A Visit to the Philippine Islands

The Tagál and Bisayan are the most widely spread of the languages of the Philippines, but each has such a variety of idioms that the inhabitants of different islands and districts frequently are not intelligible to one another, still less the indigenous races who occupy the mountainous districts. The more remarkable divisions are the dialects of Pampangas, Zambal, Pangasinan, Ilocos, Cagayan, Camarines, Batanes, and Chamorro, each derived from one of the two principal branches. But the languages of the unconverted Indians are very various, and have little affinity. Of these I understand above thirty distinct vocabularies exist. The connection between and the construction of the Tagál and Bisayan will be best seen by a comparison of the Lord’s Prayer in each, with a verbal rendering of the words:—

Tagál.

Ama nanim1

Father our (to us)

sungma2

art

sa langit ca3,

in heaven thou,

sambahin4

worshipped (be)

ang

the

ngalan

name

mo;

thine;

mupa

come

sa

to

anim

us

ang

the

caharian

kingdom

mo;

thine;

sundin

done (be)

angloob

the will

mo

thine

dito

here

sa

in

lupa

earth

para

so

na

as

sa

in

langit;

heaven;

bigianmo

given (be)

camin

us

ngai-on

now

nang

the

anim

our

canin

rice

sa

of

arao-arao5

day day,

at

and

patauarvin-mo

forgiven (be)

camis

us

nang

the

animg

our

manga-otang,

faults,

para

as

nang

if

pagpasawat

pardoned (are)

nanim

our

sa

those

nangagcacaoton

who have committed faults

sa

against

anim;

us;

at

and

huvag-mo

let not

caming

us

ipahuintulot6

fall

sa

in

tocso;

temptation;

at

and

yadia-mo

deliver

camis

us

sa

in

dilan

all

masama.

ill.

Bisayan.

Amahan

Father

namu

our

nga

who

itotat

art

ca

thou

sa

in

langit,

heaven,

ipapagdayat7

praised be

an

the

imong

thy

ngalun;

name;

moanhi8

come

canamun

to us

an

the

imong

thy

pagcahadi9;

kingdom;

tumancun

done (be)

an

the

imong

thy

buot

will

dinhi

here

si

in

yuta

earth

maingun

as

sa

in

langit;

heaven;

ihatag mo

given (be)

damsin

us

an

the

canun

rice

namun

our

sa

on

matagarvlao,

every day,

ug

and

pauadin-mo10

pardoned (be)

canir

us

san

the

mga-sala

sins

namu,

our,

maingun

as

ginuara10

pardoned

namun

our

san

those

mganacasala

sin

danum;

against us;

ngan

not

diri

by

imo

thee

tugotan

permitted (be)

cami

us

maholog

fall

sa

in

manga-panulai

temptations

sa

of

amun

our

manga caauai11;

enemies;

apan

also

baricun-mo

delivered (be)

cami

us

sa

of

manga-maraut

evil

ngatanan.

all.

The following table of numerals (extracted from De Mas) will show the affinities between several of the idioms of the Philippines with one another, and with the Malay language:—

A vocabulary of the Tagal was printed in 1613 by Padre San Buenaventura; and a folio Vocabulario by Fr. Domingo de los Santos, in Sampaloc (Manila), 1794. This vocabulary consists of nearly 11,000 terms, the same word conveying so many meanings that the actual number of Tagal words can scarcely exceed 3,500. The examples of distinct interpretations of each are innumerable.

Another Vocabulario de la Lengua Tagala, by “various grave and learned persons,” corrected and arranged by the Jesuit Fathers Juan de Noceda and Pedro de San Lucar, was published in Valladolid in 1832. The editor says he would fain have got rid of the task, but the “blind obedience” he owed to his superior compelled him to persevere. Rules for the accurate grammatical construction of the language cannot, he says, be given, on account of the exceptions and counter-exceptions. The confusion between active and passive participles is a labyrinth he cannot explore. There are more books on the language (artes), he avers, than on any dead or living language! He has consulted no less than thirty-seven, among which the first place is due to the Tagál Demosthenes (Father Francis de San José), to whose researches none have the knowledge of adding anything valuable. He professes to have given all the roots, but not their ramifications, which it is impossible to follow. But the Vocabulario is greatly lauded by the “Visitador,” as “an eagle in its flight,” and “a sun in its brilliancy.” It is reported to have added three thousand new words to the vocabulary. The editor himself is modest enough, and declares he has brought only one drop to a whole ocean. The work, which had been in many hands, occupied Father Noceda thirty years, and he allowed no word to pass until “twelve Indians” agreed that he had found its true meaning. He would not take less, for had he broken his rule and diminished the numbers, who knows, he asks, with what a small amount of authority he might have satisfied himself? There can be no doubt that to find absolute synonymes between languages so unlike as the Castilian and the Tagáloc was an utterly impossible task, and that the root of a word of which the editor is in search is often lost in the inflections, combinations and additions, which surround and involve it, without reference to any general principle. And after all comes the question, What is the Tagáloc language? That of the mountains differs much from that of the valleys; the idiom of the Comingtang from those of the Tingues.

The word Tagála, sometimes written Tagál, Tagálo, or Tagáloc, I imagine, is derived from Taga, a native. Taga Majayjay is a native of Majayjay. A good Christian is called Ang manga taga langit, a native of heaven; and it is a common vituperation to say to a man, “Taga infierno,” signifying, “You must be a native of hell.”

The Tagál language is not easily acquired. A Spanish proverb says there must be un año de arte y dos di bahaque—one year of grammar and two of bahaque. The bahaque is the native dress. The friars informed me that it required several years of residence to enable them to preach in Tagál; and in many of the convents intercourse is almost confined to the native idioms, as there are few opportunities of speaking Spanish.

The blending of nouns and verbs into a single word, and the difficulty of tracing the roots of either, is one cause of perplexity, the paucity of words requiring many meanings for the same sound. Thus ayao means, enough, passage of merchandise, dearness, and is a note of admiration; baba signifies brace, beard, lungs, perchance, abscess; bobo, a net, to melt, to frighten, to spill; alangalang, courtesy, elevation, dignity. Hence, too, the frequent repetitions of the same word. Aboabo, mist; alaala, to remember; ñgalañgala, palate; galagala, bitumen; dilidili, doubt; hasahasa, a fish.

So a prodigious number of Tagál words are given to represent a verb in its various applications, in which it is difficult to trace any common root or shadow of resemblance. Noceda, for the verb give (dar, Spanish) has 140 Tagál words; for (meter) put, there are forty-one forms; for (hacer) do, one hundred and twenty-six. The age of the moon is represented by twelve forms, in only two of which does the Tagál word for moon occur.

It is scarcely necessary to say that a language so rude as the Tagál could never become the channel for communicating scientific or philosophical knowledge. Yet M. Mallat contends that it is rich, sonorous, expressive, and, if encouraged, would soon possess a literature worthy of a place among that of European nations!

A folio dictionary of the Bisayan and Spanish language, as spoken in the island of Panay, was published in 1841 (Manila), having been written by Father Alonzo de Mentrida. The Spanish and Bisayan, by Father Julian Martin, was published in the following year.

The letters e, f, r, and z are wanting, and the only sound not represented by our alphabet is the ñg. The Tagála Indians employ the letter p instead of the f, which they cannot pronounce. Parancisco for Francisco, palso for falso, pino for fino, &c. The r is totally unutterable by the Tagálos. They convert the letter into d, and subject themselves to much ridicule from the mistakes consequent upon this infirmity. The z is supplanted by s, which does not convey the Castilian sound as represented by our soft th.

In many provinces, however, of Spain, the Castilian pronunciation of z is not adopted. There is in the Tagál no vowel sound between a and i, such as is represented in Spanish by the letter e.

In teaching the Tagal alphabet, the word yaou, being the demonstrative pronoun, is inserted after the letter which is followed by the vowel a, and the letter repeated, thus:—Aa yaou (a), baba yaou (b), caca yaou (c), dada yaou (d), gaga yaou (g), haha yaou (h), lala yaou (l), mama yaou (m), nana yaou (n), ñgañga yaou (ñg), papa yaou (p), sasa yaou (s), tata yaou (t), vava yaou (v). The ñg is a combination of the Spanish ñ with g.

Nouns in Tagal have neither cases, numbers, nor genders. Verbs have infinitive, present, preterite, past, future, and imperative tenses, but they are not changed by the personal pronouns. Among other singularities, it is noted that no active verb can begin with the letter b. Some of the interjections, and they are very numerous in the Tagaloc, are of different genders. How sad! addressed to a man, is paetog! to a woman, paetag!

The Tagáls employ the second person singular icao, or co, in addressing one another, but add the word po, which is a form of respect. In addressing a woman the word po is omitted, but is expected to be used by a female in addressing a man. The personal pronouns follow instead of preceding both verbs and nouns, as napa aco, I say; napa suja, it is good.

One characteristic of the language is that the passive is generally employed instead of the active verb. A Tagal will not say “Juan loves Maria,” but “Maria is loved by Juan.” Fr. de los Santos says it is more elegant to employ the active than the passive verb, but I observe in the religious books circulated by the friars the general phraseology is, “It is said by God;” “it is taught by Christ,” &c.

Though the Tagál is not rich in words, the same expression having often a great variety of meanings, there is much perplexity in the construction. The padre Verduga, however, gives a list of several species of verbs, with modifications of nouns subjected to the rules of European grammar.

In adopting Spanish words the Tagals frequently simplify and curtail them; for example, for zapato (shoe) they use only pato; Lingo for Domingo; bavay, caballo (horse). The diminutive of Maria is Mariangui; whence Angui, the ordinary name for Mary.

In looking through the dictionary, I find in the language only thirty-five monosyllables, viz., a, ab, an, ang, at, ay, ca [with thirteen different meanings—a numeral (1), a personal pronoun (they), four substantives (thing, companion, fright, abstract), one verb (to go), and the rest sundry adjectival, adverbial, and other terms], cay, co, con, cun, di, din, ga, ha, i, in, is, ma (with eighteen meanings, among which are four nouns substantive, eight verbs, and four adjectives), man, mi, mo, na, ñga, o, oy, pa (seven meanings), po, sa, sang, si, sing, ta, ya, and yi.

Watches are rare among the Indians, and time is not denoted by the hours of the clock, but by the ordinary events of the day. De Mas gives no less than twenty-three different forms of language for denoting various divisions, some longer, some shorter, of the twenty-four hours; such as—darkness departs; dawn breaks; light advances (magumagana); the sun about to rise (sisilang na ang arao); full day (arao na); sun risen; hen laying; (sun) height of axe; height of spear (from the horizon); midday; sun sinking; sun set (lungmonorna); Ave Maria time; darkness; blackness; children’s bed-time; animas ringing; midnight near; midnight; midnight past (mababao sa hating gaby). And the phraseology varies in different localities. As bell-ringing and clock-striking were introduced by the Spaniards, most of the terms now in use must have been employed before their arrival.

Repetitions of the same syllable are common both in the Tagál and Bisayan languages. They are not necessarily indicative of a plural form, but frequently denote sequence or continuation, as—lavay lavay, slavery (continued work); iñgiliñgil, the growl of a dog; ñgiñgiyao ñgiñgiyao, the purring of a cat; cococococan, a hen calling her chickens; pocto pocto, uneven, irregular (there is a Devonshire word, scory, having exactly the same meaning); timbon timbon, piling up; punit punit, rags; añgao añgao, an infinite number; aling aling, changeable; caval caval, uncertain. Some Spanish words are doubled to avoid being confounded with native sounds; as dondon for don. These repetitions are a necessary consequence of the small number of primitive words.

Though the poverty of the language is remarkable, yet a great variety of designations is found for certain objects. Rice, for example, in the husk is palay (Malay, padi); before transplanting, botobor; when beginning to sprout, buticas; when the ear appears, basag; in a more advanced stage, maymota; when fully ripe in ear, boñgana; when borne down by the wind or the weight of the ear, dayapa; early rice, cavato; sticky rice, lagquitan; ill-formed in the grain, popong; rice cleaned but not separated from the husks, loba; clean rice, bigas; waste rice, binlor; ground rice, digas; roasted rice, binusa; roasted to appear like flowers, binuladac; rice paste, pilipig; fricasseed rice, sinaing; another sort of prepared rice, soman. There are no less than nineteen words for varieties of the same object. And so with verbs:—To tie, tali; to tie round, lingquis; to tie a belt, babat; to tie the hands, gapus; to tie a person by the neck, tobong; to tie with a noose, hasohaso; to tie round a jar, baat; to tie up a corpse, balacas; to tie the mouth of a purse, pogong; to tie up a basket, bilit; to tie two sticks together, pangcol; to tie up a door, gacot; to tie up a bundle (as of sticks), bigquis; to tie up sheaves of grain, tangcas; to tie up a living creature, niquit; to tie the planks of a floor together, gilaguir; a temporary tie, balaguir; to tie many times round with a knot, balaguil; tight tie, yaguis; to tie bamboos, dalin; to tie up an article lent, pañgayla. Of these twenty-one verbs the root of scarcely any is traceable to any noun substantive. For rice there are no less than sixty-five words in Bisayan; for bamboo, twenty.

There are numerous names for the crocodile. Buaya conveys the idea of its size from the egg to the full-grown animal, when he is called buayang totoo, a true crocodile. For gold there are no less than fifteen native designations, which denote its various qualities.

Juan de Noceda gives twenty-nine words as translations of mirar (to look); forty-two for meter (to put); seventy-five for menear (to move); but synonymes are with difficulty found in languages having no affinity, especially when any abstract idea is to be conveyed.

In family relations the generic word for brother is colovong; elder brother, cacang: if there be only three, the second is called colovong; the third, bongso: but if there be more than three, the second is named sumonor; the third, colovong. Twin brothers are cambal. Anac is the generic name for son; an only son, bogtong; the first-born, pañganay; the youngest, bongso; an adopted son, ynaanac. Magama means father and son united; magcunaama, father and adopted son; nagpapaama, he who falsely calls another his father; pinanamahan, a falsely called father; maanac, father or mother of many children; maganac, father, mother and family of children (of many); caanactilic, the sons of two widowers; magca, brothers by adoption.

A common ironical expression is, Catalastasan mo aya a! (How very clever!)

The Indian name for the head of a barrio, or barangay, is dato, but the word more commonly used at present is the Castilian cabeza; so that now the Indian generally denominates this native authority cabeza sa balañgay. The Tagal word for the principal locality of a district is doyo, in Castilian, cabazera.

The word cantar has been introduced for the music of the Church, but many of the ancient Indian words have been retained, such as Pinanan umbitanan ang patay.—They sing the death-song; dayao, the song of victory; hune, the song of birds. The noise of the ghiko lizard is called halotictic.

The following may serve as specimens of Tagál polysyllabic words:—

Odd numbers in Tagál are called gangsal, even numbers tocol.

Many Malayan words are to be traced, some in their pure, others in a corrupted form, not only in the Tagal and Bisayan, but in other idioms of the Philippines.12 Such are Langit, heaven; puti, white; mata, eye; vato, stones; mura, cheap; and some others. Slightly modified are dita for lina, language; babi, for babuy, pig; hagin (Tag.) and hangin (Bis.) for angin, wind; masaguit for sakit, sick; patay for mati (Mal.), mat (Pers.), dead; nagcasama for samasama, in company; matacut for takot, fear; ulan for udian, rain; and a few others. The Malay word tuan, meaning honourable, and generally employed to signify the obedience and deference of the speaker to the person addressed, is mostly used by the Tagals in an ironical sense. Ay touan co! Honourable man indeed! “Do not tuan me,” is equivalent to, “None of your nonsense.”

The monks have introduced most of the Castilian words of Greek and Latin origin necessary for the profession of the Catholic faith, or the celebration of its religious rites, for few of which could any representatives be found in the aboriginal tongues.

Considering the long possession of many portions of the Philippines by tribes professing Mahomedanism, the number of current Arabic words is small: I heard salam, salute; malim, master; arrac, wine or spirits; arraes for reis, captain. And among the Mussulmans of Mindanao, Islam, koran, rassoul (prophet), bismillah, kitab, and other words immediately connected with the profession of Islamism, were quite familiar.

The only Chinese word that I found generally in use was sampan, a small boat, meaning literally three planks.

Many of the sounds in the Tagal are so thoroughly English that they fell strangely on my ear. Toobig is water; and asin, salt, when shouted out to the Indian servants at table, somewhat startled me, and I could not immediately find out what was the excess denounced, or the peccadillo committed. Most of the friars speak the native idioms with fluency, never preach in any other, and living, as most of them do, wholly surrounded by the Indian population, and rarely using their native Spanish tongue, it is not to be wondered at that they acquire great facility in the employment of the Indian idioms. Most of the existing grammars and dictionaries were written by ecclesiastics to aid in the propagation of the Christian doctrine, and small books are printed (all on religious subjects) for the instruction of the people. I could not discover that they have any historical records or traditions brought down from a remote antiquity.

The more my attention has been directed to the study of the idioms of distant countries, the more I am struck by the absurd fancies and theories which have obtained so much currency with regard to the derivation and affinities of languages. The Biscayans firmly hold their Euscaran idiom to have been the tongue of Adam and Eve in Paradise, and consequently the universal language of primitive man and the fountain-head of all others. More than one Cambrian patriot has claimed the same honour for the Welsh, insisting that all the dialects of the world have been derived from the Cymri. But it would be hard to prove that a single word has descended to the present times from the antediluvian world. Intercourse and commerce seem the only channels through which any portion of the language of any one nation or tribe has passed into the vocabulary of any other. The word sack is said to be that of the most general diffusion. A French writer contends it was the only word preserved at the time of the Babel confusion of languages, and it was so preserved in order that the rights of property might be respected in the general anarchy. In the lower numerals of remote dialects there are many seemingly strange affinities, which may be attributed to their frequent use in trading transactions. Savages, having no such designations of their own, have frequently adopted the higher decimal numbers employed by civilized nations, of which the extended use of the word lac for 10,000 is an example. Muster, among trading nations, is, with slight variations, the almost universally received word for pattern; so the words account, date, and many similar. How many maritime terms are derived from the Dutch, how many military from the French, how many locomotive from the English! The Justinian code has impregnated all the languages of Europe with phrases taken from the Roman law. To the Catholic missal may be traced in the idioms of converted nations almost all their religious phraseology. In the facilities of combination which the Greek in so high a degree possesses science has found invaluable auxiliaries. Our colonies are constantly adding to our stores, and happily there is not (as in France) any repugnance to the introduction of useful, still less of necessary words. Bentham used to say that purity of language and poverty of language were nearly synonymous. It is well for the interests of knowledge that the English tongue receives without difficulty new and needful contributions to the ancient stock. The well of pure English undefiled is not corrupted, but invigorated, by the streams which have been poured into it from springs both adjacent and remote. Language must progress with and accommodate itself to the progress of knowledge, and it is well that a language clear, defined and emphatic as our own—derived from many sources, whence its plasticity and variety—having much monosyllabic force and polysyllabic cadence—condensed and yet harmonious—should be the language having now the strongest holds and the widest extension.

Among the evidences of progress which the world exhibits, not only is the gradual extinction of the inferior by the advance of the superior races of man a remarkable fact, but equally striking is the disappearance of the rude and imperfect idioms, and their supplantation by the more efficient instruments of advancement and civilization found in the languages of the cultivated nations. The attempts which have been made to introduce the phraseology of advanced arts and sciences into tongues which only represent a low stage of cultivation, have been lamentably unsuccessful. No appropriate niches can be found in barbarian temples for the beautiful productions of the refined genius of sculpture. The coarse garments of the savage cannot be fitly repaired with the choice workmanship of the gifted artisan. And few benefits can be conceived of more importance to the well-being of the human family than that the means of oral intercourse should be extended, and that a few widely spread languages (if not a universal one, whose introduction may be deemed an utterly hopeless dream) will in process of time become the efficient instrument of communication for the whole world.

The poetry of the Tagals is in quantity of twelve syllables. They have the Spanish asonante, but words are considered to rhyme if they have the same vowel or the same consonant at a terminal, as thus:—

So stick would rhyme with thing, knot with rob; and the Indian always chant their verses when they recite them, which, indeed, is a generally received Asiatic custom. The San tze King, or three-syllable classic, which is the universally employed elementary book in the schools of China, is always sung, and the verse and music naturally aid the memory. The music of the song sung by the Tagálas to tranquillize children, called the helehele, De Mas says, resembles that of the Arab.

I have found a few proverbs in verse, of which these are examples:—

Note.—The chapter I had written on the language of the Philippines was, with many others of my MSS., submerged in the Red Sea by the Alma wreck, and much of their contents is utterly illegible; nor have I been able, from any materials accessible to me in this country, to present anything like a satisfactory sketch. Under the circumstances, my short-comings will, I doubt not, be forgiven.