This combining or compounding power is of different degrees in different languages, but in the Mexican language it is carried to an incredible extent. Here, combinations are admitted so easily, that the simplest ideas are buried under a load of accessories. For example, the word for a ‘priest,’ consists of eleven syllables, and is there called ‘notlazomahuizleopixcatatzin,’ which means literally, ‘venerable minister of God, whom I love as my father.’ A still more comprehensive word is ‘amatlacuilolitquitcatlaxtlahuitli,’ which means ‘the reward given to a messenger who brings a hieroglyphical map conveying intelligence.’
This system displays a most curious mechanism, which, by bringing the greatest number of ideas into the smallest possible compass, condenses whole sentences into a single word. Many of our older writers indulged in derivatives and compound words to an extent which the language does not now admit, in consequence of its having lost part of its Saxon character. We still have ‘to undo;’ but to ‘unput’ (for to take away) and to ‘undestroy’ (for to rebuild) were formerly used, and Fuller even employs the verb ‘to ungrayhair,’ in the sense of ‘to pull out gray hairs.’ He writes of a man being ‘ungrayhaired,’ when all his gray hairs were plucked out of his head!
[CHAPTER XII.]
THE PRONUNCIATION OF WORDS.
It is simply impossible to express sound by writing, and therefore all instruction in pronunciation should be given vivâ voce. A pronouncing Dictionary may sometimes afford assistance; but in many cases it must fail, as it is an attempt to explain varieties or shades of sound by varieties of shape, i.e. combinations of written letters—in fine, objects of one sense by those of another.
It is not easy to fix a standard of pronunciation. At one time the stage, then the bar, and, later still, the pulpit, have been considered as authorities in this matter. But all these are now rejected, and the conversation of the highest classes in London society is now looked upon as the standard of English pronunciation.
Pronunciation, like everything else connected with language, varies continually with the influence of time and fashion; and it is well known that, even fifty years ago, many English words were pronounced differently from the present practice. It was formerly the fashion to pronounce ‘leisure’ (which now rhymes with ‘pleasure’) as if written ‘leezure’ (to rhyme with ‘seizure’). This was never a vulgar pronunciation; it was done by the highest classes. It was also the fashion to pronounce ‘oblige’ more like the French verb ‘obliger’ as if written ‘obleege,’ and this also was the practice with the best educated. ‘Gold’ also was formerly pronounced by good speakers as if rhyming with ‘ruled;’ now it properly rhymes with ‘old’ or ‘cold.’
We may conclude, from some of Pope’s rhymes, that, in the early part of the eighteenth century, our language was not pronounced exactly as it is at present. He has ‘line’ and ‘join’ rhyming with each other; also ‘vice’ and ‘destroys,’ ‘power’ and ‘secure,’ ‘safe’ and ‘laugh,’ ‘obey’ and ‘tea,’ &c. Some of these may have been peculiar to the poet himself, and may be regarded as bad rhymes; still, as Pope was an authority for the language of his own time, most of them were, in all probability, recognised as correct.
Stories are told of the peculiar pronunciation of some of the leading literati of the last century which appear scarcely credible. Dr. Johnson is said to have pronounced the word ‘fair’ like ‘fear,’ and the adverb ‘once’ as if written ‘woonse.’ He also called ‘punch’ ‘poonsh.’ Garrick was often remarked for saying ‘shupreme’ and ‘shuperior’ for ‘supreme’ and ‘superior.’ He also pronounced ‘Israel’ as ‘Isrel,’ ‘villain’ as if ‘villin,’ and, still more strangely, ‘appeal’ as ‘appal.’