One of the most interesting results of the study of language is the
elucidation which it affords of the history of mankind. In the larger
sphere of comparative philology, important discoveries regarding
the relations of various races have been made. In some cases a
common origin has been proved for the widely dissimilar languages of
different nations; in others, the influence of one people upon its
less civilised neighbors is clearly shown. If, on the other hand, we
confine our inquiries to our own language, the historical associations
which it presents are no less interesting. The successive races which
predominated in the early days of the history of Great Britain, have
each left its impress upon our language, in which Celtic, Latin, Saxon,
Danish, and Norman elements are strangely intermingled. Even now, our
commercial intercourse with the inhabitants of every quarter of the
globe is ever enriching our vocabulary with borrowed terms and phrases.
Hence, it is hardly to be wondered that such a composite language
affords an ample field for research. We may trace in it the gradual
progress of civilisation, and follow the changes of national ideas and
feelings, the elevation of some words, the debasement of many others.
We may recognise the half-forgotten names of men once famous for their
characters and achievements, and of places once renowned for their
produce and manufactures. Finally, we may recall states of society
which have long since passed away, and find in modern phrases vestiges
of the manners and customs of other days.
It is to these records of the minor details of life that we would
briefly call attention, as an investigation possessing the double
interest of investing with greater reality the history of the past, and
of throwing a new light on the bearing of words otherwise inexplicable.
This class of words has undoubtedly been increased by startling
derivations, due more to the imagination and ingenuity of their
inventors, than to any certain foundation in fact. But even those which
are universally recognised form a considerable category, from which we
may select a few of the more interesting specimens.
We would first remind our readers of the derivations of two words
applied to a peculiar form of wealth—the substantive _fee_ and
the adjective _pecuniary_, which, though so widely different in
form, recall to us the same idea through the vehicle of different
languages. They are both taken from words—the one Saxon, the other
Latin—signifying “cattle,” and thus take us back to the times when
flocks and herds were the chief property of our ancestors, the evidence
as well as the source of their wealth. It is curious how, from this
first signification, the words came to be considered applicable to
wealth of any kind, and have now become almost limited in meaning to
property in the form of money. To the same days of primitive simplicity
we may also undoubtedly attribute the word _rivals_, when the pastoral
dwellers by the same stream (Latin _rivus_) would not unfrequently be
brought into unfriendly competition with each other. Some words and
expressions are derived from the time when but few persons could boast
of what we should consider the most elementary education. The word
_signature_, for example, had a more literal application in the days
when the art of writing was known but to a few monks and scholars, and
when kings and barons, no less than their humbler followers, affixed
their cross or _sign_ to any document requiring their assent. Again,
when we speak of abstruse _calculations_, we make unthinking reference
to the primitive method of counting by means of pebbles (_calculi_),
resorted to by the Romans.
It is remarkable how many of the terms relating to books and the
external materials of literature refer primarily to the simple
materials made use of by our ancestors to preserve their thoughts
and the records of their lives. In _book_ itself, it is generally
acknowledged we have a proof of how a primitive race, generally
believed to have been the Goths, employed the durable wood of the _boc_
or beech-tree on which to inscribe their records. _Library_ and kindred
words in our own and other modern languages indicate the use of the
_liber_ or inner bark of a tree as a writing material; while _code_,
from _caudex_, the trunk of a tree, points to the wooden tablets
smeared with wax on which the ancients originally wrote. The thin
wooden leaves or tablets were not like the _volumina_, rolled within
one another, but, like those of our books, lay over one another. The
_stilus_, or iron-pointed implement used for writing on these tablets,
has its modern form in our _style_, which has come to be applied less
to the manner of writing than to the mode of expression. Hence its
significance has been extended so as to apply to arts other than that
of composition. As advancing civilisation brought to the Western world
the art of making a writing material from strips of the inner rind of
the Egyptian papyrus glued together transversely, the word _paper_ was
introduced, to be applied as time went on to textures made of various
substances. The Greek name of the same plant (_byblos_) gives us a word
used with reference to books in the composite forms of _biblio_grapher,
_biblio_mania, and so forth. It is worthy of remark that in England,
as well as in France, Germany, and other European countries, the
simple form of this Greek word for book, our _Bible_, has come to be
restricted to One Book, to the exclusion of all others. From _scheda_,
a Latin word for a strip of papyrus rind, has also descended our
_schedule_.
The transition from tablets to paper as a writing material has also a
monument in _volume_, which, in spite of its significance as a roll
of paper, is applied to the neatly folded books which have taken the
place of that cumbrous form of literature. More than one instance of
a similar retention of a word the actual signification of which is
completely obsolete, might easily be adduced. The word _indenture_
refers to an ancient precaution against forgery resorted to in the case
of important contracts. The duplicate documents, of which each party
retained one, were irregularly _indented_ in precisely the same manner,
so that upon comparison they might exactly tally. A _vignette_ portrait
has also lost the accompaniment which alone made the name appropriate,
namely, the vine-leaves and tendrils which in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries usually formed its ornamental border. The
directions in the English Prayer-book, again, are still known as
_rubrics_ (Latin _ruber_, red), although it is now the exception rather
than the rule to see them printed as originally, in _red_ letters. Once
more, we apply without any sense of incongruity the name of _pen_ (from
Latin _penna_, a feather) to all those modern appliances which rival,
if they have not yet superseded, the quill, to which alone the word is
really appropriate.
Several words come down to us derived from customs connected with
election to public offices. The word _candidate_ (from Latin
_candidus_, white), is one of these. It was customary among the Romans
for any suitor for office to appear in a peculiar dress denoting his
position. His toga was loose, so that he might show the people the
scars of the wounds received in the cause of the commonwealth, and
artificially _whitened_ in token of fidelity and humility. Again,
_ambition_—a word of which the significance has been widened to embrace
the most overpowering of all the passions of the human heart—refers
primarily to the practice of these same candidates of repairing to
the forum and other places of public resort, and their “going round”
(Latin _ambientes_) among the people, endeavoring to ingratiate
themselves by friendly words and greetings. From the ancient practice
of secret voting by means of “balls,” we have the word _ballot_, which
is erroneously applied to all secret voting, even when, as in the
case of our parliamentary elections, voting-papers, and not balls,
are employed. Nor must we omit another word of similar origin—that
is, _ostracism_. This word signified among the Greeks the temporary
banishment which might be inflicted by six thousand votes of the
Athenian people upon any person suspected of designs against the
liberty of the state. The name arose from the votes being recorded upon
a bit of burnt clay or an earthenware tile shaped like a shell (Gr.
_ostrakon_, a shell). It is closely allied to the Greek _ostreon_, or
Latin _ostrea_, an oyster. A somewhat similar practice existed among
the Syracusans, where it went by the name of _petalism_, from the leaf
(Gr. _petalon_) on which the name of the offender was written. With
the caprice of language, this word has entirely passed away, while the
Athenian custom gives us a word expressive of social exclusion.
It has been said that there is hardly an institution of ancient times
which has not some memorial in our language. The sacrifices of Greeks
and Romans are commemorated in the word _immolate_, from the habit of
throwing meal (Latin _mola_) upon the head of the victim. The word
_contemplate_ was probably used originally of the augurs who frequented
the temples of the gods, _temple_ meaning originally “a place cut off,”
and hence “reserved,” Our word _funeral_ is borrowed from a Latin word
of similar signification, which in its turn is connected with _fumus_,
smoke, thus giving us an allusion to the ancient habit of burning the
bodies of the dead. Another word connected with the rites accorded to
the dead—that is, _dirge_—is of Christian origin. It is a contraction
of the first word of the antiphon in the office for the dead, taken
from the eighth verse of the fifth Psalm: “Dirge, Dominus meus,” etc.
(“Lead or direct me, O Lord,” etc.). From a Roman law-term of Greek
origin we have the word _paraphernalia_, signifying strictly those
articles of personal property, besides her jointure, which were at the
disposal of a woman after the death of her husband.
From a detail of Roman military life we trace the derivation of the
word _subsidy_, originally applied only to assistance in arms, but
generalised to signify help of any kind, especially pecuniary aid.
_Salary_ meant originally “salt-money,” or money given to the soldiers
for salt. With the inconsistency frequently found in language, the name
survived after money had taken the place of such rations. Strictly
speaking, the word _stipend_ is liable to the same etymological
objection, since the meaning of the word is a certain quantity of small
coins estimated by weight.
The derivation of the word _tragedy_ has been a fruitful field of
controversy. It is undoubtedly the case that this class of drama was
originally of anything but a mournful and pathetic character, and was a
remnant of the winter festival in honor of the god Dionysus. The word
is coined from the Greek _tragos_, a goat; but various reasons have
been assigned for this connection. Some assert that a goat was the
prize awarded to the best extempore poem in honor of the god; others,
that the first actors were dressed like satyrs, in goat-skins. A more
likely explanation is that a goat was sacrificed at the singing of the
song.
It is curious to remark how many names applied to persons, in allusion
either to their characters or occupations, can be traced to some custom
of other days. The very word _person_ is an example of this class of
derivatives. It was first applied to the masks which it was customary
for actors to wear. These covered the whole head, with an opening for
the mouth, that the voice might _sound through_ (Latin _personare_).
The transition was easy from the disguise of the actor to the character
which he represented, and the word was ultimately extended beyond
the scenic language to denote the human being who has a part to play
in the world. _Sycophant_ is compounded of two Greek words (_sycon_,
_phantēs_), signifying literally a “fig-shewer,” that is, one who
brings figs to light by shaking the tree. It has been conjectured,
also, that “fig-shewer” perhaps referred to one who informed against
persons exporting figs from Attica, or plundering sacred fig-trees.
Sycophant meant originally a common informer, and hence a slanderer;
but it was never used in the modern sense of a flatterer. Another
word of somewhat similar meaning, _parasite_, sprung from no such
contemptible trade. The original bearers of the name were a class of
priests who probably had their meals in common (Latin _parasiteo_, to
sit beside). But very early with the Greeks the term came to be applied
to one who lives at the expense of the great, gaining this position
by adulation and servility. Also of Greek origin is _pedagogue_
(_paidagōgos_), signifying, first, rather the slave who conducted
the child’s _steps_ to the place of instruction, than, as now, the
master who guides his mind in the way of knowledge. In later times,
a _chancellor_ gained his name from the place which it was customary
for him to occupy near the lattice-work screen (_cancellus_) which
fenced off the judgment-seat from the body of the court. The same Latin
derivation gives us the _chancel_ of a church, from the fact of its
being screened off, and what is more remarkable, the verb to _cancel_,
that is, to strike out anything which is written by making cross-lines
over it.
Several of the names of different trades will at once occur to our
readers. Thus, a _stationer_ is one who had a “station” or stand in the
market-place for the sale of books, in order to attract the passers-by
as customers. An _upholsterer_, originally _upholdster_, was, it would
seem, an auctioneer, who “held up” his wares in order to show them off.
The double _-er_ in this word is superfluous, as in _poulter-er_. A
_haberdasher_ was so called from his selling a stuff called _hapertas_
in old French, which is supposed to be from a Scandinavian word meaning
pedlars’ wares, from the _haversack_ in which they were carried.
Two military terms have curious origins. _Sentinel_ has been traced
through Italian to the Latin _sentina_, the hold of a ship, and is thus
equivalent to the Latin _sentinator_, the man who pumps bilge-water
out of a ship. It is curious to mark how the name of a naval official
of whom constant vigilance was required has been wholly transferred
to a post requiring equal watchfulness in the sister service. The
other term to which we would call attention is _hussar_, a Hungarian
word signifying “twentieth.” In explanation of this derivation, it is
related that when Matthias Corvinus ascended the Hungarian throne in
1458, the dread of imminent foreign invasion caused him to command an
immediate levy of troops. The cavalry he raised by a decree ordering
that one man should be enrolled out of “twenty” in every village, who
should provide among themselves for his subsistence and pay.
We may pass now to some words of the same nature of less honorable
significance. _Assassin_ remains in our language as the dread memorial
of the domination of an odious sect in Palestine which flourished
in the thirteenth century, the Hashishin (drinkers of _hashish_, an
intoxicating drink or decoction of the _Cannabis indica_, a kind of
hemp). The “Old Man of the Mountain” roused his followers’ spirits by
help of this drink, and sent them to stab his enemies, especially the
leading Crusaders. The emissaries of this body waged for two hundred
years a treacherous warfare alike against Jew, Christian, and orthodox
Mohammedan. Among the distinguished men who fell victims to their
murderous daggers were the Marquis of Monteferrat in 1192, Louis of
Bavaria in 1213, and the Kahn of Tartary some forty years later. The
_buccaneers_, who at a later date were hardly less dreaded, derived
their name from the _boucan_ or gridiron on which the original settlers
at Hayti were accustomed to broil or smoke for future consumption the
flesh of the animals they had killed for their skins. The word is said
to be Caribbean, and to mean “a place where meat is smoke-dried.”
Some of the contemptuous terms in our language have been attributed to
remarkable origins. In _scamp_, we have a deserter from the field of
battle (Latin _ex_, and _campus_), a parallel word to _decamp_; and
in _scoundrel_, “a loathsome fellow,” “one to scunner or be disgusted
at.” The old word _scunner_, still used as a term of strong dislike
in Lowland Scotch, meant also “to shrink through fear,” so that
_scunner-el_ is equivalent to one who shrinks, a coward. _Poltroon_ is
“one who lies in bed,” instead of bestirring himself.
Several words have passed from a literal to a figurative sense,
and have thus become much wider in signification. Thus, _villain_
originally meant merely a farm-servant; _pagan_, a dweller in a
village; _knave_, a boy; _idiot_, a private person; _heathen_, a
dweller on a heath; _gazette_, a small coin; and _brat_, a rag or
clout, especially a child’s bib or apron. _Treacle_ meant an antidote
against the bites of serpents; _intoxicate_, to drug or poison;
_coward_, a bob-tailed hare; and _butcher_, a slaughterer merely of
he-goats. _Brand_ and _stigmatise_ still mean to mark with infamy,
although the practical significance of the words is now chiefly a
matter of history. Under the Romans, a slave who had proved dishonest,
or had attempted to run away from his master, was branded with the
three letters F U R, a thief or rascal; while it may not be generally
known that in England the custom of branding the cheek of a felon with
an _F_ was only abolished by statute some sixty years ago.
These examples of a class of words denoting traces of customs of other
days, might easily be largely multiplied; but enough has been said
to remind our readers of one aspect of the historical value of our
language—that is, the impress of the thoughts and practices of past
generations stamped upon the words which are used in the familiar
intercourse of life.—_Chambers’s Journal._