HotFreeBooks.com
Chips from a German Workshop - Volume IV - Essays chiefly on the Science of Language
by Max Muller
Previous Part     1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12     Next Part
Home - Random Browse

NOTE G.

[Transcriber's Note: In the following selection, all brackets and parentheses are in the original.]

See "Posies indites du Moyen ge," par M. Edlstand Du Mril. Paris, 1854. XVI. De Viro et Vase Olei (p.239):—

"Uxor ab antiquo fuit infecunda marito. Mesticiam (l. moestitiam) cujus cupiens lenire vix (l. vir) hujus, His blandimentis solatur tristi[ti]a mentis: Cur sic tristaris? Dolor est tuus omnis inanis: Pulchr prolis eris satis amodo munere felix. Pro nihilo ducens conjunx hc verbula prudens, His verbis plane quod ait vir monstrat inane: Rebus inops quidam . . . (bone vir, tibi dicam) Vas oleo plenum, longum quod retro per vum Legerat orando, loca per diversa vagando, Fune ligans ar(c)to, tecto[que] suspendit ab alto. Sic prstolatur tempus quo pluris ematur[atur] Qua locupletari se sperat et arte beari. Talia dum captat, hc stultus inania jactat: Ecce potens factus, fuero cum talia nactus, Vinciar uxori quantum queo nobiliori: Tunc sobolem gignam, se meque per omnia dignam, Cujus opus morum genus omne pribit avorum. Cui nisi tot vit fuerint insignia rite, Fustis hic absque mora feriet caput ejus et [h]ora. Quod dum narraret, dextramque minando levaret, Ut percussisset puerum quasi prsto fuisset Vas in prdictum manus ejus dirigit ictum Servatumque sibi vas il[l]ico fregit olivi."

I owe the following extract to the kindness of M. Paul Meyer:—

Apologi Phdrii ex ludicris I. Regnerii Belnensis doct. Medici, Divione, apud Petrum Palliot, 1643 in 12, 126 pages et de plus un index.

Le recueil se divise en deux partis, pars I., pars II. La fable en question est la page 32, parsI. fab. xxv.

XXV.

Pagana et eius mercis emptor.

Pagana mulier, lac in olla fictili, Ova in canistro, rustici mercem penus, Ad civitatem proximam ibat venditum. In eius aditu factus huic quidam obvius Quanti rogavit ista qu fers vis emi? Et illa tanti. Tantin'? hoc fuerit nimis. Numerare num me vis quod est quum? vide Hac merce quod sit nunc opus mihi plus dabo Quam prstet illam cede, et hos nummos cape, Ea quam superbe foede rusticitas agit, Hominem reliquit additis conviciis, Quasi stimasset vilius mercem optimam. Aversa primos inde vix tulerat gradus, Cum lubricato corruit strato vi: Lac olla fundit quassa, gallinace Test vitellos congerunt coeno suos Caput cruorem mittit impingens petr Luxata nec fert coxa surgentem solo: Ridetur ejus non malum, sed mens procax, Qua merx et ipsa mercis et pretium perit; Seque illa deflens tot pati infortunia Nulli imputare quam sibi hanc sortem potest Dolor sed omnis sviter recruduit Curationis danda cum merces fuit.

In re minori cum quis et fragili tumet Hunc sortis ingens sternit indignatio.

NOTE H.

Hulsbach, "Sylva Sermonum," Basile, 1568, p. 28: "In sylva quadam morabatur heremicola jam satis provect tatis, qui quaque die accedebat civitatem, afferens inde mensuram mellis, qua donabatur. Hoc recondebat in vase terreo, quod pependerat supra lectum suum. Uno dierum jacens in lecto, et habens bacalum in manu sua, hc apud se dicebat: Quotidie mihi datur vasculum mellis, quod dum indies recondo, fiet tandem summa aliqua. Jam valet mensura staterem unum. Corraso autem ita floreno uno aut altero, emam mihi oves, qu foenerabunt mihi plures: quibus divenditis comam mihi elegantem uxorculam, cum qua transigam vitam meam ltanter: ex ea suscitabo mihi puellam, quam instituam honeste. Si vero mihi noluerit obedire, hoc baculo eam ita comminuam: atque levato baculo confregit suum vasculum, et effusum est mel, quare cassatum est suum propositum, et manendum adhuc in suo statu."

NOTE I.

"El Conde Lucanor, compuesto por el excelentissimo Principe don Iuan Manuel, hijo del Infante don Manuel, ynieto del Santo Rey don Fernando," Madrid, 1642; cap. 29, p.96. He tells the story as follows: "There was a woman called Dona Truhana (Gertrude), rather poor than rich. One day she went to the market carrying a pot of honey on her head. On her way she began to think that she would sell the pot of honey, and buy a quantity of eggs, that from those eggs she would have chickens, that she would sell them and buy sheep; that the sheep would give her lambs, and thus calculating all her gains, she began to think herself much richer than her neighbors. With the riches which she imagined she possessed, she thought how she would marry her sons and daughters, and how she would walk in the street surrounded by her sons and daughters-in-law; and how people would consider her happy for having amassed so large a fortune, though she had been so poor. While she was thinking over all this, she began to laugh for joy, and struck her head and forehead with her hand. The pot of honey fell down, was broken, and she shed hot tears because she had lost all that she would have possessed if the pot of honey had not been broken."

NOTE K.

Bonaventure des Periers, "Les Contes ou les Nouvelles." Amsterdam, 1735. Nouvelle XIV. (vol.i. p.141). (First edition, Lyon, 1558): "Et ne les (les Alquemistes) sauroiton mieux comparer qu' une bonne femme qui portoit une pote de laict au march, faisant son compte ainsi: qu'elle la vendroit deux liards: de ces deux liards elle en achepteroit une douzaine d'oeufs, lesquelz elle mettroit couver, et en auroit une douzaine de poussins: ces poussins deviendroient grands, et les feroit chaponner: ces chapons vaudroient cinq solz la piece, ce seroit un escu et plus, dont elle achepteroit deux cochons, masle et femelle: qui deviendroient grands et en feroient une douzaine d'autres, qu'elle vendroit vingt solz la piece; apres les avoir nourris quelque temps, ce seroient douze francs, dont elle achepteroit une iument, qui porteroit un beau poulain, lequel croistroit et deviendroit tant gentil: il sauteroit et feroit Hin. Et en disant Hin, la bonne femme, de l'aise qu'elle avoit en son compte, se print faire la ruade que feroit son poulain: et en ce faisant sa pote de laict va tomber, et se respandit toute. Et voila ses oeufs, ses poussins, ses chappons, ses cochons, sa jument, et son poulain, tous par terre."

[Footnote 1: La Fontaine, Fables, livre vii., fable 10.]

[Footnote 2: Phdon, 61, 5: Meta de ton theon, ennosas, hoti ton poitn deoi, eiper melloi poits einai, poiein muthous, all' ou logous, kai autos ouk muthologikos, dia tauta d hous procheirous eichon kai pistamn muthous tous Aispou, toutn epoisa hois prtois enetuchon.]

[Footnote 3: Robert, Fables Indites, des XIIe, XIIIe, et XIVe Sicles; Paris, 1825; vol.i. p.ccxxvii.]

[Footnote 4: Pantschatantrum sive Quinquepartitum, edidit I.G.L. Kosegarten. Bonn, 1848.

Pantschatantra, Fnf Bcher indischer Fablen, aus dem Sanskrit bersetzt. Von Th. Benfey. Leipzig, 1859.

Hitopadesa, with interlinear translation, grammatical analysis, and English translation, in Max Mller's Handbooks for the study of Sanskrit. London, 1864.

Hitopadesa, eine alte indische Fabelsammlung aus dem Sanskrit zum ersten Mal in das Deutsche bersetzt. Von Max Mller. Leipzig, 1844.]

[Footnote 5: Pacatantra, v. 10.]

[Footnote 6: Hitopade{s}a, ed. Max Mller, p. 120; German translation, p.159.]

[Footnote 7: Note A, page 188.]

[Footnote 8: Hottentot Fables and Tales, by Dr. W. H. I.Bleek, London, 1894, p.19.]

[Footnote 9: Academy, vol. v. p. 548.]

[Footnote 10: Die Mrchen des Siddhi-kr, or Tales of an Enchanted Corpse, translated from Kalmuk into German by B.Jlg, 1866. (This is based on the Vetlapacavi{m}{s}ati.) Die Geschichte des Ardschi-Bordschi Chan, translated from Mongolian by Dr. B. Jlg, 1868. (This is based on the Si{m}hsanadvtri{m}{s}ati.) AMongolian translation of the Kalila and Dimnah, is ascribed to Mlik Said Iftikhar eddin Mohammed ben Abou Nasr, who died A.D. 1280. See Barbier de Meynard, "Description de la Ville de Kazvin," Journal Asiatique, 1857, p.284; Lancereau, Pantchatantra, p.xxv.]

[Footnote 11: Plato's expression, "As I have put on the lion's skin" (Kratylos, 411), seems to show that he knew the fable of an animal or a man having assumed the lion's skin without the lion's courage. The proverb onos para Kumaious seems to be applied to men boasting before people who have no means of judging. It presupposes the story of a donkey appearing in a lion's skin.

A similar idea is expressed in a fable of the Pacatantra (IV.8) where a dyer, not being rich enough to feed his donkey, puts a tiger's skin on him. In this disguise the donkey is allowed to roam through all the corn-fields without being molested, till one day he sees afemale donkey, and begins to bray. Thereupon the owners of the field kill him.

In the Hitopade{s}a (III. 3) the same fable occurs, only that there it is the keeper of the field who on purpose disguises himself as a she-donkey, and when he hears the tiger bray, kills him.

In the Chinese Avadnas, translated by Stanislas Julien (vol. ii. p.59), the donkey takes a lion's skin and frightens everybody, till he begins to bray, and is recognized as a donkey.

In this case it is again quite clear that the Greeks did not borrow their fable and proverb from the Pacatantra; but it is not so easy to determine positively whether the fable was carried from the Greeks to the East, or whether it arose independently in two places.]

[Footnote 12: Calilah et Dimna, ou, Fables de Bidpai, en Arabe, prcdes d'un Mmoire sur l'origine de ce livre. Par Sylvestre de Sacy. Paris, 1816.]

[Footnote 13: Loiseleur Deslongchamps, Essai sur les Fables Indiennes, et sur leur Introduction en Europe. Paris, 1838.]

[Footnote 14: Pantschatantra, Fnf Bucher indischer Fabeln, Mrchen und Erzhlungen, mit Einleitung. Von. Th. Benfey. Leipzig, 1859.]

[Footnote 15: See Weil, Geschichte der Chalifen, vol. ii. p.84.]

[Footnote 16: Benfey, p. 60.]

[Footnote 17: Cf. Barlaam et Joasaph, ed. Boissonade, p.37.]

[Footnote 18: Kalila and Dimna; or, the Fables of Bidpai, translated from the Arabic. By the Rev. Wyndham Knatchbull, A.M. Oxford, 1819.]

[Footnote 19: Specimen Sapienti Indorum Veterum, id est Liber Ethico-Politicus pervetustus, dictus Arabice Kalilah ve Dimnah, Grce Stephanites et Ichnelates, nunc primum Grce ex MS. Cod. Holsteiniano prodit cum versione Latina, opera S.G. Starkii. Berolini, 1697.]

[Footnote 20: This expression, a four-winged house, occurs also in the Pacatantra. As it does not occur in the Arabic text, published by De Sacy, it is clear that Symeon must have followed another Arabic text in which this adjective, belonging to the Sanskrit, and no doubt to the Pehlevi text, also, had been preserved.]

[Footnote 21: Note B, p. 190.]

[Footnote 22: Note C, p. 191.]

[Footnote 23: Note D, p. 192.]

[Footnote 24: Note E, p. 193.]

[Footnote 25: Benfey, Orient und Occident, vol. i. p. 138.]

[Footnote 26: Ibid. vol. i. p. 501. Its title is: "Exemplario contra los engaos y peligros del mundo," ibid. pp. 167, 168.]

[Footnote 27: Discorsi degli animali, di Messer Agnolo Firenzuola, in prose di M. A.F. (Fiorenza, 1548.)]

[Footnote 28: La Moral Filosophia del Doni, tratta da gli antichi scrittori. Vinegia, 1552.

Trattati Diversi di Sendebar Indiano, filosopho morale. Vinegia, 1552.

P. 65. Trattato Quarto.

A woman tells her husband to wait till her son is born, and says:—

"Stava uno Romito domestico ne i monti di Brianza a far penitenza e teneva alcune cassette d' api per suo spasso, edi quelle a suoi tempi ne cavava il Mele, e di quello ne vendeva alcuna parte tal volta per i suoi besogni. Avenne che un' anno ne fu una gran carestia, eegli attendeva a conservarlo, eogni giorno lo guardava mille volte, egli pareva cent' anni ogni hora, che e gli indugiava a empierlo di Mele," etc.]

[Footnote 29: Le Plaisant et Factieux Discours des Animaux, novellement traduict de Tuscan en Franois. Lyon, 1556, par Gabriel Cottier.

Deux Livres de Filosofie Fabuleuse, le Premier Pris des Discours de M.Ange Firenzuola le Second Extraict des Traictez de Sandebar Indien, par Pierre de La Rivey. Lyon, 1579.

The second book is a translation of the second part of Doni's Filosofia Morale.]

[Footnote 30: The Anvar-i Suhaili, or the Lights of Canopus, being the Persian version of the Fables of Pilpay, or the Book, Kalilah and Damnah, rendered into Persian by Husain V'iz U'l-Kshifi, literally translated by E.B. Eastwick. Hertford, 1854.]

[Footnote 31: Note F, p. 194.]

[Footnote 32: Note G, p. 194.]

[Footnote 33: Note H, p. 196.]

[Footnote 34: Dialogues of Creatures moralysed, sm. 4to, circ. 1517. It is generally attributed to the press of John Rastell, but the opinion of Mr. Haslewood, in his preface to the reprint of 1816, that the book was printed on the continent, is perhaps the correct one. (Quaritch's Catalogue, July, 1870.)]

[Footnote 35: The Latin text is more simple: "Unde cum quedam domina dedisset ancille sue lac ut venderet et lac portaret ad urbem juxta fossatum cogitare cepit quod de pcio lactis emerit gallinam qu faceret pullos quos auctos in gallinas venderet et porcellos emeret eosque mutaret in oves et ipsas in boves. Sic que ditata contraheret cum aliquo nobili et sic gloriabatur. Et cum sic gloriaretur et cogitaret cum quanta gloria duceretur ad illum virum super equum dicendo gio gio cepit pede percutere terram quasi pungeret equum calcaribus. Sed tunc lubricatus est pes ejus et cecidit in fossatum effundendo lac. Sic enim non habuit quod se adepturam sperabat." Dialogus Creaturarum optime moralizatus (ascribed to Nicolaus Pergaminus, supposed to have lived in the thirteenth century). He quotes Elynandus, in Gestis Romanorum. First edition, "per Gerardum leeu in oppido Goudensi inceptum; munere Dei finitus est, Anno Domini, 1480."]

[Footnote 36: Note I, p. 197.]

[Footnote 37: My learned German translator, Dr. Felix Liebrecht, says in a note: "Other books in which our story appears before La Fontaine are Esopus, by Burkhard Waldis, ed. H.Kurz, Leipzig, 1862, ii. 177; note to Des Bettlers Kaufmannschaft; and Oesterley, in Kirchoff's Wendunmuth, v. 44, note to i. 171, Vergebene Anschleg reich zuwerden (Bibl. des liter. Vereins zu Stuttg. No.99)."]

[Footnote 38: Ricerche intorno al Libro di Sindibad. Milano, 1869.]

[Footnote 39: The Greek text was first published in 1832 by Boissonade, in his Anecdota Grca, vol. iv. The title, as given in some MSS. is: Historia psuchphels ek ts endoteras tn Aithiopn chras, ts Indn legomens, pros tn hagian polin metenechtheisa dia Iannou tou monachou [other MSS. read, sungrapheisa para tou hagiou patros mn Iannou tou Damasknou], andros timiou kai enaretou mons tou hagiou Saba; en hi ho bios Barlaam kai Iasaph tn aoidimn kai makarin. Joannes Monachus occurs as the name of the author in other works of Joannes Damascenus. See Leo Allatius, Prolegomena, p.L., in Damasceni Opera Omnia. Ed. Lequien, 1748. Venice.

At the end the author says: Es hde to peras tou parontos logou, hon kata dunamin emn gegraphka, kaths akkoa para tn apseuds paradedkotn moi timin andrn. Genoito de mas, tous anaginkontas te kai akouontas tn psuchphel digsin tautn, ts meridos axithnai tn euarestsantn ti kurii euchais kai presbeiais Barlaam kai Iasaph tn makarin, peri hn digsis. See also Wiener, Jahrbcher, vol. lxiii. pp. 44-83; vol. lxxii. pp. 274-288; vol. lxxiii. pp. 176-202.]

[Footnote 40: Littr, Journal des Savants, 1865, p. 337.]

[Footnote 41: The Martyrologium Romanum, whatever its authority may be, states distinctly that the acts of Barlaam and Josaphat were written by Sanctus Joannes Damascenus. "Apud Indos Persis finitimos sanctorum Barlaam et Josaphat, quorum actus mirandos sanctus Joannes Damascenus conscripsit." See Leonis Allatii Prolegomena, in Joannis Damasceni Opera, ed. Lequien, vol.i. p.xxvi. He adds: "Et Gennadius Patriarcha per Concil. Florent. cap.5: ouch htton de kai ho Ianns ho megas tou Damaskou ophthalmos en ti bii Barlaam kai Isaphat tn Indn marturei legn."]

[Footnote 42: The story of the caskets, well known from the Merchant of Venice, occurs in Barlaam and Josaphat, though it is used there for a different purpose.]

[Footnote 43: Cf. Benfey, Pantschatantra, vol. i. p. 80; vol. ii. p.528; Les Avadanas, Contes et Apologues indiens, par Stanislas Julien, i. pp. 132, 191; Gesta Romanorum, cap. 168; Homyun Nameh, cap. iv.; Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, pp. 758, 759; Liebrecht, Jahrbcher fr Rom. und Engl. Literatur, 1860.]

[Footnote 44: Lalita Vistara, ed. Calcutt., p. 126.]

[Footnote 45: Ibid., p. 225.]

[Footnote 46: See M. M.'s Chips from a German Workshop, Amer. ed., vol.i. p.207.]

[Footnote 47: Minayeff, Mlanges Asiatiques, vi. 5, p. 584, remarks: "According to a legend in the Mahvastu of Ya{s}as or Ya{s}oda (ina less complete form to be found in Schiefner, Eine tibetische Lebensbeschreibung Skyamunis, p.247; Hardy, Manual of Buddhism, p.187; Bigandet, The Life or Legend of Gaudama, p.113), amerchant appears in Yosoda's house, the night before he has the dream which induces him to leave his paternal house, and proclaims to him the true doctrine."]

[Footnote 48: Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. iii. p.21.]

[Footnote 49: In some places one might almost believe that Joannes Damascenus did not only hear the story of Buddha, as he says, from the mouth of people who had brought it to him from India, but that he had before him the very text of the Lalita Vistara. Thus in the account of the three or four drives we find indeed that the Buddhist canon represents Buddha as seeing on three successive drives, first an old, then a sick, and at last a dying man, while Joannes makes Joasaph meet two men on his first drive, one maimed, the other blind, and an old man, who is nearly dying, on his second drive. So far there is a difference which might best be explained by admitting the account given by Joannes Damascenus himself, viz: that the story was brought from India, and that it was simply told him by worthy and truthful men. But, if it was so, we have here another instance of the tenacity with which oral tradition is able to preserve the most minute points of the story. The old man is described by a long string of adjectives both in Greek and in Sanskrit, and many of them are strangely alike. The Greek gern, old, corresponds to the Sanskrit jr{n}a; pepalaimenos, aged, is Sanskrit v{ri}ddha; erriknmenos to prospon, shriveled in his face, is balnicitakya, the body covered with wrinkles; pareimenos tas knmas, weak in his knees, is pravedhayamna{h} sarvngapratyangai{h}, trembling in all his limbs; sunkekuphs, bent, is kubja; pepolimenos, gray, is palitake{s}a; estermenos tous odontas, toothless, is kha{n}{d}adanta; enkekomena laln, stammering, is khurakhurva{s}aktaka{n}{t}ha.]

[Footnote 50: Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlndischen Gesellschaft, vol. xxiv p.480.]

[Footnote 51: Dbats, 1859, 21 and 26 Juillet.]

[Footnote 52: Die Quellen des Barlaam und Josaphat, in Jahrbuch fr roman. und engl. Litteratur, vol. ii. p.314, 1860.]

[Footnote 53: Travels of Fah-hian and Sung-yun, Buddhist Pilgrims from China to India. (400 A.D. and 518 A.D.) Translated from the Chinese by Samuel Beal. London, Trbner & Co. 1869.]

[Footnote 54: Littr, Journal des Savants, 1865, p. 337.]

[Footnote 55: Pantschatantra; Fnf. Bcher indischer Fabeln, Mrchen und Erzhlungen. Aus dem Sanskrit bersetzt mit Einleitung und Ammerkungen, 2 Theile, Leipzig, 1859; and particularly in the first part, the introduction, called "Ueber das Indische Grundwerk, und dessen Ausflsse, so wie ber die Quellen und die Verbreitung des Inhalts derselben."]

[Footnote 56: Cf. Assemani, Biblioth. Orient. iii. 1, 220, and Renan, in the Journal Asiatique, Cinq. Srie, t.vii. 1856, p.251.]



IV.

ON THE RESULTS OF THE

SCIENCE OF LANGUAGE.

INAUGURAL LECTURE, DELIVERED IN THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY OF STRASSBURG, MAY 23, 1872.

You will easily understand that, in giving my first lecture in a German University, Ifeel some difficulty in mastering and repressing the feelings which stir within my heart. Iwish to speak to you, as it becomes a teacher, with perfect calmness, thinking of nothing but of the subject which 1 have to treat. But here where we are gathered together to-day, in this old free imperial town, in this University, full of the brightest recollections of Alsatian history and German literature, even a somewhat gray-headed German professor may be pardoned if, for some moments at least, he gives free vent to the thoughts that are foremost in his mind. You will see, at least, that he feels and thinks as you all feel and think, and that in living away from Germany he has not forgotten his German language, or lost his German heart.

The times in which we live are great, so great, that we can hardly conceive them great enough; so great that we, old and young, cannot be great and good and brave and hardworking enough, if we do not wish to appear quite unworthy of the times in which our lot has been cast.

We older people have lived through darker times, when to a German, learning was the only refuge, the only comfort, the only pride; times when there was no Germany except in our recollection, and perhaps in our secret hopes. And those who have lived through those sadder days feel all the more deeply the blessings of the present. We have a Germany again, aunited, great, and strong country; and I call this a blessing, not only in a material sense, as giving, at last, to our homes a real and lasting security against the inroads of our powerful neighbors, but also in a moral sense, as placing every German under a greater responsibility, as reminding us of our higher duties, as inspiring us with courage and energy for the battle of the mind even more than for the battle of the arm.

That blessing has cost us dear, fearfully dear, dearer than the friends of humanity had hoped; for, proud as we may be of our victories and our victors, let us not deceive ourselves in this, that there is in the history of humanity nothing so inhuman, nothing that makes us so entirely despair of the genius of mankind, nothing that bows us so low to the very dust, as war—unless even war becomes ennobled and sanctified, as it was with us, by the sense of duty, duty towards our country, duty towards our town, duty towards our home, towards our fathers and mothers, our wives and children. Thus, and thus only, can even war become the highest and brightest of sacrifices; thus, and thus only, may we look history straight in the face, and ask, "Who would have acted differently?"

I do not speak here of politics in the ordinary sense of the word,—nay, Igladly leave the groping for the petty causes of the late war to the scrutiny of those foreign statesmen who have eyes only for the infinitesimally small, but cannot, or will not, see the powerful handiwork of Divine justice that reveals itself in the history of nations as in the lives of individuals. Ispeak of politics in their true and original meaning, as a branch of ethics, as Kant has proved them to be, and from this point of view, politics become a duty from which no one may shrink, be he young or old. Every nation must have a conscience, like every individual; anation must be able to give to itself an account of the moral justification of a war in which it is to sacrifice everything that is most dear to man. And that is the greatest blessing of the late war, that every German, however deep he may delve in his heart, can say without a qualm or a quiver, "The German people did not wish for war, nor for conquest. We wanted peace and freedom in our internal development. Another nation or rather its rulers, claimed the right to draw for us lines of the Main, if not new frontiers of the Rhine; they wished to prevent the accomplishment of that German union for which our fathers had worked and suffered. The German nation would gladly have waited longer still, if thereby war could have been averted. We knew that the union of Germany was inevitable, and the inevitable is in no hurry. But when the gauntlet was thrown in our face, and, be it remembered, with the acclamation of the whole French nation, then we knew what, under Napoleonic sway, we might expect from our powerful neighbor, and the whole German people rose as one man for defense, not for defiance. The object of our war was peace, and a lasting peace, and therefore now, after peace has been won, after our often menaced, often violated, western frontier has been made secure forever by bastions, such as nature only can build, it becomes our duty to prove to the world that we Germans are the same after as before the war, that military glory has nothing intoxicating to us, that we want peace with all the world."

You know that the world at large does not prophesy well for us. We are told that the old and simple German manners will go, that the ideal interests of our life will be forgotten, that, as in other countries, so with us, our love for the True and the Beautiful will be replaced by love of pleasure, enjoyment, and vanities. It rests with us with all our might to confound such evil prophesies, and to carry the banner of the German mind higher than ever. Germany can remain great only by what has made her great—by simplicity of manners, contentment, industry, honesty, high ideals, contempt of luxury, of display, and of vain-glory. "Non propter vitam vivendi perdere causas,"— "Not for the sake of life to lose the real objects of life," this must be our watchword forever, and the caus vit, the highest objects of life, are for us to-day, and will, Itrust, remain for coming generations the same as they were in the days of Lessing, of Kant, of Schiller, and of Humboldt.

And nowhere, methinks, can this return to the work of peace be better inaugurated than here in this very place, in Strassburg. It was a bold conception to begin the building of the new temple of learning in the very midst of the old German frontier fortress. We are summoned here, as in the days of Nehemiah, when "the builders every one had his sword girded by his side and so builded." It rests with us, the young as well as the old, that this bold conception shall not fail. And therefore I could not resist the voice of my heart, or gainsay the wish of my friends who believed that I, too, might bring a stone, however small, to the building of this new temple of German science. And here I am among you to try and do my best. Though I have lived long abroad, and pitched my workshop for nearly twenty-five years on English soil, you know that I have always remained German in heart and mind. And this I must say for my English friends, that they esteem a German who remains German far more than one who wishes to pass himself off as English. An Englishman wishes every man to be what he is. Iam, and I always have been, aGerman living and working in England. The work of my life, the edition of the Rig-Veda, the oldest book of the Indian, aye, of the whole Aryan world, could be carried out satisfactorily nowhere but in England, where the rich collections of Oriental MSS., and the easy communications with India, offer to an Oriental scholar advantages such as no other country can offer. That by living and working in England I have made some sacrifices, that I have lost many advantages which the free intercourse with German scholars in a German university so richly offers, no one knows better than myself. Whatever I have seen of life, Iknow of no life more perfect than that of a German professor in a German school or university. You know what Niebuhr thought of such a life, even though he was a Prussian minister and ambassador at Rome. Imust read you some of his words, they sound so honest and sincere: "There is no more grateful, more serene life than that of a German teacher or professor, none that, through the nature of its duties and its work, secures so well the peace of our heart and our conscience. How many times have I deplored it with a sad heart, that I should ever have left that path of life to enter upon a life of trouble which, even at the approach of old age, will probably never give me lasting peace. The office of a schoolmaster, in particular, is one of the most honorable, and despite of all the evils which now and then disturb its ideal beauty, it is for a truly noble heart the happiest path of life. It was the path which I had once chosen for myself, and how I wish I had been allowed to follow it!"

I could quote to you the words of another Prussian ambassador, Bunsen. He, too, often complained with sadness that he had missed his true path in life. He too, would gladly have exchanged the noisy hotel of the ambassador for the quiet home of a German professor.

From my earliest youth it has been the goal of my life to act as a professor in a German university, and if this dream of my youth was not to be fulfilled in its entirety, Ifeel all the more grateful that, through the kindness of my friends and German colleagues, Ihave been allowed, at least once in my life, to act during the present spring and summer as a real German professor in a German university.

This was in my heart, and I wanted to say it, in order that you might know with what purpose I have come, and with what real joy I begin the work which has brought us together to-day.

I shall lecture during the present term on "The Results of the Science of Language;" but you will easily understand that to sum up in one course of lectures the results of researches which have been carried on with unflagging industry by three generations of scholars, would be a sheer impossibility. Besides, amere detailing of results, though it is possible, is hardly calculated to subserve the real objects of academic teaching. You would not be satisfied with mere results: you want to know and to understand the method by which they have been obtained. You want to follow step by step that glorious progress of discovery which has led us to where we stand now. What is the use of knowing the Pythagorean problem, if we cannot prove it? What would be the use of knowing that the French larme is the same as the German Zhre (tear), if we could not with mathematical exactness trace every step by which these two words have diverged till they became what they are?

The results of the Science of Language are enormous. There is no sphere of intellectual activity which has not felt more or less the influence of this new science. Nor is this to be wondered at. Language is the organ of all knowledge, and though we flatter ourselves that we are the lords of language, that we use it as a useful tool, and no more, believe me there are but few who can maintain their complete independence with respect to language, few who can say of her, Ech Laida, ouk echomai. To know language historically and genetically, to be able more particularly to follow up the growth of our technical terms to their very roots, this is in every science the best means to keep up a living connection between the past and the present, the only way to make us feel the ground on which we stand.

Let us begin with what is nearest to us, Philology. Its whole character has been changed as if by magic. The two classical languages, Greek and Latin, which looked as if they had fallen from the sky or been found behind the hedge, have now recovered their title-deeds, and have taken their legitimate place in that old and noble family which we call the Indo-European, the Indo-Germanic, or by a shorter, if not a better name, the Aryan. In this way not only have their antecedents been cleared up, but their mutual relationship, too, has for the first time been placed in its proper light. The idea that Latin was derived from Greek, an idea excusable in scholars of the Scipionic period, or that Latin was a language made up of Italic, Greek, and Pelasgic elements, aview that had maintained itself to the time of Niebuhr, all this has now been shown to be a physical impossibility. Greek and Latin stand together on terms of perfect equality; they are sisters, like French and Italian:—

"Facies non omnibus una, Nec diversa tamen qualem decet esse sororum."

If it could be a scientific question which of the two is the elder sister, Greek or Latin, Latin, Ibelieve, could produce better claims of seniority than Greek. Now, as in the modern history of language we are able to explain many things that are obscure in French and Italian by calling in the Provenal, the Spanish, the Portuguese, nay, even the Wallachian and the Churwlsch, we can do the same in the ancient history of language, and get light for many things which are difficult and unintelligible in Greek and Latin, by consulting Sanskrit, Zend, Gothic, Irish, and even Old Bulgarian. We can hardly form an idea of the surprise which was occasioned among the scholars of Europe by the discovery of the Aryan family of languages, reaching with its branches from the Himalayan mountains to the Pyrenees. Not that scholars of any eminence believed at the end of the last century that Greek and Latin were derived from Hebrew: that prejudice had been disposed of once for all, in Germany at least, by Leibniz. But after that theory had been given up, no new truly scientific theory had taken its place. The languages of the world, with the exception of the Semitic, the family type of which was not to be mistaken, lay scattered about as disjecta membra pot, and no one thought of uniting them again into one organic whole. It was the discovery of Sanskrit which led to the reunion of the Aryan languages, and if Sanskrit had taught us nothing else, this alone would establish its claim to a place among the academic sciences of our century.

When Greek and Latin had once been restored to their true place in the natural system of the Aryan languages, their special treatment, too, became necessarily a different one. In grammar, for instance, scholars were no longer satisfied to give forms and rules, and to place what was irregular by the side of what was regular. They wished to know the reasons of the rules as well as of the exceptions; they asked why the forms were such as they were, and not otherwise; they required not only a logical, but also an historical foundation of grammar. People asked themselves for the first time, why so small a change as mensa and mens could express the difference between one and many tables; why a single letter, like r, could possess the charm of changing I love, amo, into I am loved, amor. Instead of indulging in general speculations on the logic of grammar, the riddles of grammar received their solution from a study of the historical development of language. For every language there was to be a historical grammar, and in this way a revolution was produced in philological studies to be compared only to the revolution produced in chemistry by the discoveries of Lavoisier, or in geology by the theories of Lyell. For instance, instead of attempting an explanation why the genitive singular and the ablative plural of the first and second declensions could express rest in a place—Rom, at Rome; Tarenti, at Tarentum; Athenis, at Athens; Gabiis, at Gabii—one glance at the past history of these languages showed that these so-called genitives were not and never had been genitives, but corresponded to the old locatives in i and su in Sanskrit. No doubt, apupil can be made to learn anything that stands in a grammar; but I do not believe that it can conduce to a sound development of his intellectual powers if he first learns at school the real meaning of the genitive and ablative, and then has to accept on trust that, somehow or other, the same cases may express rest in a place. Awell-known English divine, opposed to reform in spelling, as in everything else, once declared that the fearful orthography of English formed the best psychological foundation of English orthodoxy, because a child that had once been brought to believe that t-h-r-o-u-g-h sounded like "through," t-h-o-u-g-h like "though," r-o-u-g-h like "rough," would afterwards believe anything. Be that as it may, Ido not consider that grammatical rules like those just quoted on the genitive and ablative, assuming the power of the locative, are likely to strengthen the reasoning powers of any schoolboy.

Even more pernicious to the growth of sound ideas was the study of etymology, as formerly carried on in schools and universities. Everything here was left to chance or to authority, and it was not unusual that two or three etymologies of the same word had to be learnt, as if the same word might have had more than one parent. Yet it is many years since Otfried Mller told classical scholars that they must either surrender the whole subject of the historical growth of language, etymology, and grammatical morphology, or trust in these matters entirely to the guidance of Comparative Philology. As a student at Leipzig, Ilived to see old Gottfried Hermann quoting the paradigms of Sanskrit grammar in one of his last Programs; and Boeckh declared in 1850, at the eleventh meeting of German philologists, that, in the present state of the science of language, the grammar of the classical languages cannot dispense with the coperation of comparative grammar. And yet there are scholars even now who would exclude the Science of Language from schools and universities. What gigantic steps truly scientific etymology has made in Greek and Latin, every scholar may see in the excellent works of Curtius and Corssen. The essential difference between the old and the new systems consists here, too, in this, that while formerly people were satisfied if they knew, or imagined they knew, from what source a certain word was derived, little value is now attached to the mere etymology of a word, unless at the same time it is possible to account, according to fixed phonetic laws, for all the changes which a word has undergone in its passage through Latin, Greek, and Sanskrit. How far this conscientiousness may be carried is shown by the fact that the best comparative philologists decline to admit, on phonetic grounds, the identity of such words as the Latin Deus, and the Greek Theos, although the strongest internal arguments may be urged in favor of the identity of these words.[1]

Let us go on to Mythology. If mythology is an old dialect, outliving itself, and, on the strength of its sacred character, carried on to a new period of language, it is easy to perceive that the historical method of the Science of Language would naturally lead here to most important results. Take only the one fact, which no one at present would dare to question, that the name of the highest deity among the Greeks and Romans, Zeus, and Jupiter, is the same as the Vedic Dyaus, the sky, and the old German Zio, Old Norse Tyr, whose name survives in the modern names of Dienstag or Tuesday. Does not this one word prove the union of those ancient races? Does it not show us, at the earliest dawn of history, the fathers of the Aryan race, the fathers of our own race, gathered together in the great temple of nature, like brothers of the same house, and looking up in adoration to the sky as the emblem of what they yearned for, afather and a God. Nay, can we not hear in that old name of Jupiter, i.e., Heaven-Father, the true key-note which still sounds on in our own prayer, "Our Father which art in heaven," and which imparts to these words their deepest tone, and their fullest import? By an accurate study of these words we are able to draw the bonds of language and belief even more closely together. You know that the nom. sing. of Zeus has the acute, and so has the nom. sing. of Dyaus; but the vocative of Zeus has the circumflex, and so has likewise the vocative of Dyaus in the Veda.[2] Formerly the accent might have been considered as something late, artificial, and purely grammatical: the Science of Language has shown that it is as old as language itself, and it has rightly called it the very soul of words. Thus even in these faint pulsations of language, in the changes of accent in Greek and Sanskrit, may we feel the common blood that runs in the veins of the old Aryan dialects.

History, too, particularly the most ancient history, has received new light and life from a comparative study of languages. Nations and languages were in ancient times almost synonymous, and what constitutes the ideal unity of a nation lies far more in the intellectual factors, in religion and language, than in common descent and common blood. But for that very reason we must here be most cautious. It is but too easily forgotten that if we speak of Aryan and Semitic families, the ground of classification is language, and language only. There are Aryan and Semitic languages, but it is against all rules of logic to speak, without an expressed or implied qualification, of an Aryan race, of Aryan blood, of Aryan skulls, and to attempt ethnological classification on purely linguistic grounds. These two sciences, the Science of Language and the Science of Man, cannot, at least for the present, be kept too much asunder; and many misunderstandings, many controversies, would have been avoided, if scholars had not attempted to draw conclusions from language to blood, or from blood to language. When each of these sciences shall have carried out independently its own classification of men and of languages, then, and then only, will it be time to compare their results; but even then, Imust repeat, what I have said many times before, it would be as wrong to speak of Aryan blood as of dolichocephalic grammar.[3]

We have all accustomed ourselves to look for the cradle of the Aryan languages in Asia, and to imagine these dialects flowing like streams from the centre of Asia to the South, the West, and the North. Imust confess that Professor Benfey's protest against this theory seems to me very opportune, and his arguments in favor of a more northern, if not European, origin of the whole Aryan family of speech, deserve, at all events, far more attention than they have hitherto received.

For the same reasons it seems to me at least a premature undertaking to use the greater or smaller number of coincidences between two or more of the Aryan languages as arguments in support of an earlier or later separation of the people who spoke them. First of all, there are few points on which the opinions of competent judges differ more decidedly than when the exact degrees of relationship between the single Aryan languages have to be settled. There is agreement on one point only, viz., that Sanskrit and Zend are more closely united than any other languages. But though on this point there can hardly be any doubt, no satisfactory explanation of this extraordinary agreement has as yet been given. In fact, it has been doubted whether what I called the "Southern Division" of the Aryan family could properly be called a division at all, as it consisted only of varieties of one and the same type of Aryan speech. As soon as we go beyond Sanskrit and Zend, the best authorities are found to be in open conflict. Bopp maintained that the Slavonic languages were most closely allied to Sanskrit, an opinion shared by Pott. Grimm, on the contrary, maintained a closer relationship between Slavonic and German. In this view he was supported by Lottner, Schleicher, and others, while Bopp to the last opposed it. After this, Schleicher (as,before him, Newman in England) endeavored to prove a closer contact between Celtic and Latin, and, accepting Greek as most closely united with Latin, he proceeded to establish a Southwestern European division, consisting of Celtic, Latin, and Greek, and running parallel with the Northwestern division, consisting of Teutonic and Slavonic; or, according to Ebel, of Celtic, Teutonic, and Slavonic.

But while these scholars classed Greek with Latin, others, such as Grassmann and Sonne, pointed out striking peculiarities which Greek shares with Sanskrit, and with Sanskrit only, as, for instance, the augment, the voiceless aspirates, the alpha privativum (a,notan), the m and m prohibitivum, the tara and tero as the suffix of the comparative, and some others. Amost decided divergence of opinion manifested itself as touching the real relation of Greek and Latin. While some regarded these languages not only as sisters, but as twins, others were not inclined to concede to them any closer relationship than that which unites all the members of the Aryan family. While this conflict of opinions lasts (and they are not mere assertions, but opinions supported by arguments), it is clear that it would be premature to establish any historical conclusions, such, for instance, as that the Slaves remained longer united with the Indians and Persians than the Greeks, Romans, Germans, and Celts; or, if we follow Professor Sonne, that the Greeks remained longer united with the Indians than the other Aryan nations. Imust confess that I doubt whether the whole problem admits of a scientific solution. If in a large family of languages we discover closer coincidences between some languages than between others, this is no more than we should expect, according to the working of what I call the Dialectic Process. All these languages sprang up and grew and diverged, before they were finally separated; some retained one form, others another, so that even the apparently most distant members of the same family might, on certain points, preserve relics in common which were lost in all the other dialects, and vice vers. No two languages, not even Lithuanian and Old Slavonic, are so closely united as Sanskrit and Zend, which share together even technical terms, connected with a complicated sacrificial ceremonial. Yet there are words occurring in Zend, and absent in Sanskrit, which crop up again sometimes in Greek, sometimes in Latin, sometimes in German.[4] As soon as we attempt to draw from such coincidences and divergences historical conclusions as to the earlier or later separation of the nations who developed these languages, we fall into contradictions like those which I pointed out just now between Bopp, Grimm, Schleicher, Ebel, Grassmann, Sonne, and others. Much depends, in all scientific researches, on seeing that the question is properly put. To me the question, whether the closer relations between certain independent dialects furnish evidence as to the successive times of their separation, seems, by its very nature, fruitless. Nor have the answers been at all satisfactory. After a number of coincidences between the various members of the Aryan family have been carefully collected, we know no more in the end than what we knew at first, viz., that all the Aryan dialects are closely connected with each other. We know—

1. That Slavonic is most closely united with German (Grimm, Schleicher);

2. That German is most closely united with Celtic (Ebel, Lottner);

3. That Celtic is most closely united with Latin (Newman, Schleicher);

4. That Latin is most closely united with Greek (Mommsen, Curtius);

5. That Greek is most closely united with Sanskrit (Grassmann, Sonne, Kern);

6. That Sanskrit is most closely united with Zend (Burnouf).

Let a mathematician draw out the result, and it will be seen that we know in the end no more than we knew at the beginning. Far be it for me to use a mere trick in arguing, and to say that none of these conclusions can be right, because each is contradicted by others. Quite the contrary. Iadmit that there is some truth in every one of these conclusions, and I maintain, for that very reason, that the only way to reconcile them all is to admit that the single dialects of the Aryan family did not break off in regular succession, but that, after a long-continued community, they separated slowly, and, in some cases, contemporaneously, from their family-circle, till they established at last, under varying circumstances, their complete national independence. This seems to me all that at present one may say with a good conscience, and what is in keeping with the law of development in all dialects.

If now we turn away from the purely philological results of the Science of Language, in order to glance at the advantages which other sciences have derived from it, we shall find that they consist mostly in the light that has been shed on obscure words and old customs. This advantage is greater than, at first sight, it might seem to be. Every word has its history, and the beginning of this history, which is brought to light by etymology, leads us back far beyond its first historical appearance. Every word, as we know, had originally a predicative meaning, and that predicative meaning differs often very considerably from the later traditional or technical meaning. This predicative meaning, however, being the most original meaning of the word, allows us an insight into the most primitive ideas of a nation.

Let us take an instance from jurisprudence. Poena, in classical Latin, means simply punishment, particularly what is either paid or suffered in order to atone for an injury. (Siinjuriam faxit alteri, viginti quinque ris poenoe sunto, fragm. xii. tab.) The word agrees so remarkably, both in form and meaning, with the Greek poin, that Mommsen assigned to it a place in what he calls Grco-Italic ideas.[5] We might suppose, therefore, that the ancient Italians took poena originally in the sense of ransom, simply as a civil act, by which he who had inflicted injury on another was, as far as he and the injured person were concerned, restored in integrum. The etymology of the word, however, leads us back into a far more distant past, and shows us that when the word poena was first framed, punishment was conceived from a higher moral and religious point of view, as a purification from sin; for poena, as first shown by Professor Pott (and what has he not been the first to show?) is closely connected with the root pu, to purify. Thus we read in the "Atharva-veda," xix. 33, 3:—

"Tvm bhmim tyeshi jas Tvm vdym sdasi crur adhvar Tvm pavtram {ri}shayo bhrantas Tvm punhi duritni asmt."

"Thou, OGod of Fire, goest mightily across the earth; thou sittest brilliantly on the altar at the sacrifice. The prophets carry Thee as the Purifier; purify us from all misdeeds."

From this root pu we have, in Latin, purus, and pŭtus, as in argentum purum putum, fine silver, or in purus putus est ipse, Plaut. Ps. 4, 2, 31. From it we also have the verb purgare, for purigare, to purge, used particularly with reference to purification from crime by means of religious observances. If this transition from the idea of purging to that of punishing should seem strange, we have only to think of castigare, meaning originally to purify, but afterwards in such expressions as verbis et verberibus castigare, to chide and to chasten.

I cannot convince myself that the Latin crimen has anything in common with krinein. The Greek krinein is no doubt connected with Latin cer-no, from which cribrum, sieve. It means to separate, to sift, so that krima may well signify a judgment, but not a crime or misdeed. Crɨmen, as every scholar knows or ought to know, meant originally an accusation, not a crime, and, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, has nothing whatever in common with discrɨmen, which means what separates two things, adifference, acritical point. In crimen venire means to get into bad repute, to be calumniated; in discrimine esse means to be in a critical and dangerous position.

It is one of the fundamental laws of etymology that in tracing words back to their roots, we have to show that their primary, not their secondary meanings agree with the meaning of the root. Therefore, even if crɨmen had assumed in later times the meaning of judgment, yet its derivation from the Greek krinein would have to be rejected, because it would explain the secondary only, but not the primary meaning of crɨmen. Nothing is clearer than the historical development of the meanings of crɨmen, beginning with accusation, and ending with guilt.

I believe I have proved that crɨmen is really and truly the same word as the German Verleumdung, calumny.[6] Verleumdung comes from Leumund, the Old High-German hliumunt, and this hliumunt is the exact representative of the Vedic {s}romata, derived from the root {s}ru, to hear, cluere, and signifying good report, glory, the Greek kleos, the Old High-German hruom. The German word Leumund can be used in a good and a bad sense, as good or evil report, while the Latin crɨ-men, for croe-men (like liber for loeber), is used only in malam partem. It meant originally what is heard, report, on dit, gossip, accusation; lastly, the object of an accusation, acrime, but never judgment, in the technical sense of the word. The only important objection that could be raised against tracing crɨmen back to the root {s}ru, is that this root has in the Northwestern branch of the Aryan family assumed the form clu, instead of cru, as in kleos, cliens, gloria, O.Sl. slovo, A.S. hld, loud, inclutus. I myself hesitated for a long time on account of this phonetic difficulty, nor do I think it is quite removed by the fact that Bopp ("Comp. Gr." 20) identified the German scrir-u-ms, we cry (instead of scriw-u-ms), with Sk. {s}rv-ay-mas, we make hear; nor by the r in in-cre-p-are, in kraz, as compared with klaz, nor even by the r in a-kro-a-omai, which Curtius seems inclined to derive from {s}ru. The question is whether this phonetic difficulty is such as to force us to surrender the common origin of {s}romata, hliumunt, and crɨmen; but even if this should be the case, the derivation of crɨmen from cerno or krinein would remain as impossible as ever.

This will give you an idea in what manner the Science of Language can open before our eyes a period in the history of law, customs, and manners, which hitherto was either entirely closed, or reached only by devious paths. Formerly, for instance, it was supposed that the Latin word lex, law, was connected with the Greek logos. This is wrong, for logos never means law in the sense in which lex does. Logos, from legein, to collect, to gather, signifies, like katalogos, agathering, acollection, an ordering, be it of words or thoughts. The idea that there is a "logos", an order or law, for instance, in nature, is not classical, but purely modern. It is not improbable that lex is connected with the English word law, only not by way of the Norman loi. English law is A.S. lagu (assaw corresponds both to the German Sage and Sge), and it meant originally what was laid down or settled, with exactly the same conception as the German Gesetz. It has been attempted to derive the Latin lex, too, from the same root, though there is this difficulty, that the root of liegen and legen does not elsewhere occur in Latin. The mere disappearance of the aspiration would be no serious obstacle. If, however, the Latin lex cannot be derived from that root, we must, with Corssen, refer it to the same cluster of words to which ligare, to bind, obligatio, binding, and the Oscan ablative lig-ud belong, and assign to it the original meaning of bond. On no account can it be derived from legere, to read, as if it meant a bill first read before the people, and afterwards receiving legal sanction by their approval.

From these considerations we gain at least this negative result, that, before their separation, the Aryan languages had no settled word for law; and even such negative results have their importance. The Sanskrit word for law is dharma, derived from dhar, to hold fast. The Greek word is nomos, derived from nemein, to dispense, from which Nemesis, the dispensing deity, and perhaps even Numa, the name of the fabulous king and lawgiver of Rome.

Other words might easily be added which, by the disclosure of their original meaning, give us interesting hints as to the development of legal conceptions and customs, such as marriage, inheritance, ordeals, and the like. But it is time to cast a glance at theology, which, more even than jurisprudence, has experienced the influence of the Science of Language. What was said with regard to mythology, applies with equal force to theology. Here, too, words harden, and remain unchanged longer even than in other spheres of intellectual life; nay, their influence often becomes greater the more they harden, and the more their original meaning is forgotten. Here it is most important that an intelligent theologian should be able to follow up the historical development of the termini technici and sacrosancti of his science. Not only words like priest, bishop, sacrament, or testament, have to be correctly apprehended in that meaning which they had in the first century, but expressions like logos, pneuma hagion, dikaiosun have to be traced historically to the beginnings of Christianity, and beyond, if we wish to gain a conception of their full purport.

In addition to this, the Philosophy of Religion, which must always form the true foundation of theological science, owes it to the Science of Language that the deepest germs of the consciousness of God among the different nations of the world have for the first time been laid open. We know now with perfect certainty that the names, that is, the most original conceptions, of the Deity among the Aryan nations, are as widely removed from coarse fetichism as from abstract idealism. The Aryans, as far as the annals of their language allow us to see, recognized the presence of the Divine in the bright and sunny aspects of nature, and they, therefore, called the blue sky, the fertile earth, the genial fire, the bright day, the golden dawn their Devas, that is, their bright ones. The same word, Deva in Sanskrit, Deus in Latin, remained unchanged in all their prayers, their rites, their superstitions, their philosophies, and even to-day it rises up to heaven from thousands of churches and cathedrals,—a word which, before there were Brahmans or Germans, had been framed in the dark workshop of the Aryan mind.

That the natural sciences, too, should have felt the electric shock of our new science is not surprising, considering that man is the crown of nature, the apex to which all other forces of nature point and tend. But that which makes man man, is language. Homo animal rationale, quia orationale, as Hobbes said. Buffon called the plant a sleeping animal; living philosophers speak of the animal as a dumb man. Both, however, forget that the plant would cease to be a plant if it awoke, and that the brute would cease to be a brute the moment it began to speak. There is, no doubt, in language a transition from the material to the spiritual: the raw material of language belongs to nature, but the form of language, that which really makes language, belongs to the spirit. Were it possible to trace human language directly back to natural sounds, to interjections or imitations, the question whether the Science of Language belongs to the sphere of the natural or the historical sciences would at once be solved. But I doubt whether this crude view of the origin of language counts one single supporter in Germany. With one foot language stands, no doubt, in the realm of nature, but with the other in the realm of the spirit. Some years ago, when I thought it necessary to bring out as clearly as possible the much neglected natural element in language, Itried to explain in what sense the Science of Language had a right to be called the last and the highest of the natural sciences. But I need hardly say that I did not lose sight, therefore, of the intellectual and historical character of language; and I may here express my conviction that the Science of Language will yet enable us to withstand the extreme theories of the evolutionists, and to draw a hard and fast line between spirit and matter, between man and brute.

This short survey must suffice to show you how omnipresent the Science of Language has become in all spheres of human knowledge, and how far its limits have been extended, so that it often seems impossible for one man to embrace the whole of its vast domain. From this I wish, in conclusion, to draw some necessary advice.

Whoever devotes himself to the study of so comprehensive a science must try never to lose sight of two virtues: conscientiousness and modesty. The older we grow, the more we feel the limits of human knowledge. "Good care is taken," as Goethe said, "that trees should not grow into the sky." Every one of us can make himself real master of a small field of knowledge only, and what we gain in extent, we inevitably lose in depth. It was impossible that Bopp should know Sanskrit like Colebrooke, Zend like Burnouf, Greek like Hermann, Latin like Lachmann, German like Grimm, Slavonic like Miklosich, Celtic like Zeuss. That drawback lies in the nature of all comparative studies. But it follows by no means that, as the French proverb says, qui trop embrasse, mal treint. Bopp's "Comparative Grammar" will always mark an epoch in linguistic studies, and no one has accused the old master of superficiality. There are, in fact, two kinds of knowledge; the one which we take in as real nourishment, which we convert in succum et sanguinem, which is always present, which we can never lose; the other which, if I may say so, we put into our pockets, in order to find it there whenever it is wanted. For comparative studies the second kind of knowledge is as important as the first, but in order to use it properly, the greatest conscientiousness is required. Not only ought we, whenever we have to use it, to go back to the original sources, to accept nothing on trust, to quote nothing at second-hand, and to verify every single point before we rely on it for comparative purposes, but, even after we have done everything to guard against error, we ought to proceed with the greatest caution and modesty. Iconsider, for instance, that an accurate knowledge of Sanskrit is a conditio sine qu non in the study of Comparative Philology. According to my conviction, though I know it is not shared by others, Sanskrit must forever remain the central point of our studies. But it is clearly impossible for us, while engaged in a scholarlike study of Sanskrit, to follow at the same time the gigantic strides of Latin, Greek, German, Slavonic, and Celtic philology. Here we must learn to be satisfied with what is possible, and apply for advice whenever we want it, to those who are masters in these different departments of philology. Much has of late been said of the antagonism between comparative and classical philology. To me it seems that these two depend so much on each other for help and advice that their representatives ought to be united by the closest ties of fellowship. We must work on side by side, and accept counsel as readily as we give it. Without the help of Comparative Philology, for instance, Greek scholars would never have arrived at a correct understanding of the Digamma—nay, afreer intercourse with his colleague, Bopp, would have preserved Bekker from several mistakes in his restoration of the Digamma in Homer. Latin scholars would have felt far more hesitation in introducing the old d of the ablative in Plautus, if the analogy of Sanskrit had not so clearly proved its legitimacy.

On the other hand, we, comparative philologists, should readily ask and gladly accept the advice and help of our classical colleagues. Without their guidance, we can never advance securely; their warnings are to us of the greatest advantage, their approval our best reward. We are often too bold, we do not see all the difficulties that stand in the way of our speculations, we are too apt to forget that, in addition to its general Aryan character, every language has its peculiar genius. Let us all be on our guard against omniscience and infallibility. Only through a frank, honest, and truly brotherly coperation can we hope for a true advancement of knowledge. We all want the same thing; we all are etymologists—that is, lovers of truth. For this, before all things, the spirit of truth, which is the living spirit of all science, must dwell within us. Whoever cannot yield to the voice of truth, whoever cannot say, "Iwas wrong," knows little as yet of the true spirit of science.

Allow me, in conclusion, to recall to your remembrance another passage from Niebuhr. He belongs to the good old race of German scholars. "Above all things," he writes, "we must in all scientific pursuits preserve our truthfulness so pure that we thoroughly eschew every false appearance; that we represent not even the smallest thing as certain of which we are not completely convinced; that if we have to propose a conjecture, we spare no effort in representing the exact degree of its probability. If we do not ourselves, when it is possible, indicate our errors, even such as no one else is likely to discover; if, in laying down our pen, we cannot say in the sight of God, 'Upon strict examination, Ihave knowingly written nothing that is not true;' and if, without deceiving either ourselves or others, we have not presented even our most odious opponents in such a light only that we could justify it upon our death-beds—if we cannot do this, study and literature serve only to make us unrighteous and sinful."

Few, I fear, could add, with Niebuhr: "In this I am convinced that I do not require from others anything of which a higher spirit, if He could read my soul, could convict me of having done the contrary." But all of us, young as well as old, should keep these words before our eyes and in our hearts. Thus, and thus only, will our studies not miss their highest goal: thus, and thus only, may we hope to become true etymologists—i.e., true lovers, seekers, and, Itrust, finders of truth.



NOTES.

NOTE A.

Theos AND DEUS.

That Greek th does not legitimately represent a Sanskrit, Latin, Slavonic, and Celtic d is a fact that ought never to have been overlooked by comparative philologists, and nothing could be more useful than the strong protest entered by Windischmann, Schleicher, Curtius, and others, against the favorite identification of Sk. deva, deus, and theos. Considering it as one of the first duties, in all etymological researches, that we should pay implicit obedience to phonetic laws, Ihave never, so far as I remember, quoted theos as identical with deus, together with the other derivatives of the root div, such as Dyaus, Zeus, Jupiter, deva, Lith. deva-s, Irish da.

But with all due respect for phonetic laws, I have never in my own heart doubted that theos belonged to the same cluster of words which the early Aryans employed to express the brightness of the sky and of the day, and which helped them to utter their first conception of a god of the bright sky (Dyaus), of bright beings in heaven, as opposed to the powers of night and darkness and winter (deva), and, lastly, of deity in the abstract.[7] Ihave never become an atheist; and though I did not undervalue the powerful arguments advanced against the identity of deus and theos, Ithought that other arguments also possessed their value, and could not be ignored with impunity. If, with our eyes shut, we submit to the dictates of phonetic laws, we are forced to believe that while the Greeks shared with the Hindus, the Italians, and Germans the name for the bright god of the sky Zeus, Dyaus, Jovis, Zio, and while they again shared with them such derivatives as dios, heavenly, Sk. divyas, they threw away the intermediate old Aryan word for god, deva, deus, and formed a new one from a different root, but agreeing with the word which they had rejected in all letters but one. Isuppose that even the strongest supporters of the atheistic theory would have accepted deos, if it existed in Greek, as a correlative of deva and deus; and I ask, would it not be an almost incredible coincidence, if the Greeks, after giving up the common Aryan word, which would have been doiwos or deiwos or dewos, had coined a new word for god from a different root, yet coming so near to dewos as thewos? These internal difficulties seem to me nearly as great as the external: at all events it would not be right to attempt to extenuate either.

Now I think that, though much has been said against theos for dewos, something may also be said in support of dewos assuming the form of theos. Curtius is quite right in repelling all arguments derived from Sk. duhitar = thugatr, or Sk. dvr = thur-a; but I think he does not do full justice to the argument derived from phial and phiaros. The Greek phial has been explained as originally piwal, the lost digamma causing the aspiration of the initial p. Curtius says: "This etymology of phial is wrecked on the fact that in Homer the word does not mean a vessel for drinking, but a kind of kettle." That is true, but the fact remains that in later Greek phial means a drinking cup. Thus Pindar ("Isthm.," v.58) says:—

Andke d' auti phertatos oinodokon phialan chrusi pephrikuian Telamn,

which refers clearly to a golden goblet, and not a kettle. Besides, we have an exactly analogous case in the Sk. ptram. This, too, is clearly derived from p, to drink, but it is used far more frequently in the sense of vessel in general, and its etymological meaning vanishes altogether when it comes to mean a vessel for something, afit person. Isee no etymology for phial, except piwal, adrinking vessel.

Secondly, as to phiaros, which is supposed to be the same as piaros, and to represent the Sanskrit pvaras, fat, Curtius says that it occurs in Alexandrian poets only, that it there means bright, resplendent, and is used as an adjective of the dawn, while piaros means fat, and fat only. Against this I venture to remark, first, that there are passages where phiaros means sleek, as in Theocr. ii. 21, phiartera omphakos mas, said of a young plump girl, who in Sanskrit would be called pvar; secondly, that while piar is used for cream, phiaros is used as an adjective of cream; and, thirdly, that the application of phiaros to the dawn is hardly surprising, if we remember the change of meaning in liparos in Greek, and the application in the Veda of such words as gh{ri}ta pratka, to the dawn. Lastly, as in phial, Isee no etymology for phiaros, except piwaros.

I think it is but fair therefore to admit that theos for dewos would find some support by the analogy of phial for piwal, and of phiaros for piwaros. There still remain difficulties enough to make us cautious in asserting the identity of theos and deus; but in forming our own opinion these difficulties should be weighed impartially against the internal difficulties involved in placing theos as a totally independent word, by the side of deva and deus. And, as in phial and phiaros, may we not say of theos also that there is no etymology for it, if we separate it from Zeus and dios, from Dyaus and divyas? Curtius himself rejects Plato's and Schleicher's derivation of theos from the, to run: likewise C.Hoffmann's from dhava, man; likewise Bhler's from a root dhi, to think or to shine; likewise that of Herodotus and A.Gbel from thes, asecondary form of the, to settle. Ascoli's analysis is highly sagacious, but it is too artificial. Ascoli[8] identifies theos, not with deva, but with divy-s. Divys becoming diweos (like satya, eteos), the accent on the last syllable would produce the change to dweo-s, w would cause aspiration in the preceding consonant and then disappear, leaving theos = divys. All these changes are just possible phonetically, but, as Curtius observes, the point for which the theists contend is not gained, for we should still have to admit that the Greeks lost the common word for god, deva and deus, and that they alone replaced it by a derivative divya, meaning heavenly, not bright.

Curtius himself seems in favor of deriving theos from thes, to implore, which we have in thes-samenoi, thessanto, poluthestos, etc. Theos, taken as a passive derivative, might, he thinks, have the meaning of artos in poluartos, and mean the implored being. Icannot think that this is a satisfactory derivation. It might be defended phonetically and etymologically, though I cannot think of any analogous passive derivatives of a root ending in s. Where it fails to carry conviction is in leaving unexplained the loss of the common Aryan word for deity, and in putting in its place a name that savors of very modern thought.

I think the strongest argument against the supposed aspirating power of medial v, and its subsequent disappearance, lies in the fact that there are so many words having medial v, which show no trace of this phonetic process (Curtius, p.507). On the other hand, it should be borne in mind, that the Greeks might have felt a natural objection to the forms which would have rendered deva with real exactness, Imean doios or deos, the former conveying the meaning of double, the latter of fear. Amere wish to keep the name for god distinct from these words might have produced the phonetic anomaly of which we complain; and, after all, though I do not like to use that excuse, there are exceptions to phonetic laws. No one can explain how ogdoos was derived from okt or hebdomos from hepta, yet the internal evidence is too strong to be shaken by phonetic objections. In the case of theos and deus the internal evidence seems to me nearly as strong as in ogdoos and hebdomos, and though unwilling to give a final verdict, Ithink the question of the loss in Greek of the Aryan word for god and its replacement by another word nearly identical in form, but totally distinct in origin, should be left for the present an open question in Comparative Philology.

NOTE B.

THE VOCATIVE OF DYAS AND Zeus.

The vocative of Dyaus, having the circumflex, is one of those linguistic gems which one finds now and then in the Rig-Veda, and which by right ought to have a place of honor in a Museum of Antiquities. It is a unique form. It occurs but once in the Rig-Veda, never again, as far as we know at present, in the whole of Vedic literature, and yet it is exactly that form which a student of language would expect who is familiar with the working of the laws of accent in Sanskrit and in Greek. Without a thorough knowledge of these laws, the circumflexed vocative in Sanskrit, Dyas, corresponding to Greek Ze, would seem a mere anomaly, possibly an accidental coincidence, whereas in reality it affords the most striking proof of the organic working of the laws of accent, and at the same time an unanswerable testimony in favor of the genuineness of the ancient text of the Rig-Veda.

The laws of accent bearing on this circumflexed vocative are so simple that I thought they would have been understood by everybody. As this does not seem to have been the case, Iadd a few explanatory remarks.

It was Benfey who, as on so many other points, so on the accent of vocatives, was the first to point out (in1845) that it was a fundamental law of the Aryan language to place the acute on the first syllable of all vocatives, both in the singular, and in the dual and plural.[9] In Sanskrit this law admits of no exception; in Greek and Latin the rhythmic accent has prevailed to that extent that we only find a few traces left of the original Aryan accentuation. It is well known that in vocatives of nouns ending in ius, the ancient Romans preserved the accent on the first syllable, that they said Vrgili, Vleri, from Virglius and Valrius. This statement of Nigidius Figulus, preserved by Gellius, though with the remark that in his time no one would say so, is the only evidence of the former existence of the Aryan law of accentuation in Latin. In Greek the evidence is more considerable, but the vocatives with the accent on the first syllable are, by the supreme law of the rhythmic accent in Greek, reduced to vocatives, drawing back their accent as far as they can, consistently with the law which restricts the accent to the last three syllables. Thus while in Sanskrit a word like Agamemnn would in the vocative retract the accent on the first syllable gamemnon, the Greek could do no more than say Agammnon with the accent on the antepenultimate. In the same manner the vocative of Aristotels, can only be Aristteles, whereas in Sanskrit it would have been ristoteles.

Here, however, the question arises, whether in words like Agamemnn[10] and Aristotels[11] the accent was not originally on the antepenultimate, but drawn on the penultimate by the rhythmic law. This is certainly the case in hdion, as the vocative of hdn, for we know that both in Sanskrit and Greek, comparatives in in retract their accent as far as possible, and have it always on the first syllable in Sanskrit, always on the penultimate in Greek, if the last syllable is long. But, cessante caus cessat effectus, and therefore the accent goes back on the antepenultimate, not only in the vocative, but likewise in the nom. neuter hdion.

It is possible that the same process may explain the vocative dspota from despts, if we compare Sanskrit compounds with pati, such as dspati, gspati, dmpati, which leave the accent on the first member of the compound. In Dmtr also all becomes regular, if we admit the original accentuation to have been Dmtr, changed in Dmtr, but preserved in the genitive Dmtros, and the vocative Dmter.[12]

But there are other words in which this cannot be the case, for instance, delphe, pnre, mchthere from adelphs, ponrs, mochthrs. Here the accent is the old Aryan vocatival accent. Again, in patr, patra, Sk. pit, pitram, in mtr, mtra, Sk. mt, mtram, in thugtr, thugatra, Sk. duhit, duhitram, the radical accent was throughout on the suffix tr, nor would the rules of the rhythmic accent in Greek prevent it from being on the antepenultimate in the accusative. The fact therefore that it is retracted on the penultimate and antepenultimate in the vocative, shows clearly that we have here, too, the last working of the original Aryan accentuation. The irregular accent in the nom. sing. of mtr, instead of mtr, is probably due to the frequent use of the vocative (anexplanation which I had adopted before I had seen Benfey's essay), and the same cause may explain the apparently irregular accentuation in thgatra, by the side of thugatra, in thgatres, and thgatras. Similar vocatives with retracted accent are der, nom. dar, enater, nom. eintr, gnai, nom. gun, ster, nom. str, ner, nom. anr, pollon, nom. Aplln, Pseidon, nom. Poseidn, Hrakles, nom. Hrakls.

We have thus established the fact that one feature of the primitive Aryan accentuation, which consisted in the very natural process of placing the high accent on the first syllable of vocatives, was strictly preserved in Sanskrit, while in Greek and Latin it only left some scattered traces of its former existence. Without the light derived from Sanskrit, the changes in the accent of vocatives in Greek and Latin would be inexplicable, they would be, what they are in Greek grammar, mere anomalies; while, if placed by the side of Sanskrit, they are readily recognized as what they really are, remnants of a former age, preserved by frequent usage or by an agent whom we do not like to recognize, though we cannot altogether ignore him,—viz. chance.

Taking our position on the fact that change of accent in the vocative in Greek is due to the continued influence of an older system of Aryan accentuation, we now see how the change of nom. Zes into voc. Ze, and of nom. Dyas, into voc. Dyas, rests on the same principle. In Sanskrit the change, though at first sight irregular, admits of explanation. What we call the circumflex in Sanskrit, is the combination of a rising and falling of the voice, or, as we should say in Greek, of an acute and grave accent. As Dyas was originally Dias, and is frequently used as two syllables in the Veda, the vocative would have been Das, and this contracted would become Dyaus. Thus we have paribhv from paribhs. In Greek the facts are the same, but the explanation is more difficult. The general rule in Greek is that vocatives in ou, oi, and eu, from oxytone or perispome nominatives, are perispome; as plako, bo, Lto, Ple, basile, from plakos, ontos, placenta, bos, Lt, Ples, basiles. The rationale of that rule has never been explained, as far as Greek is concerned. Under this rule the vocative of Zes becomes Ze; but no Greek grammarian has attempted to explain the process by which Zes becomes Ze, and nothing remains for the present but to admit that we have in it an ancient Aryan relic preserved in Greek long after the causes which had produced it had ceased to act. It would fall into the same category as eimi and imen. Here, too, the efficient cause of the length and shortness of the radical vowel i, viz., the change of accent, Sk. mi, but ims, has disappeared in Greek, while its effect has been preserved. But whatever explanation may hereafter be adopted, the simple fact which I had pointed out remains, the motive power which changed the nom. dyas into the vocative dyas, is the same which changed Zes into Ze. Those who do not understand, or do not admit this, are bound to produce, from the resources of Greek itself, another motive power to account for the change of Zes into Ze; but they must not imagine that a mere reference to a Greek elementary grammar suffices for explaining that process.

The passage in the Rig-Veda (VI. 51, 5) to which I referred is unique, and I therefore give it here, though it has in the meantime been most ably discussed by Benfey in his "Essay on the Vocative" (1872).

"Dya{h} pta{h} p{ri}thivi mta{h} dhruk Zeu pater plateia mter atrek(es) gne bhrta{h} vasava{h} m{ri}lta na{h}[13] Ignis phrater weSwes meldete nos."

This passage is clearly one of great antiquity, for it still recognizes Dyas, the father, as the supreme god, Earth, the mother, by his side, and Agni, fire, as the brother, not of Heaven and Earth, but of man, because living with men on the hearth of their houses. Vasu, as a general name of the bright gods, like deva in other hymns, corresponds, Ibelieve, to the Greek adjective #eus#. The genitive plural #ean# is likewise derived from #eus# or vsus, by Benfey (l.c. p.57), and dt vsnm (Rv.VIII. 51,5) comes certainly very near to #dotr ean#. The only difficulty would be the ⱥ instead of the #, as in #eos#, the gen. sing. of #eus# in Homer, adifficulty which might be removed by tracing the gen. plur. #ean# back to a fem. #ea#, corresponding to a Sk. vasav or vasavy. As to #meldete#, it is phonetically the nearest approach to m{ri}lata, i.e., *mardata, though in Greek it means "make mild" rather than "be mild." Mild and mollis come from the same root.

What gives to this passage its special value is, that in all other passages when dyaus occurs as a vocative and as bisyllabic, it appears simply with the udtta, thus showing at how early a time even the Hindus forgot the meaning of the circumflex on dyas, and its legitimate appearance in that place. Thus in Rv. VIII. 100, 12, we read,—

"Skhe Vish{n}o vitarm v kramasva, Dya{h} deh lokm vjrya viskbhe Hnva v{ri}trm ri{n}cva sndhn ndrasya yantu prasav vs{ri}sh{t}{h}."

"Friend Vish{n}u, stride further, Dyaus give room for the lightning to leap, Let us both kill V{ri}tra and free the rivers, Let them go, sent forth at the command of Indra."

Here, I have little doubt, the ancient Rishis pronounced Dyas, but the later poets, and the still later cryas were satisfied with the acute, and with the acute the word is written here in all the MSS. Iknow.

NOTE C.

ARYAN WORDS OCCURRING IN ZEND, BUT NOT IN SANSKRIT.

It has been objected that the three instances which I had quoted of Zend words, not occurring in Sanskrit, but preserved in one or the other of the Indo-European languages, were not sufficient to establish the fact which I wished to establish, particularly as one of them, kehrp, existed in Sanskrit, or, at least, in Vedic Sanskrit, as k{ri}p. Iadmit that I ought to have mentioned the Vedic k{ri}p, rather than the later kalpa; but I doubt whether the conclusions which I wished to draw would have been at all affected by this. For what I remarked with regard to kalpa, applies with equal force to k{ri}p; it does not in Sanskrit mean body or flesh, like kehrp, and corpus, but simply form. But even if kehrp were not a case in point, nothing would have been easier than to replace it by other words, if at the time of printing my lecture I had had my collectanea at hand. Inow subjoin a more complete list of words, present in Zend, absent in Sanskrit, but preserved in Greek, Latin, or German.

Previous Part     1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12     Next Part
Home - Random Browse