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.