DIFFERENT VIEWS OF THE SAME IDEA.
It is worthy of observation that all nations do not express
the same idea by the same form of word, i.e. that in different
languages the same idea is often represented by a word of a
distinctly different root. How comes it, we may ask, that the
Romance languages of Europe, viz. French, Italian, Spanish, &c.
all use forms of the originally same word to express their idea of
‘_king_,’ viz. roi, re, rey? These languages being off-shoots of
Latin, the above words are all derived from the Latin ‘rex,’ from
‘rego,’ ‘I rule,’ or exert physical power. Now in the Teutonic
languages of Europe--Dutch, German, English, etc.--we find this
idea in a very different phase: ‘Konig,’ ‘König,’ ‘King.’ The root
of these words may be found in ‘kennen,’ ‘to know.’ From this it
would appear that the idea of a ruler in one class of nations was
a physically strong man, who, by means of his bodily strength,
could force his subjects to do his will. The Saxon for ‘king’ was
‘cyning,’ from ‘cnawan’ to know, i.e. one who ‘knew’ better than
his subjects or followers--who was superior to them in knowledge.
We may, perhaps, conclude from this that the Romance nations
regarded strength or physical power as the distinguishing quality
of a ruler; whereas the Germanic tribes saw in their leader one who
was able to guide them aright by his superior thought and judgment.
The Romans looked to the hand, the Germans to the head, in this
matter. Is it not likely that attention to such differences may
throw some light on national characteristics?
Another example of this difference of view of the same idea may
be seen in the English word ‘finger,’ as compared with the French
‘doigt.’ ‘Finger’ is connected with the German ‘fangen,’ to take
hold of, and is a relation of our word ‘fang,’ i.e. the tooth with
which certain animals _hold_ their prey. In the Germanic view of
the word it is the instrument with which we ‘take hold.’ On the
other hand, the Greek δάκτυλος, from δείκνυμι, I show or point out,
appeared in Latin as ‘digitus;’ passed into Italian as ‘dito,’ and
into French as ‘doigt.’ The Romance view of the word would then be
‘a pointer or indicator,’ and the Teutonic a holder or catcher.
The French word ‘mouchoir’ will also illustrate this difference of
view. This is from ‘(se) moucher,’ to wipe (the nose). It would
be considered extremely vulgar to call this article in English
‘a wiper,’ and yet this is literally its French meaning. The
Germans have named it ‘Schnupftuch,’ or ‘snuff-cloth,’ another
view of the same thing. But the corresponding English word,
‘handkerchief,’ presents us with a most curious anomaly. The
first form of the word was ‘kerchief,’ which is the old French
‘couvre-chef,’ i.e. a covering for the head, just as ‘curfew’ was
from ‘couvre-feu’--‘cover-fire.’ Milton has the word ‘kerchiefed’
in the sense of ‘with the head covered.’ He speaks of Morn--
_Kerchiefed_ in a comely cloud.--_Penseroso._
Now, if to ‘kerchief’ we prefix ‘hand,’ we have a word which seems
to mean a covering for the head, held in the hand--which is a
manifest absurdity! But the climax of confusion is reached when we
qualify this word by ‘pocket.’ How the covering for the _head_ is
to be held in the _hand_, and yet carried in the _pocket_ is enough
to puzzle anyone.
Another instance of this description may be seen in the word
‘heaven.’ In the Teutonic languages it represents the idea of
something raised on high, or _heaved_ up--from ‘heafan’ and
‘heben,’ to lift up, or elevate. But the Romance view of this word
is connected with the idea of hollowness or concavity. The Greek
κοῖλον; the Latin ‘cœlum;’ the Italian ‘cielo;’ and the French
‘ciel’--all involve the meaning of a hollow, or arched covering.
A great variety of expression may be also seen if we compare
together the idioms of several European languages. These
peculiarities may be looked upon as characterising the tone and
habits of thought of a nation, and they deserve especial study and
attention. If we take the usual form of greeting in English--‘How
do you do?’ here we may see that the verb _do_ is indicative of
the activity and practical nature of the English mind. It would
seem as if in this country our bodily health actually depends upon
our _doing_; i.e. our business habits; that to be occupied is
equivalent to being in good health. Now if we take the ordinary
corresponding French phrase--‘Comment vous _portez_-vous?’--we
may fairly infer that the well-being in this case depends on the
_carriage_, or outward bearing of the person. The Germans, under
the same circumstances, say: ‘Wie befinden Sie sich?’ (literally,
‘how do they _find_ themselves?’) May not this form of expression
throw some light on the German character? May it not point to that
tendency to deep reflection which is known to be so strikingly
distinctive of the German tone of mind? From this we may conclude
that the German is so habituated to deep thought that he cannot
even tell you the state of his health, without searching till
he _finds_ it out. The Italian corresponding form, ‘Come sta?’
(literally, ‘How does he stand?’), is referred to the _standing_ of
the Lombard merchants in the market-place; and in this case, the
well-being or health seems to have depended on the prosperity of
the dealer. In these remarks on the different forms of greeting,
there may appear something fanciful, but one thing is clear, viz.
that they all differ from each other, and it is but natural to
conclude, that each has some connection with the turn of mind of
the people to which it belongs. Of course it would be wrong to
form positive opinions concerning national character, from the
examination of only one idiom; and it would be necessary to collect
and compare a large number of examples to arrive at satisfactory
conclusions on this head. But we should look into the philosophy of
idiom more keenly, for here we are most likely to find a key to the
character of every civilised nation.
Another example of this variety may be seen in the form of address
adopted in the different countries of Europe. We English speak
to one another in the second person plural, even when we address
one person. We say ‘you are,’ to one single person, and if we
have to address a thousand, we must use the same form. This may,
probably, partly account for the grammatical fault so commonly made
by the uneducated--‘_you was_.’ Feeling that they are speaking
to only one person, and not knowing that the pronoun (you) is,
strictly speaking, plural, they very naturally--though, of course,
incorrectly--put the ‘you’ and the ‘was’ together.
The French also adopt the second person plural in the same
case--‘vous êtes.’ But they use the second person singular much
more frequently than we do, especially between relations and
intimate friends. ‘Tu’ and ‘toi,’ however, have lost much of their
former charm since the great revolution, when the levelling spirit
of the Government merged all differences of rank into one common
form of address. In certain circumstances, the French use the third
person singular as a mark of respect. When a lady goes into a shop
in Paris, the first question asked her is, ‘Qu’est-ce que madame
désire?’ and, in the same way, her servant says to her, ‘Madame,
a-t-elle sonné?’
The Germans, in the same circumstances, use the third person
plural--‘Sie sind,’ literally ‘they are.’ This usage has prevailed
in Germany ever since the sixteenth century, and is supposed to
express respect. But in cases of intimacy, or relationship, the
Germans also use the pronoun of the second person singular. A
German husband always addresses his wife, or a brother his sister,
as _du_, but if scorn or contempt be intended, then the third
person singular is adopted. In Germany, the best way to get rid
of an importunate beggar is to exclaim, ‘Was will _er_?’ which is
about equivalent to our ‘What does the fellow want?’
Majesty still speaks, in this country, in the plural number. The
Queen issues a proclamation, beginning with:--‘Given at _our_
court of St. James’, &c. The editorial ‘we’ is also well known as
expressing a certain importance and authority. In Italy, the form
used in addressing any one is the third person singular, ‘Come
sta,’ literally, ‘How does he stand?’
If we compare the words which express degrees of kindred or
relationship in one language with those of a corresponding class in
another, we shall find distinctly different pictures. The French
words ‘mari’ and ‘femme,’ merely show a difference of sex. ‘Mari’
is from the Latin ‘maritus’ (mas, maris), ‘a male,’ and ‘femme,’
is derived from ‘femina,’ ‘female.’ But if we put against these
the corresponding English terms ‘husband’ and ‘wife,’ a totally
new scene is opened to our view. ‘Husband’ is etymologically, the
‘man of the house,’ or the ‘house-protector;’ and the ‘wife’ is
the ‘weaving-one.’ Indeed, we shall find that most of the Saxon
words expressing degrees of kindred, have reference to occupations.
The _hus_band was the head or protector of the house. The wife
(as her name shows) _wove_ the cloth for the use of the family.
But before the cloth could be woven, it must be _spun_, and this
was done by the grown-up unmarried women, for that reason called
‘_spinsters_.’ The word ‘daughter’ is traced to a Sanscrit root,
‘dhu’--milk; whence we infer that the daughters milked the cows, a
very appropriate occupation in a primitive state of society. The
word ‘son’ is supposed to be derived from a Sanscrit root ‘_su_’ or
‘_pu_,’ originally signifying ‘clean,’ from which we may conclude
that their office was to _clean_ out the house. The ‘husband’ then
was the ‘protector;’ the ‘wife,’ the ‘weaver;’ the ‘unmarried
women,’ the ‘spinners’ (or ‘spinsters’); the ‘daughters,’ the
‘milkers;’ and the ‘sons,’ the ‘cleaners.’ With what hallowed
feelings are all these words associated, and what a vivid picture
do they present of the primitive simplicity of family society! No
such picture of domestic life is exhibited in the Latin or French
words which express these relations, and we may look in vain for
anything of this sort in the Romance languages.
The Teutonic view of the place of punishment in a future life,
somewhat differs from the Romance. We English call it _hell_, the
French and Italians, _enfer_ and _inferno_. Our word is derived
from the old Saxon verb ‘_helan_,’ ‘to cover up’ or ‘hide;’ ‘enfer’
and ‘inferno’ are from ‘inferus,’ ‘below,’ so that the Germanic
idea is here ‘a concealed or covered place;’ the classical view of
the same is ‘the place below, or underground.’
If we compare the English word ‘_shoe_,’ with the French
‘_soulier_’ we shall also find a difference in the original
meaning. They both represent the same article of dress, but our
word ‘_shoe_’ is from ‘shove,’ it is that into which we ‘shove’ the
foot; whereas the French ‘_soulier_’ rather suggests ‘sandal’ than
‘shoe,’ properly so called. It means literally, something ‘bound
under’ (sous-lié), i.e. under the foot.
Our common word ‘_thimble_,’ is connected with ‘thumb,’ on which
it was originally worn. The Germans choose to call this article
‘_Fingerhut_,’ literally, a ‘finger-hat,’ i.e. a hat or covering
for the finger.