Society for Pure English Tract 4 by John Sargeaunt
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John Sargeaunt >> Society for Pure English Tract 4
STEMS IN -ERO AND -URO. Adjectives of this type keep the Latin stress,
which thus falls on the ultima, and shorten or obscure the penultimate
vowel, as 'mature', 'obscure', 'severe', 'sincere', but of course
'[=a]ustere'. Of like form though of other origin is 'secure'.
Nouns take an early stress, as '['a]perture', 's['e]pulture',
'l['i]terature', 't['e]mperature', unless two mutes obstruct, as in
'conj['e]cture'. Of the disyllables 'nature' keeps a long penultima,
while 'figure' has it short, not because of the Latin quantity, but
because of the French.
The lonely word 'mediocre' lengthens its first vowel by the 'alias'
rule and also stresses it. Whether the penultima has more than a
secondary stress is a matter of dispute.
STEMS IN -ARI. These words have the stress on the antepenultima,
which they shorten, as in 'secular' or keep short as in 'jocular',
'familiar', but of course 'pec[=u]liar'.
_ON CERTAIN GREEK WORDS._
It will have been seen that Greek words are usually treated as Latin.
Thus 'crisis' lengthens the penultima under the 'apex' rule, while
'critical' has it short under the general rule of polysyllables.
Other examples of lengthening are 'bathos', 'pathos', while the long
quantity is of course kept in 'colon' and 'crasis'. For the 'alias'
rule we may quote '[=a]theist', 'cryptog[=a]mia', 'h[=o]meopathy',
'heterog[=e]neous', 'pandem[=o]nium', while the normal shortenings
are found in 'an[)o]nymous', 'eph[)e]meral', 'pand[)e]monium',
'[)e]r[)e]mite'. Ignorance of English usage has made some editors
flounder on a line of Pope's:
Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite.
The birthplace of Aristotle was of course Stag[=i]ra or, as it is now
fashionable to transcribe it, Stageira, as Pope doubtless knew, but
the editors who accuse him of a false quantity in Greek are on the
contrary themselves guilty of one in English. The penultima in English
is short whether it was long or, as in 'dynamite' and 'malachite',
short in Greek.
There is, however, one distinct class of Greek words in which the
Latin rule is not followed. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
there were scholars who rightly or wrongly treated the Greek accent as
a mark of stress. It is clear that this habit led to an inability to
maintain a long quantity in an unstressed syllable. Shakespeare must
have learnt his little Greek from a scholar who had this habit, for he
writes 'Andr['o]n[)i]cus' and also
I am mis['a]nthr[)o]pos and hate mankind.
Of course all scholars shortened the first vowel of the word, and
doubtless Shakespeare shortened also the third. Busby also thus
spoke Greek with the result that Dryden in later life sometimes
wrote epsilon instead of eta and also spoke of 'Cleom['e]nes' and
'Iphig[=e]n[)i]a'. As a boy at Westminster he wrote
Learn'd, Vertuous, Pious, Great, and have by this
An universal Metempsuchosis.
Macaulay with an ignorance very unusual in him rebuked his nephew for
saying 'metam['o]rph[)o]sis', and Dr. Johnson, had he been living,
would have rebuked Macaulay. For the sake of our poets we ought to
save 'apoth['e][)o]sis', which is in some danger. Garth may perhaps be
forgotten,
Allots the prince of his celestial line
An Apotheosis and rights divine,
but 'Rejected Addresses' should still carry weight. In the burlesque
couplet, ascribed in the first edition to the younger Colman and
afterwards transferred to Theodore Hook, we have
That John and Mrs. Bull from ale and tea-houses
May shout huzza for Punch's apotheosis.
It need hardly be said that 'tea-houses' like 'grandfathers' has the
stress on the antepenultimate.
There are other words of Greek origin which now break the rules,
though I believe the infringement to be quite modern. First we have
the class beginning with _proto_. It can hardly be doubted that our
ancestors followed rule and said 'pr[)o]tocol', and 'pr[)o]totype',
and I suspect also 'pr[)o]tomartyr'. There seems, however, to
be a general agreement nowadays to keep the Greek omega. As for
'protagonist' the word is so technical and is often so ludicrously
misunderstood that writers on the Greek drama would do well to retain
the Greek termination and say 'protagonistes'; for 'protagonist' is
very commonly mistaken and used for the opposite of 'antagonist'.
Next come words beginning with _hypo_ or _hyph_. In a disyllable the
vowel is long by the 'apex' rule, as in 'hyphen'. In longer words
it should be short. So once it was, and we still say 'hypocaust',
'hypocrit', 'hypochondria' (whence 'hypped'), 'hypothesis', and
others, but a large group of technical and scientific words seems
determined to have a long _y_. It looks as though there were a belief
that _y_ is naturally long, though the French influence which gives us
't[=y]rant' does not extend to 'tyranny'. I do not know what Mr. Hardy
calls his poem, but I hope he follows the old use and calls it 'The
D[)y]nasts'. It might be thought that 'd[)y]nasty' was safe, but it
is not. Some modern words like 'dynamite' have been misused from their
birth.
Another class begins with _hydro-_ from the Greek word for water. None
of them seem to be very old, but probably 'hydraulic' began life with
a short _y_. Surely Mrs. Malaprop, when she meant 'hysterics' and said
'hydrostatics', must have used the short _y_. Of course 'hydra' which
comes from the same root follows the 'apex' rule.
Words beginning with _hyper-_ seem nowadays always to have a long _y_
except that one sometimes hears 'h[)y]perbole' and 'h[)y]perbolical'.
Of course both in _hypo-_ and in _hyper-_ the vowel is short in Greek,
so that here at least the strange lengthening cannot be ascribed to
the Grecians. The false theory of a long _y_ has not affected 'cynic'
or 'cynical', while 'Cyril' has been saved by being a Christian
name. We may yet hope to retain _y_ short in 'cylinder', 'cynosure',
'lycanthropy', 'mythology', 'pyramid', 'pyrotechnic', 'sycamore',
'synonym', 'typical'. As for 'h[=y]brid' it seems as much a caprice
as '[=a]crid', a pronunciation often heard. Though 'acrid' is a false
formation it ought to follow 'vivid' and 'florid'. The 'alias' rule
enforces a long _y_ in 'hygiene' and 'hygienic'.
On the matter of Greek names the lettern and the pulpit are grievous
offenders. Once it was not so. The clergymen of the old type and
the scholars of the Oxford Retrogression said T[)i]m[=o]th[)e][)u]s,
because they had a sense of English and followed, consciously or
unconsciously, the 'alias' rule. If there was ever an error, it was
on the lips of some illiterate literate who made three syllables of
the word. Now it seems fashionable to say T[=i]m[)o]th[)e][)u]s. The
literate was better than this, for he at least had no theory, and
frank ignorance is to be forgiven. It is no shame to a man not to know
that the second _i_ in 'Villiers' is as mute as that in 'Parliament'
or that Bolingbroke's name began with Bull and ended with brook, but
when ignorance constructs a theory it is quite another matter. The
etymological theory of pronunciation is intolerable. Etymology was
a charming nymph even when men had but a distant acquaintance with
her, and a nearer view adds to her graces; but when she is dragged
reluctant from her element she flops like a stranded mermaid.
The curate says 'Deuteron['o]my', and on his theory ought to say
'econ['o]my' and 'etymol['o]gy'. When Robert Gomery--why not give
the reverend poetaster his real if less elegant name--published his
once popular work, every one called it 'The Omn['i]presence of the
De[:i]ty', and Shelley had already written
And, as I look'd, the bright omn['i]presence
Of morning through the orient cavern flowed.
It is true that Ken a century earlier had committed himself to
Thou while below wert yet on high
By Omnipr['e]sent Deity,
and later Coleridge, perhaps characteristically, had sinned with
There is one Mind, one omnipr['e]sent Mind,
but neither the bishop nor the poet would have said 'omnisc['i]ence',
or 'omnip['o]tence'.
Another word to show signs of etymological corruption is
'[)e]volution'. It seems to have been introduced as a technical term
of the art of war, and of course, like 'd[)e]volution', shortened
the _e_. The biologists first borrowed it and later seem desirous of
corrupting it. Perhaps they think of such words as '[=e]gress', but
the long vowel is right in the stressed penultimate.
One natural tendency in English runs strongly against etymology.
This is the tendency to throw the stress back, which about a century
ago turned 'cont['e]mplate' into 'c['o]ntemplate' and somewhat
later 'ill['u]strate' into '['i]llustrate'. Shakespeare and Milton
pronounced 'instinct' as we pronounce 'distinct' and 'aspect' as we
pronounce 'respect'. Thus Belarius is made to say
'Tis wonder
That an invisible inst['i]nct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd,
and Milton has
By this new felt attraction and instinct,
and also
In battailous asp['e]ct and neerer view.
The retrogression of the stress is in these instances well
established, and we cannot quarrel with it; but against some very
recent instances a protest may be made. One seems to be a corruption
of the War. In 1884 the _N.E.D._ recognized no pronunciation of it
save 'all['y]', as in Romeo's
This gentleman, the prince's neer Alie.
The late Mr. B.B. Rogers in his translations of Aristophanes has of
course no other pronunciation. His verses are too good to be spoiled
by what began as a vulgarism. Another equally recent vulgarism, not
recognized by the _N.E.D._ and bad enough to make George Russell
turn in his grave, is 'm['a]gazine' for 'magaz['i]ne'. It is not yet
common, but such vulgarisms are apt to climb.
In times not quite so recent the word 'prophecy' has changed, not
indeed its stress, but the quantity of its final vowel. When Alford
wrote 'The Queen's English', every one lengthened the last vowel, as
in the verb, nor do I remember any other pronunciation in my boyhood.
Now the _N.E.D._ gives the short vowel only. Alford to his own
satisfaction accounted for the long vowel by the diphthong _ei_ of
the Greek. It is to be feared that his explanation would involve
'dynast[=y]' and 'polic[=y]', even if it did not oblige us to turn
'Pompey' into 'Pomp[=y]'. In this case it may be suspected that
the noun was assimilated to the verb, which follows the analogy of
'magnify' and 'multiply'. The voice of the people which now gives
us 'prophec[)y]' seems here to have felt the power of analogy and
assuredly will prevail.
_ON PROPER NAMES._
It is to be hoped that except in reading Latin and Greek texts we
shall keep to the traditional pronunciation of proper names as it
is enshrined in our poetry and other literature. We must continue to
lengthen the stressed penultimate vowel in Athos, Cato, Draco, Eros,
Hebrus, Lichas, Nero, Otho, Plato, Pylos, Remus, Samos, Titus, Venus,
and the many other disyllables wherein it was short in the ancient
tongues. On the other hand we shall shorten the originally long
stressed antepenultimate vowel in Brasidas, Euripides, Icarus,
Lavinia, Lucilius, Lydia, Nicias, Onesimus, Pegasus, Pyramus, Regulus,
Romulus, Scipio, Sisyphus, Socrates, Thucydides, and many more.
Quin, and the actors of his day, used to give to the first vowel in
'Cato' the sound of the _a_ in 'father'. They probably thought that
they were Italianizing such names. In fact their use was neither Latin
nor English. They were like the men of to-day who speak of the town
opposite Dover as 'Cally', a name neither French nor English. A town
which once sent members to the English Parliament has a right to an
English name. Prior rhymed it with 'Alice' and Browning has
When Fortune's malice
Lost her Calais.
Shakespeare, of course, spelt it 'Callis', and this form, which was
first evicted by Pope, whom other editors servilely followed, ought
to be restored to Shakespeare's text. In the pronunciation of Cato the
stage regained the English diphthong in the mouth of Garrick, whose
good sense was often in evidence. It is recorded that his example
was not at once followed in Scotland or Ireland. If there was any
Highlander on the stage it may be hoped that he gave to the vowel the
true Latin sound as it appears in 'Mactavish'.
A once well-known schoolmaster, a correspondent of Conington's, had a
daughter born to him whom in his unregenerate days he christened
Rosa. At a later time he became a purist in quantities, and then he
shortened the _o_ and took the voice out of the _s_ and spoke of her
and to her as Rossa. The mother and the sisters refused to acknowledge
what they regarded as a touch of shamrock and clung persistently
to the English flower. The good gentleman did not call his son
Sol[=o]mon,[2] though this is the form which ought to be used by
those who turn the traditional English 'Elk[)a]nah' into 'Elk[=a]nah',
'Ab[)a]na' into 'Ab[=a]na', and 'Zeb[)u]lun' into 'Zeb[=u]lun'. If
they do not know
Poor Elk[)a]nah, all other troubles past,
For bread in Smithfield dragons hiss'd at last,
yet at least they ought to know
Of Abb[)a]na and Pharphar, lucid streams.
The malison of Milton on their heads! If the translators of the Bible
had foreseen 'Zeb[=u]lun', they would have chosen some other word than
'princes' to avoid the cacophony of 'the princes of Zeb[=u]lun'.
[Footnote 2: But pedantry would not suggest this. The New Testament has
[Greek: Solom[^o]n], and the Latin Christian poets have the _o_ short.
True, the Vatican Septuagint has [Greek: Sal[^o]m[^o]n], but there the
vowel of the first syllable is _a_.--H.B.]
That these usages were familiar is evident from the pronunciation of
proper, especially Biblical, names. Thus 'B[=a]bel' and 'B[)a]bylon',
'N[=i]nus' and 'N[)i]neveh', were spoken as unconsciously as
M[=i]chael' and 'M[)i]chaelmas'. Nobody thought of asking the quantity
of the Hebrew vowels before he spoke of 'C[=a]leb' and 'B[=a]rak', of
'G[)i]deon' and 'G[)i]lead', of 'D[)e]borah' and 'Ab[)i]melech', of
'[=E]phraim' and 'B[=e]lial'. The seeming exceptions can be explained.
Thus the priest said 'H[)e]rod' because in the Vulgate he read
'H[)e]rodes', but there was no Greek or Latin form to make him say
anything else than 'M[=e]roz', 'P[=e]rez', 'S[=e]rah', 'T[=e]resh'.
He said '[)A]dam' because, although the Septuagint and other books
retained the bare form of the name, there were other writings in
which the name was extended by a Latin termination. There was no like
extension to tempt him to say anything but 'C[=a]desh', '[=E]dom',
'J[=a]don', 'N[=a]dab'. I must admit my inability to explain
'Th[)o]mas', but doubtless there is a reason. The abbreviated form was
of course first 'Th[)o]m' and then 'T[)o]m'. Possibly the pet name has
claimed dominion over the classical form. As in the _herba impia_
of the early botanists, these young shoots sometimes refuse to be
'trash'd for overtopping'.
A story is told of an eccentric Essex rector. He was reading in
church the fourth chapter of Judges, and after 'Now D[)e]borah, a
prophetess', suddenly stopped, not much to the astonishment of
the rustics, for they knew his ways. Then he went on 'Deb[)o]rah?
Deb[)o]rah? Deb[=o]rah! Now Deb[=o]rah, a prophetess', and so on.
Probably a freak of memory had reminded him that the letter was
omega in the Septuagint. It will be remembered that Miss Jenkyns in
_Cranford_ liked her sister to call her Deb[=o]rah, 'her father having
once said that the Hebrew name ought to be so pronounced', and it will
not be forgotten that the good rector was too sound a scholar to read
'Deb[=o]rah' at the lettern.
An anecdote of Burgon's is to the point. He had preached in St. Mary's
what he regarded as an epoch-making sermon, and afterwards he walked
home to Oriel with Hawkins, the famous Provost. He looked for comment
and hoped for praise, but the Provost's only remark was, 'Why do
you say Emm[=a]us?' 'I don't know; isn't it Emm[=a]us?' 'No, no;
Emm[)a]us, Emm[)a]us.' When Hawkins was young, in the days of George
III, every one said Emmaus, and in such matters he would say, 'I will
have no innovations in my time.' On the King's lips the phrase, as
referring to politics, was foolish, but Hawkins used it with sense.
PS.--I had meant to cite an anecdote of Johnson. As he walked in the
Strand, a man with a napkin in his hand and no hat stept out of a
tavern and said, 'Pray, Sir, is it irr['e]parable or irrep['a]irable
that one should say?'--'The last, I think, Sir, for the adjective
ought to follow the verb; but you had better consult my dictionary
than me, for that was the result of more thought than you will now
give me time for.' The dictionary rightly gives _irr['e]parable_, and
both the rule and example of the Doctor's _obiter dicta_ (literally
_obiter_) are wrong.
J.S.
MISCELLANEOUS NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE
* * * * *
ADDENDA TO HOMOPHONES IN TRACT II
Several correspondents complain of the incompleteness of the list
of Homophones in Tract II. The object of that list was to convince
readers of the magnitude of the mischief, and the consequent
necessity for preserving niceties of pronunciation: evidence of its
incompleteness must strengthen its plea. The following words may be
added; they are set here in the order of the literary alphabet.
Add to Table I (p. 7)
band, [^1] _a tie_, [^2] _a company_.
bend, [^1] _verb_, [^2] _heraldic sub._
bay, [^1] _tree_, [^2] _arm of sea_, [^3] _window_,
[^4] _barking of dog_, and '_at bay_',
[^5] _a dam_, [^6] _of antler_, [^7] _a colour_.
blaze, [^1] _of flame_, [^2] _to sound forth_.
bluff, [^1] _adj. & sub. = broad = fronted_,
[^2] _blinker_, [^3] _sub. and v. confusing_ [^1] _and_ [^2].
boom, [^1] _to hum_, [^2] _= beam_.
cant, [^1] _whine_, [^2] _to tilt_.
chaff, [^1] _of wheat_, [^2] _= chafe (slang)_.
cove, [^1] _a recess_, [^2] _= chap (slang)_.
file, [^1] _string_, [^2] _rasp_, [^3] _= to defile_.
grave, [^1] _sub._, [^2] _adj._
hind, [^1] _fem. of stag_, [^2] _a peasant_, [^3] _adj. of behind_.
limb, [^1] _member_, [^2] _edge_, [^3] limn.
limber, [^1] _shaft of cart (verb in artillery)_,
[^2] _naut. subs._, [^3] _adj. pliant_.
loom, [^1] _subs._, [^2] _v._
nice, gneiss.
ounce, [^1] _animal_, [^2] _a weight_.
plash, [^1] _= pleach_, [^2] _a puddle_.
port, [^1] _demeanour, & military v._,
[^2] _haven_, [^3] _gate & naut.= port-hole_,
[^4] _= larboard_, [^5] _a wine_.
shingle, [^1] _a wooden tile_, [^2] _gravel_,
[^3] (_in pl._) _a disease_.
shrub, [^1] _a bush_, [^2] _a drink_.
smack, [^1] _a sounding blow_, [^2] _a fishing boat_, [^3] _taste_.
throw, throe.
Also note that _so_ should be added to _sew, sow_, and that the words
_leech_, _leach_, are not sufficiently credited with etymological
variety: [see below p. 33].
To Table II add
when, _wen_.
To Table VIII
The following words, the absence of which has been noted, are not true
homophones:--
crack
fool
fume
gentle
interest
palm
stem
trip
To Table IX add
must [^1] _obs? new wine_, [^2] _verb._
To Shakespearean obsoletes p. 27 add
limn, _lost in_ limb.
* * * * *
THE SKILFUL LEECH
The Poet Laureate has pointed out that several useful words have been
lost to the English language because their identity in sound with
other words renders it impossible to use them without the risk either
of being misunderstood or of calling up undesirable associations.
It is owing to this cause that English--or, at least, the English of
Great Britain--has no word that can correctly be used as a general
designation for a member of the healing profession. In America, I
believe, the word is 'physician'; but in England that appellation
belongs to one branch of the profession exclusively. The most usual
term here is 'doctor'; but the M.D. rightly objects to the application
of this title to his professional brother who has no degree; and in
a university town to say that John Smith is a doctor would be
inconveniently ambiguous. 'Medical man' is cumbrous, and has the
further disadvantage (in these days) of not being of common gender.
Now the lack of any proper word for a meaning so constantly needing
to be expressed is certainly a serious defect in modern (insular)
English. The Americans have some right to crow over us here; but their
'physician' is a long word; and though it has been good English in
the sense of _medicus_ for six hundred years, it ought by etymology
to mean what _physicien_ does in French, and _physicist_ in modern
English. Our ancestors were better off in this respect than either we
or the Americans. The only native word to denote a practiser of the
healing art is _leech_, which is better than the foreign 'physician'
because it is shorter. It was once a term of high dignity: Chaucer
could apply it figuratively to God, as the healer of souls; and even
in the sixteenth century a poet could address his lady as 'My sorowes
leech'. Why can we not so use it now? Why do we not speak of 'The
Royal College of Leeches'? Obviously, because a word of the same form
happens to be the name of an ugly little animal of disgusting habits.
If I were to introduce my medical attendant to a friend with the words
'This is my leech', the gentleman (or lady) so presented would think
I was indulging in the same sort of pleasantry as is used when a
coachman is called a 'whip'; and he (or she) would probably not
consider the joke to be in the best of taste. Of course all educated
people know that it was once not unusual to speak of a man of medicine
as a 'leech'; but probably there are many who imagine that this
designation was a disparaging allusion to the man's tool of trade, and
that it could be applied only to inferior members of the profession.
The ancient appellation of the healer is so far obsolete that if I
were to answer a question as to a man's profession with the words 'Oh,
he is a leech', there would be some risk of being misunderstood to
mean that he was a money-lender.
Etymologists generally have regarded the name of the bloodsucking
animal as the same word with _leech_ a physician, the assumption being
that the animal received its name from its use as a remedial agent.
But the early forms, both in English and Low German, show that the
words are originally unconnected. The English for _medicus_ was in the
tenth century _l['[ae]]ce_ or _l['e]ce_, and in the thirteenth century
_leche_; the word for _sanguisuga_ was in the tenth century _lyce_,
and in the thirteenth century _liche_. According to phonetic law the
latter word should have become _litch_ in modern English; but it very
early underwent a punning alteration which made it homophonous with
the ancient word for physician. The unfortunate consequence is that
the English language has hopelessly lost a valuable word, for which it
has never been able to find a satisfactory substitute.
H.B.
DIFFERENTIATION OF HOMOPHONES
On this very difficult question the attitude of a careful English
speaker is shown in the following extract from a letter addressed to
us:
METAL, METTLE: AND PRINCIPAL, PRINCIPLE
'I find that I do not _naturally_ distinguish _metal_ and _mettle_
in pronunciation, tho' when there is any danger of ambiguity I say
_metal_ for the former and _met'l_ for the latter; and I should
probably do so (without thinking about it) in a public speech. In my
young days the people about me usually pronounced _met'l_ for both.
Theoretically I think the distinction is a desirable one to make;
the fact that the words are etymologically identical seems to me
irrelevant. The words are distinctly two in modern use: when we talk
of _mettle_ (meaning spiritedness) there is in our mind no thought
whatever of the etymological sense of the word, and the recollection
of it, if it occurred, would only be disturbing. So I intend in future
to pronounce metal as _met[e]l_ (when I don't forget). And I am not
sure that _met[e]l_ is, strictly speaking, a "spelling-pronunciation":
It is possible that the difference in spelling originated in a
difference of pronunciation, not the other way about. For _metal_ in
its literal sense was originally a scientific word, and in that sense
may have been pronounced carefully by people who would pronounce
it carelessly when they used it in a colloquial transferred sense
approaching to slang.
'The question of _principal_ and _principle_ is different. When I was
young, educated people in my circle always, I believe, distinguished
them; so to this day when I hear principal pronounced as principle it
gives me a squirm, tho' I am afraid nearly everybody does it now. That
the words are etymologically distinct does not greatly matter; it is
of more importance that I have sometimes been puzzled to know which
word a speaker meant; if I remember right, I once had to ask.
'It would be worth while to distinguish _flower_ and _flour_ (which
originally, like _metal_ and _mettle_, were the same word); yet in
practice it is not easy to make the difference audible. The homophony
is sometimes inconvenient.'