Origin, history and connection of the languages of western asia and europe, with an explanation of the principles on which languages are formed

Here are scarcely two words written with the same letters in two languages; and yet no man ever called in question their identity, on account of the difference of orthography. The diversity is equally great in almost all other words of the same original. So in the same words we often find the vowel changed, as in the Lat. facia, feci; ago, egi; sto, steti; vello, vulsi. Nothing is more certain than that the Welsh gwyz, and the English wood, are the same word, although there is one letter only common to them both. It is pronounced gooyth, that is, g and wyth; as guard for ward. This prefixing of g to words which in English begin with w, is very common in Spanish and French. The word war in French is guerre; Sp. guerra.

In the word yoke, and its affinities, we have a clear and decisive example of changes in orthography. Yoke, the Latin jugum, is from the Chaldee, Syriac, and Arabic זוג zug, to join, to couple; a word not found in the Hebrew. The Greeks retained the original letters in ζθγος, ζθγοω; the Latins changed the first letter to j in jugum, and inserted a casual n in jungo. From the Latin the Italians formed giogo, a yoke, and giugnere, to join; the Spaniards, yugo, a yoke, and juntar, to join; the French, joug, a yoke, and joindre, to join. In Saxon, yoke is geoc or ioc; in Dutch, juk; G. joch; Sw. ok.

One of the most general changes that words have undergone, is the entire loss of the palatal letter g, when it is radical and final in verbs, or the opening of that articulation to a vowel or diphthong. We have examples in, the English bow, from Saxon bugan, to bend; buy, from bycgan; brow, from breg; lay, from lægan, or lecgan; say, from sægan; fair, from fæger; flail, from the German flegel, Lat. flagellum; French nier, from Lat. nego, negare.

The same or similar changes have taken place in all the modern languages of which I have any knowledge.

The loss and changes of radical letters in many Greek verbs deserve particular notice. We find in the Lexicons, πραγμα, πραγος, πρακτικος, are referred to πρασσω, πραττω, as the theme or root; ταγμα, to τασσω; ρητωρ, to ρεω; and φραγμα, to φρασσω. This reference, so far as it operates as a direction to the student where to find the verb to which the word belongs, and its explanation, is useful and necessary. But if the student supposes that these words are formed from the theme, so called, or the first person of the indicative mode, present tense, he is deceived. I am confident no example can be found, in any language, of the palatals γ and κ, formed from the dentals and sibilants τ and σ, nor is ρητωρ, or any similar word, formed by the addition of the dental to a verb ending in a vowel. The truth is, the last radical in ρεω is lost, in the indicative mode; and in πρασσω, πραττω, it is changed. The radical lost in ρεω is δ or θ; the original word was ρεδω or ρεθω, and the derivatives ρητωρ, ρητορικη, were formed before the radical letter was dropped in the verb. No sooner is the verb restored to its primitive form, than we recognize its connection with the Irish raidham, to speak; Saxon ræd, speech; rædan, to read; German reden, rede; Dutch raad, &c.;

The original root of πρασσω, was πραγω, πραχω, or πρακω, and from this were formed πραγμα, πρακτικος, before the last radical was changed. No sooner is the original orthography restored, than we see this to be the Teutonic verb, German brauchen, Dutch gebruiken, Danish bruger, Sw. bruka, Sax. brucan, to use, to practice, and hence the English broker.

The same remarks are applicable to ταγμα and τασσω; φραγμα and φρασσω; αλλαγη and αλλασσω; χαρακτηρ and χαρασσω, and many other words of like formation. In all these cases, the last radical letter is to be sought in the derivatives of the verb, and in one of the past tenses particularly in an aorist. This fact affords no feeble evidence that in Greek, as in the Shemitic languages, the preterit tense or an aorist, was the radix of the verb. Κραζω, in Greek, is to cry like a crow or rook; but the last radical is changed from γ, as in the second aorist it forms κραγεις. Now in Danish, crow is krage, in Ger. krähe, in D. kraai, in Sw. kråka; a fact that demonstrates the last radical letter to be a palatal, which in English is opened to o, in crow.

But it is not in the Greek language only that we are to seek for the primitive radical letters, nor in what is now called the root of the verb, but in the derivatives. The fact is the same in the Latin and in the English. The Latin fluctus and fluxi, can not be deduced from fluo; but the orthography of these words proves demonstrably that the original root was flugo, or fluco. So in English, sight can not be deduced from see, for no example can be found of the letter g introduced to form the participles of verbs. Sight, in Saxon gesicht, D. zigt, G. sicht, Dan. sigt, Sw. sickt, is a participle; but the verb in the infinitive, in Saxon is seon, geseon, Ger. sehen, D. zien, Dan. seer, Sw. se; in which no palatal letter is found, from which g or ch can be deduced. The truth then is, that the original verb was segan, or in Dutch zegen; the g being lost as it is in the French nier, from the Lat. nego.

In the change of letters in the Greek verbs before mentioned, the process seems to have been from γ or κ to ξ, and then to σ and τ; πραγω, πραξω, πρασσω, πραττω. This is certainly a process which is natural and common. The Latin brachium thus became in Spanish brazo, and then in French bras; and thus in the Italian, Alexandria has become Alessandria.

When the last radical of a Greek verb is a dental, it may not be certain whether the original letter was d, or th or t. We find the Greek verb σπαω, to draw, forms its derivatives with σ, σπασμα, σπασις; and this is probably the Armoric spaza, from which we have spay. So , , and , are evidently of the same family. It is not improbable that the original letter might have a compound sound, or it might correspond nearly to the Arabic ظ or ض, or the English dh or th, or ds, so as easily to pass into d or into s.

It is equally clear that many Greek words have lost an initial consonant. The letter most generally lost is probably the Oriental ח, but obviously the palatals γ and κ have, in many instances, been dropped. There seems to be no question that the Greek ολος is the English whole and perhaps all. This in Welsh is oll or holl, in Saxon al or geall; and this is undoubtedly the Shemitic כל. So the Greek ολλυμι is the Welsh colli, to lose; and ειλεω may be the English coil, Fr. cueillir.

In like manner the Greek has, in many words, lost a labial initial, answering to the English b, f or v. The Greek ειδω is undoubtedly the Latin video; εργον is from the same root as work; ιδιος is from the root of vid, in the Latin divido, and individuus, that is, separate, and from the Arabic بَـدًّ‎ badda, to separate.

In many instances, the Latin retained or restored the lost letter; thus hamaxa, for άμαξα; harpago for άρμονια; harmonia for ; video for ειδω.

If the marks of breathing, called spiritus asper and spiritus lenis, now prefixed to Greek words, were intended to represent the letters lost, or to stand in the place of them, they answer this purpose very imperfectly. The spiritus asper may stand for a palatal or guttural letter, but it does not designate which letter, the ח, or the כ; much less does this or the other spiritus justly represent the labials, b, f, v or w. Whenever the Latins wrote h in the place of the Greek spiritus, we may conclude that the original letter was ח or a cognate letter; and we may conclude also that the v in video, and in divido, viduus, individuus, stands for the original labial lost in ειδω, and ιδιος. But there are many words, I apprehend, in which the lost letter is unknown, and in which the loss can not be recovered, by any marks prefixed to the words. We may well suppose that hymnus exhibits the correct written form of ύμνος; but what is there in the Greek ύφη, to lead us to consider this word as the English woof, and ύφαω, to be the same as weave? Both the Greek words have the spiritus asper.

What proportion of Greek words have been contracted by the loss of an initial or final consonant, can not, I apprehend, be determined with any precision; at least, not in the present state of philological knowledge. It is probable the number of contracted words amounts to one fourth of all the verbs, and it may be more.

Similar contractions have taken place in all other languages; a circumstance that embarrasses the philologist and lexicographer at every step of his researches; and which has led to innumerable mistakes in Etymology. We know that the Swedish år, and Danish aar, a year, have lost the articulation g, and that the English y in year, is the representative of g, as j is in the Dutch jaar, and German jahr: for the g is found in our mother tongue; and in a multitude of words, one language will supply the means of determining the real origin or true orthography, which can not be ascertained by another. But doubtless many changes have taken place, of which the evidence is uncertain; the chain which might conduct us to the original orthography being broken, and no means now remain of repairing the loss.

In no language has the rejection or change of consonants served so effectually to obscure the original words as in the French. So extensive have been the changes of orthography in that language, that had not the early lexicographers indicated the loss of letters by a mark, it would be impossible now to discover the original orthography, or to trace the connection of words with other languages, in a large portion of them. And it is with regret we observe the influence of the French practice of suppressing consonants, extending itself to other countries. It is owing to the most servile obsequiousness of nations, that Basil or Basilca, the elegant name of a town in Switzerland, has been corrupted to Basle, and pronounced most barbarously Bale. The Germans are pursuing a like course in suppressing the palatal letters; a most unfortunate circumstance for the strength of the language.

The Italians also have a disposition to reject letters when they interfere with their habits of pronunciation; and hence we see, in their language, piano, written for plano; fiore for flore; fiocco for flocco; a change that has removed a radical consonant, and thus obscured or rather destroyed the affinity between the Italian and the Latin words.

Another difference of writing and pronouncing has been produced by the change of a sibilant letter into an aspirate; or, e converso, by the change of an aspirate into a sibilant. No person doubts whether the Latin super is the Greek ύπερ; or όμαλος is similis; or άλς is sal, salt. The latter in Welsh is halen, hal. So helyg, a willow, in Welsh, is in Latin salix. The Greek έπτα is the Latin septem, English seven. This in Persic is هَـفـت‎ heft or haft, which approaches the Greek επτα. It has been commonly supposed, that in this case, the aspirate in Greek has been converted into an s. There are, however, strong reasons for believing that the change has been the reverse, and that s has been dropped, and its place supplied by an aspirate. The word seven is, beyond a question, the Shemitic سَبَعََ‎, שׁבע, whence שבת; Eng. sabbath; and the Gaelic sean, old, whence Latin senex; in Welsh hen, seems clearly to be the Ar. سَنَّ‎ sanna, to be old. It is then clear that in these words s is radical. It is probable, however, that the aspirate, in some cases, has been changed into s.

It deserves to be noticed that the radix of a word is sometimes obscured, in Greek and Latin, by the loss or change of a radical letter in the nominative case. We find in Latin nepos, in the nominative, is nepotis in the genitive; honos, honoris, &c.; In these changes, I suppose the letter restored in the oblique cases, to be the true radical letter. Thus adamant has been deduced by our etymologists from the Greek α negative and δαμαω, to subdue, on the supposition that the stone was named from its hardness. This is a good example of a great part of all etymological deductions; they are mere conjectures. It did not occur to the inquirer that adamas, in the nominative, becomes in the genitive adamantis; that n is radical, and that this word can not be regularly deduced from the Greek verb. Any person, by looking into a Welsh dictionary, may see the original word.

In some words it is not easy to determine whether n before d is casual or radical. In such words as the Latin fundo, to pour, and tundo, to beat, there is reason to think the n is casual, for the preterit is formed without it, fudi, tutudi. But in other words n before d seems to be radical, and the d casual; ae in fundo, fundare, to found. For this word coincides with the Irish bun, foundation, and with the Shemitic בנה banah, to build. So the English find is in Swedish finna, and in is in Danish ind.

Another fact of considerable consequence, is the casual sound of n given to g, which produced the effect of doubling the γ in Greek, and of occasioning the insertion of n, before g in the Latin, as also in the Teutonic and Gothic languages. Thus we see the γ is doubled in the Greek αγγελλω, and we know, in this case, how the change originated; for the original word is in the Gaelic and Irish, agalla. So γ is prefixed to another palatal or guttural letter in αγχω, ογχος, εγγιζω.

A similar nasal sound of g probably introduced the n before g in lingo, to lick; linquo, to leave.

We may be confident, in all cases, that n is not radical, when it is dropped in the supine and participle, as in lictum, lictus, from linquo. When n is retained in the supine and participle, there may be more reason for doubt; but in this case, the question may often be determined by the corresponding word in another language, or by some other word evidently of the same family. Thus we can have little doubt that lingo and the English lick are the same word, or that the Lat. lingua and ligula are of one family.

This casual insertion of n in words of this class must be carefully noticed by the etymologist, or he will overlook the affinity of words which are evidently the same. We have many words in English which are written with n before a g or a k, when the ancient words in the Gothic and Teutonic languages, and some of them in the modern Danish and Swedish, are written without n. Thus sink, in Gothic is sigcwan; to think, is thagkyan. It is not improbable that the Gothic word was pronounced with the sound of n or ng, as in English. So also in sigguan, to sing; laggs, long. In a few instances we find the Swedes and Danes have the word written in both ways, as tånka, tænker and tycka, tykker, to think. But in general the Germans, Danes, Swedes and Dutch write words of this sort with ng.

To show how important it is to know the true original orthography, I will mention one instance. In our mother tongue the word to dye, or color, is written deagan; the elements or radical letters are dg. To determine whether this and the Latin tingo are the same words, we mast first know whether n in tingo is radical or casual. This we can not know with certainty, by the form of the word itself, for the n is carried through all the tenses and forms of the verb. But by looking into the Greek, we find the word written with γ, τεγγω; and this clearly proves the alliance of the word with deagan. See Dye in the Dictionary.

We have many English words, in which a d has been inserted before g, as in badge, budge, lodge, pledge, wedge. In all words, I believe, of this class, the d is casual, and the g following is the radical letter, as pledge from the French pleige; wedge from the Saxon wecg. The practice of inserting d in words of this sort seems to have originated in the necessity of some mode of preserving the English sound of g, which might otherwise be sounded as the French g before e. And it is for this reason we still retain and ought to retain d in alledge, abridge. In like manner the Teutonic c has been changed into the sound of ch, as Sax. wacian, wæcian, to wake, to watch; Sax. thac, thatch.

There are some nations which, in many words, pronounce and write g before u or w; as in the French guerre, for war; guede, for woad; guetter, for wail; in Welsh, gwal, for wall; gwain, for wain; gwared, for guard, which in English is ward, Sp. guarda. In some instances, the u or w is dropped in modern writing, as in the French garenne, a warren; garde, for guard. This difference of orthography makes it difficult, in some cases, to ascertain the true radical letters.

Perhaps no person has suspected that the English words heat, hate, and hest in behest, are all radically the same word. But this is the fact. Sax. hatian, to heat, or be hot, and to hate; hætan, to heat and to call; hatan, to call, to order, to command; ge-hætan or ge-hatan, to grow warm, to promise, to vow; Gothic gahaitan, to call, to promise; Dutch heeten, to heat, to name, to call, bid or command; German heitzen, to heat; heissen, to call; hitzen, to heat, to hoist; Swedish hetsa, to inflame, to provoke; Danish heder, to heat, to be called. Behest, we have from the German or Swedish dialect. Heat coincides with the Latin æstus for hæstus, which is written with s, like the German. Hate coincides with the Latin odi, osus, so written for hodi, hosus, and as the Teutonic h often represents the Latin c, as in horn, cornu, the Danish orthography, heder, coincides with the Latin cito, to call. Now what is the radical sense? Most obviously to stir, agitate, rouse, raise, implying a driving or impulse; and hence in Latin æstuo, to be hot, and to rage or storm; hence to excite, and hence the sense of the Latin cito, quickly, from stirring, rousing to action. In this case hatred, as well as heat, is violent excitement. We find also in the Saxon and Gothic the sense of vowing, that is, of driving out the voice, uttering, declaring, a sense allied to calling and commanding, and to this is allied the sense of the Latin recito, to recite.

In English, befall signifies to fall on, to happen to; in German, the same word, befallen has the like signification. But in Saxon, gefeallan signifies to fall, to rush on; while in German, gefallen signifies to please, that is, to suit, to come to one’s mind, to be agreeable. The Danish gefalder has the same signification as the German.

We find by the Saxon, that the English reck, to care, and reckon, and the Latin rego, to rule, are all the same word, varied in orthography and application. To find the primary sense of reck, to care, we are then to examine the various derivative senses. And we need go no further than to the Latin rectus and English right, the sense of which is straight, for this sense is derived from straining, stretching. Care, then, is a straining of the mind, a stretching toward an object, coinciding with the primary sense of attention. The primary sense of reckon is to strain out sounds, to speak, tell, relate; a sense now disused.

The Saxon carc, care, carcian, to care, to cark, is connected in origin with the Latin carcer, a prison; both from the sense of straining, whence holding or restraint.