proved by the occurrence of such forms as wakeful, forgetful, and the dialectical urgeful; so also the form weariful seems more likely to be interpreted as that which wearies, than as a derivative from the adjective weary as Mätzner seems to take it.[133] So, again, the form maisterful, found in Lydgate and Chaucer,[134] seems more likely to be taken as ‘he who is always mastering,’ than ‘as he who is full of master,’ which gives no sense. The suffix less, originally and still as a rule only added to nouns, could not have been used with the verb to daunt (—O.Fr. danter, Modern French, dompter, Lat. domitare, ‘to tame,’) if in such compounds as restless, sleepless, hopeless, useless, the noun had not been identical in form with the verb.
The history of the suffix ness, is also especially instructive for our purpose. If we go back to the oldest records of the Teutonic languages, Gothic, we find a noun, ufarassus, literally ‘overness,’ used in the sense of ‘abundance,’ ‘superfluity,’ from ufar, ‘over:’ similarly formed was ibnassus, ‘equality,’ from ibns—‘even,’ ‘equal.’ This suffix assus was very frequently added to the stem of verbs which, in their turn, were derived from nouns. Thus, for instance, besides the noun—
lekeis (leach), we find lekinon (to cure), lekinassus (leachdom). shalks (servant), ” shalkinon (to serve), shalkinassus (service). gudja (priest), ” gudjinon (to be priest), gudjinassus (priesthood). frauja (Lord), ” fraujinon (to rule), fraujinassus (dominion). ðiudans (king), ” ðiudanon (to be king), ðiudinassus (kingdom).
In all these and similar cases, however, etymological consciousness might equally well operate otherwise. It might, for instance, derive a noun meaning kingdom from another noun denoting king, or one meaning priesthood from one denoting priest. That this has been done is proved by the fact that the n has coalesced completely with the suffix assus, forming nassus, or, in its more modern form, ness. Even in Gothic, this coalescence has already been powerful enough to produce vaninassus (want) from vans (adjective = ‘wanting,’ ‘less;’ found, e.g., in wanhope = ‘lack of hope,’ ‘despair:’ wanton, = ‘uneducated,’ ‘untrained,’ ‘unrestricted,’ ‘licentious:’ and wane = ‘to grow less’).
In Anglo-Saxon, adverbs were formed from adjectives by means of the termination e: for instance, heard, hearde, (‘hard’) ; sóð, sóðe, (‘true,’ cf. soothsayer and forsooth); wíd, wíde, (wide). Adjectives in lic were formed first from nouns: eorð, eorðlic, (‘earth,’ ‘earthy’); gást, gastlic, (‘ghost,’ ‘ghostly’), etc.; and then, also, from other adjectives, as heard-heardlic, æðele-æðelic, (for æðel-lic), etc.
By the side of these adjectives, we naturally find adverbs in lice, normally formed from them by the addition of e; as, æðelice, etc.; but as soon as, owing to phonetic decay of the terminations, the adjectives and adverbs in both sets of words (both in those with and without lic) came respectively to coincide,—when, for instance, heard and hearde had both become hard, and adjectives in lic and adverbs in lice had both come to terminate in ly,—then the adjective that had never ended in lic came also to be grouped with the adverb in lice, or rather ly, and ly became the special and normal adverbial termination: as in prettily, carelessly, etc. Thus were produced a great quantity of adverbs, the adjectives corresponding to which never had the termination ly.
Modern English possesses remnants of all the above original formations; as, for instance, the adverbs (with loss of adverbial e) hard, in ‘to hit hard,’ loud, in ‘to speak loud,’ etc.; or, again, the adjectives heavenly, earthly, kingly, goodly, etc.
CHAPTER XIV.
ON THE DIFFERENTIATION OF MEANING.
Language develops by the development of the vocabulary of individual speakers in the same linguistic community: their tendency is to produce synonymous forms and constructions in addition to those already at their disposal. Each individual is, in fact, constantly engaged in increasing the number of synonymous words, forms, and constructions in the language which he speaks. One source of this superfluous development depends on analogical formation: as when in English the imperfect is assimilated to the participle, or the participle to the imperfect; as where forms like spoke and broke appear beside spake and brake or held, beside holden.
A second source of the same superfluity depending on synonyms arises from the fact that of two words, each may develop its meaning on its own lines, and the meanings may come to converge so as to become one and the same. Thus, for instance, the two words relation and relative, the former originally the abstract verbal noun, the latter an adjective, have converged in the meaning ‘a related person;’ and it has thus happened that owing to this process there arise two terms for one and the same idea. To the above a third source may be added; viz., the acceptance of a foreign word into a language where a native word already exists to express the same idea. Of course English is especially rich in words of this kind, owing to the large number of Norman-French words imported at the Conquest and maintained as an integral part of the language; though the process of borrowing from French has been also active since the epoch of the Conquest: such are the pairs nude, naked; pedagogue, schoolmaster; poignant, sharp; peccant, sinning; sign, token: other familiar instances are tether, derived from the Celtic at an old date; and loot, adopted from the Hindi, by the side of plunder. The case is, of course, similar where a synonym is adopted from another dialect, as vetch by the side of fitch, vat beside fat (a vessel), etc.
But though such superfluities in language are continually appearing, they have a constant tendency to disappear on the earliest possible occasion. Language is a careful housewife, who is constantly endeavouring to keep nothing on hand but what she can use, and carefully to retrench the superfluous. We must, of course, never suppose that any body of speakers combine to admit a word into the common language which they employ, and that then, finding that the word or form has its meaning already expressed in their language and is therefore unnecessary, they proceed to discard it. These new words and forms proceed in each instance from individuals, who overlook the existence in their own language of a term already in use for some meaning which they need to express, and so introduce a new form: this is then employed by others, who, hearing the new form and the old, employ both alike indiscriminately. Superfluity in language, then, must be regarded as spontaneously arising, and without the aid of any voluntary impulse on the part of any individual or individuals. The language of common life is, as might be expected, most ready in freeing the vehicle of ordinary communication from superfluities, and in the differentiation of synonyms. The language of poetry and, in a less degree, of written prose, demands a store of synonyms, on which an author may draw at will, thereby forming an individual style and avoiding monotony. It is as useful, nay, as indispensable to the poet that he should have a store of words with similar meanings which he may employ for the purposes of his artificial style, as it is for the ordinary speaker or writer to have a distinct shade of meaning attached to each of the synonyms which he employs. And as poetry makes greater demands upon the taste and powers of an author than prose, we find that the language of poetry preserves archaic forms and words which in prose have been practically obsolete. In fact such words become the stock in trade of all writers of poetry, appearing, of course, most frequently in those who seek to invest their work with a peculiarly archaic caste. Thus, the diction of Spenser must have appeared almost as archaic to his contemporaries as to ourselves.[135] Poetry will also maintain constructions which have a tendency in prose to become obsolete: as, meseems; Time prove the rest. The metaphors employed in old Norse poetry are very instructive on this head. They have been treated at great length in the ‘Corpus Poeticum Boreale’ by Vigfusson and York Powell, from whose work[136] we cite the following instances. The breast is spoken of as the mind’s house, memory’s sanctuary, the lurking-place of thought, the shore of the mind, the bark of laughter, the hall of the heart. The eye is the moon or star of the brows, the light or levin of the forehead, the cauldron of tears, the pledge of Woden. Herrings are the arrows of the sea, the darts, the tail-barbed arrows of the deep. Ships are characterised by a host of metaphors; as, the tree or beam, the sled, the car, the beam or timber of the sea or waves; the steeds of the helm, oars, mast, sail, yard: and numerous other specimens of ‘pars pro toto.’
The most simple and obvious case of retrenchment in language is where, out of several similar forms and phrases, all disappear and are disused except a single one; as where to grow is used instead of to wax; to go, instead of to fare, etc. We must look upon these retrenchments in language as mainly due to individuals; each speaker expresses himself more or less unconsciously with a certain consistency, and uses, generally speaking, what we may properly call his own dialect. It is owing to such individual influence that the distinctions in language which we call dialects arise, and thus the different opportunities for choice form a main source of the distinctions of dialect.
In addition to this negative process of simply dropping what is useless, there is the positive process of utilising what is superfluous in language by differentiation of meaning in the case of synonymous words and phrases. This process is no more the result of conscious purpose than the other. Since each individual has gradually to learn the different senses of words, inflections, particles, etc., it is clear that when there are several synonyms in use—each of which has several shades of signification—he will almost certainly hear one of them used in one, and another in another of these meanings. If, for instance, we represent the full meaning of a word in its different shades by the letters A + B + C + D, and, similarly, that of its synonym by a + b + c + d, the probability almost amounts to certainty that when a learner first hears the former word, the shade of meaning (say B) in which it happens to be employed will differ from that (say d) in which he first learns the use of the latter. He will then inevitably, though perhaps unconsciously, attach by preference these particular shades of meaning to the two words; and will continue to do so, unless stronger impulses, such as frequent use in other meanings by surrounding speakers, force him to discard the differentiation which he has established. But from the moment when he begins to use, and as long as he uses the word consistently in one sense, he will influence others in the same linguistic community, and lay the basis for definite acceptance of the word in a particular or special sense.
Nor, again, must we assume that a differentiation in sound was purposely and consciously made by speakers with a view to differentiate meanings. Cases taken from modern languages may serve to show the unreasonableness of such assumptions. Especial attention has been paid by writers on Romance Philology to the ‘doublets’ occurring in their own languages. By ‘doublets’ we mean the double derivative forms of one and the same word (such as raison, ‘reason,’ and ration, ‘allowance,’ both coming from rationem): forms commonly appearing in a language at two different periods in the history of the language, and invested, in spite of their common origin, with distinct and special senses. The name of ‘doublets’ was first applied to them by Nicolas Catherinot, who, as early as 1683, published a list of those which he had observed in French, but without giving the reasons for the phenomenon. How imperfect the philological knowledge of his day was may be seen from the following specimens of ‘doublets’ which he gives: from BATTUERE, Low Latin for ‘to fight,’ he derived both battre (to fight) and tuer (to kill): from GRAVIS (heavy), grave, serious; brave, brave: from MARMOR (marble), marble, marble; marmot, guinea-pig.[137] A. Brachet has collected many other specimens in the work cited below: Coelho has made a collection from the Portuguese in the Romania, II. 281, sqq.[138]
It must, however, be noticed that many of the doublets cited in these works stand outside of the class of those with which we have to deal, and such cannot be taken as real cases of differentiation. For instance, a loan word may immediately upon its introduction have been accepted in a sense different from that borne by the word of the same origin which already existed in the language: as in the case of chantée (sung, fem. past part.) and cantata (cantata, a piece which is sung, as distinguished from a sonata, a piece which is sounded or played), borrowed from the Italian by the French; of sexte (term in music and ‘the sixth book’) with its doublet sieste (the hour of rest) borrowed from the Spanish siesta, both derived from the Latin sextam; of façon (manner) with its doublet fashion, borrowed from the English, both from Latin factionem, ‘a making.’ Thus, again, the French chose (a thing) and cause (a cause) alike owe their origin to the Latin causam, but the meanings were not differentiated in France: cause was borrowed as a law-term long after chose had developed into the general meaning of thing. It is the same, moreover, with such English doublets as ticket, etiquette: army, armada: orison, oration: penance, penitence. Such doublets as these, and guitar, zither, cithara may be called pseudo-doublets, producing as they do the effect of differentiation, but serving really as labels to designate a foreign idea or object. Nor, again, must we include cases in which a word became grammatically isolated and then received a special meaning; such as where ‘bescheiden,’ in German, is now employed with the signification of ‘modest,’ while ‘beschieden’ is used as the true participial form, and never means, or has meant, ‘modest.’ Similarly, in French, we have savant (a scholar) originally used as synonymous with present participle sachant (knowing) but in modern French as an adjective or noun only, whilst sachant has always remained present participle and no more: amant, the present participle of amare (to love) is used as a substantive only.[139]
There are, however, other cases in which words are really differentiated; that is to say, cases in which two words, whose meaning we know to have been identical, have come to be accepted in different meanings. This is a genuine process of economy in language. In French s’attaquer à and s’attacher à at one time were used with identically the same meaning and employed indifferently. Attaquer is used in the sense of ‘attacher’ in this line of the fourteenth century—Une riche escarboucle le mantel ataqua (‘a rich carbuncle attached (= held) the mantel’) (Bauduin de Sebourc, i. 370). On the other hand, attacher is used in the sense of ‘to attack:’ as in the following passage, quoted by M. Brachet[140] from a letter of Calvin to the regent of England,—Tous ensemble méritent bien d’estre réprimés par le glayve qui vous est commis, veu qu’ils s’attaschent non seulement au roy, mais à Dieu qui l’a assis au siège royal, = ‘All together deserve to be put down by the sword which has been entrusted to you, seeing that they attack not merely the King, but God who has set him on the royal seat.’ (Lettres de Calvin recueillies par M. Bonnet, ii. 201). In modern French attacher is used exclusively in the sense of ‘to attach’ ‘to fasten;’ attaquer = ‘to attack.’ Another instance is found in chaire and chaise, both of which words came into French from cathedram, and both of which once signified the same thing (Theodore Beza, in 1530, complains of the faulty pronunciation of the Parisians who say chaise instead of chaire). At the present day, of course, chaise means ‘chair,’ and chaire is confined to the signification of ‘pulpit’ or ‘professor’s chair.’ In English, shoal and shallow seem to have been used synonymously, and to have become differentiated.[141] Other instances are of, off; naught, not; assay, essay; upset, set up; Master, Mister (Mr.); Miss, Mistress, Mrs. (pronounced Missus). In these cases, the differentiation took place within the given language; and such cases should be carefully distinguished from those cases in which the differentiation was made outside of the language. For instance, in squandered and scatter, both of which seem to have signified the same thing, simply ‘to disperse’; cf., squandered abroad (Merchant of Venice, I. iii. 22). Indict and indite seem to have borne the same meaning, but are now differentiated.
To these may be added the German doublets reiter (a rider) and ritter (a knight), which may be paralleled by the use of the English squire and esquire; of which the latter word has lately come into use simply as a title of society, whereas both forms were once used as in Scott’s nine and twenty squires of fame. Other instances are scheuen, ‘to fear,’ and scheuchen, ‘to scare:’ jungfrau, ‘maiden,’ and jungfer, ‘virgin.’
Double forms arising from the confusion of different methods of declension are often used in different senses, as in the case of the Latin locus, whose plurals loca and loci mean ‘places,’ and ‘passages in books’ respectively: the German Franke, the Franconian franken, ‘a franc’ (9½d.): this difference is utilised, together with a difference of gender, in the German der lump, ‘the worthless fellow;’ die lumpe, ‘the rag;’ etc. The difference of gender cannot be utilised in English, but is thus utilised—in German—in such cases as DER band, ‘volume;’ DAS band, ‘ribbon:’ DER see, ‘the lake;’ DIE see, ‘the sea:’ DIE erkenntniss, ‘the act of judging;’ DAS erkenntniss ‘the judgment:’—in French, UN foudre de guerre, ‘a thunderbolt of war’ (personified); UNE foudre, ‘a thunderbolt:’ UN critique, ‘a critic;’ UNE critique, ‘a criticism:’ UN office, ‘a duty;’ UNE office, ‘a pantry:’ LE mémoire, ‘memorandum;’ LA mémoire, ‘memory:’ LE politique, ‘politician;’ LA politique, ‘politics:’ LE Bourgogne, ‘Burgundy wine;’ LA Bourgogne, ‘Burgundy:’ LE paille, ‘straw colour;’ LA paille, ‘the straw.’ To these must be added the cases in which double plural formations are differentiated, as in English clothes, cloths; brothers, brethren; cows, kine (poetical); pence, pennies:—in German, Band, ‘bond’ and ‘ribbon;’ Bande, ‘bonds:’ Bänder, ‘ribbons:’ Bank, ‘bench’ and ‘bank;’ Bänke, ‘benches;’ Banken, ‘banks:’ Gesicht, ‘face’ and ‘vision;’ Gesichte, ‘vision;’ Gesichter, ‘faces:’ Laden, ‘shop’ and ‘shutter;’ Läden, ‘shops;’ Laden, ‘shutters:’ etc.[142] In French, we have l’aïeul, ‘the grandfather;’ les aïeux, ‘ancestors;’ and aïeuls, ‘grandfathers:’ les travaux, ‘works;’ and les travails, ‘a minister’s reports:’ l’œil, ‘eye;’ les yeux, ‘eyes;’ and les œils (small oval windows commonly called œils de bœuf). The singular appât means ‘bait;’ les appas signifies ‘charms,’ and has a doublet, les appâts, meaning ‘baits.’ In Russian, the accusative plural is the same as the nominative in the case of inanimate objects: it is in the case of animate beings identical with the genitive form. In Dutch, the plurals in -en and -s are used in the case of some words indifferently, as vogelen and vogels, ‘birds:’ in the case of some others, one alone is commonly used, as engelen, ‘angels,’ but pachters, ‘farmers:’ again, in the case of others, both forms are used, but with different meanings; thus hemelen, ‘the heavens;’ but hemels, ‘canopies of a bed:’ letteren, ‘letters,’ or ‘literature;’ letters, ‘letters of the alphabet;’ etc. From the Danish, we may cite skatte, ‘treasures;’ skatter, ‘taxes;’ vaaben, ‘weapons;’ vaabener, ‘armorial bearings.’ From Italian, we may instance braccia, ‘the two arms of the body;’ bracci, ‘arms of the sea;’ membra, ‘the members of the body;’ membri, ‘the members of an association.’ Similarly, in Spanish the neuter of the second declension takes in many cases a feminine form in the plural; and in Portuguese this manner of differentiation is more common than in any other European language: cf. serra, ‘saw,’ ‘mountain ridge;’ serro, ‘a high mountain;’ etc. In Russian, synovya means ‘descendants’; synui, ‘sons;’ etc. The words (to) purvey and (to) provide have arisen from the same original form, as have respect and respite; deploy and display; separate and sever.
The word as, like also, took its rise from the A.S. ealswâ; it is simply a short form of also; and an intermediate form exists in O.E. alse and als. In Maundeville, p. 153, we find the two forms used convertibly: As foule as thei ben, als evele thei ben = so evil they are; and again, als longe as here vitaylles lasten, thei may abide there, p. 130.
Than and thanne were used in Chaucer’s time where we should use then: Now thanne, put thyn hond down at my bak (Chaucer, Cant. Tales, 7721); and in comparisons then was used where we should employ than, as: ‘I am greater then (i.e. than) you.’
In German, the word verdorben means ‘spoiled’ in a material sense: verderbt is employed in a moral sense only. It is the same with bewegt, ‘moved,’ and bewogen, ‘induced.’ In English we employ aged mostly as a participle proper, but agèd as an adjective; cf. also molten and melted.
The words formed with the suffixes -hood, -ness, -dom generally cover the same ground in English as in Anglo-Saxon. There are, however, here also, a few cases in which differentiation seems to have set in. Such are hardihood and hardiness; humble-hede, humble-ness, humility: young-hede, youth. In German, kleinheit and neuheit were used convertibly with kleinigkeit and neuigkeit: now the former = smallness, newness, the latter = trifle, novelty.
In the case of adjectives, we may see the same process in mobile, movable: and in German, in ernstlich and ernsthaft which were once used convertibly, but are now differentiated.
Sometimes a word originally of a different meaning encroaches on the domain of another word, and gradually arrogates the latter’s meaning to itself. Thus, in French, the meaning of en, the form taken in French for the Latin in, has been encroached upon by the preposition à, and by the adverb dans (O.Fr. denz = de intus), and dans has completely ousted the prepositional meaning of dedans. Molière could still write dedans ma poche = ‘in my pocket.’ Böse, in German, is now almost restricted to the sense of ‘morally bad’ by the encroachments of schlecht (originally ‘smooth,’ ‘straight’) English slight. The English word sick, once the general word for ill, has been restricted in meaning by the encroachments of the latter word.
Sometimes a newly formed word encroaches on the domain of meaning covered by a word in existence, as to utilise on to use; serviceable upon useful; gentlemanly upon genteel and gentle; magnificence on munificence:[143] mainly is encroached upon by chiefly, pursuer by persecutor and prosecutor: and sometimes it practically ousts it from its previous meaning, as in the case of methodist, naturalist, purist, etc.
The above examples may serve to show us some of the main factors in the differentiation of meaning, and with how little conscious design on the part of the speakers they were carried out.
CHAPTER XV.
CATEGORIES: PSYCHOLOGICAL AND GRAMMATICAL.
The divisions into which grammarians have distributed words, such as gender, number, and, in the case of verbs, voice and tense, are based upon the function which each word discharges in the sentence. Now, these functional differences rest ultimately upon psychological categories: that is to say, upon differences which depend upon the view taken by our mind of the natural grouping and classification of ideas. In other words, the divisions formed by grammarians depend ultimately upon the classification of the relations in which the ideas suggested by words stand to each other, as it appears to our imagination. Grammatical classification was, in fact, originally nothing but an attempt to express and group the order and connection of ideas as they were conceived of by the human mind. Immediately that this influence of imagination has made itself felt in the usage of language, it becomes a grammatical factor: and the groups which it forms become grammatical categories. But the action of the psychological category does not cease when it has thus produced the grammatical; and the difference between the two kinds is that, whereas the grammatical categories become, so to speak, stereotyped and fixed, those created by the imagination are ever changing; just as the human mind itself is ever changing its ideas. Besides this, changes in sound-groups are always occurring, and are constantly operating to prevent the grammatical categories coinciding with the psychological. Then, as a tendency makes itself felt to bring about a coincidence of the two categories, the grammatical category suffers a displacement, whence arise what we are accustomed to call grammatical irregularities. A consideration of the way in which these irregularities arise may help us to understand the origin of the grammatical categories, to which we now proceed.