We have now to consider the question of the relation of writing to language; how far it has influenced it, and continues to influence it; and for what reasons it seems an inadequate representation of language. The first thing necessary for us to remember is that, though writing is the only means whereby the speech of the past has been preserved for us, yet it is equally true that, before we can consider writing at all, we have to convert it into spoken language, and to affix sounds to the symbols of language which have descended to us from the past. All such translation of symbols affixed to language in the past must necessarily be imperfect; we can only arrive approximately, for instance, at a satisfactory conjecture of the actual sounds of the English language as spoken by Shakespeare; and the data for determining such questions must always be more or less incomplete.
The written representation of language must, however, always be an interesting object of study to the philologist—partly because it has been the vehicle of the sounds of language, and partly because it is an important factor in the development of language itself.
Writing appeals, in the first place, to a much larger community than speaking. A single page of written matter may appeal to thousands more easily than the most eloquent sermon or address. Nay, writing may in this way appeal to the whole of a linguistic community, causing those of the present time to exert their influence on generations yet unborn.
Writing which consistently and regularly represents the spoken language must be more effective in perpetuating that language than writing which does not so represent it. Theoretically, we assume that written languages fall into one or other of these classes, and we classify them as languages spelt phonetically and spelt non-phonetically, or, as some prefer to express it, historically.
But we must remember that no alphabet, however perfect, can assume to be a correct picture of language. Language consists of a continuous series of sounds, never broken, but consecutive. Just as no amount of drops of water separately considered could give the picture of a river, so no amount of symbols, however minute, could give the real picture of a sentence. A sentence, nay, a single word, is a continuous whole; the symbols whereby we represent it can represent only the chief parts, and represent them as disconnected. The transitions, the links remain unindicated, and so do such important factors as quantity, accent, and tone.
Further, the alphabets in use are, even the best of them, imperfect. It is plain that, when the members of a particular linguistic community, like, e.g., the Germans or the Portuguese, seek to make their alphabet a consistent picture of the sounds of speech, they aim merely at representing the sounds of their own language. A scientific alphabet should aim at representing all possible sounds, and not merely those needed in an alphabet of a particular linguistic community.
Even in the case of the best-spelt languages, i.e. the languages in which the principle of one sound standing for one sign, and one sign for one single sound obtains, we shall find that these aim only at satisfying the ordinary practical needs of the language. They make as few distinctions as is consistent with ordinary clearness and consistency. For instance, they deem it unnecessary to denote the difference of sounds arising from the position of a letter in a syllable, a word, or an accent, provided only that a similarity of position produces habitually similar results. A certain degree of consistency is thus attained without a superfluity of symbols. In Modern High German, for instance, the hard s sound in lust, brust, etc., has the same symbol to represent it as that which elsewhere represents the soft s sound: but no ambiguity arises from this, because s, when followed by t, unless the group st is initial, is always hard; thus the s in reist is pronounced as in lust. Similarly, final s is habitually pronounced hard or unvoiced; as, hass, glas, eis.
In the same way, in English, it would have been superfluous, in an alphabet merely directed to satisfy practical needs, to adopt a special sign for the front nasal n in sing; because n, followed by and combined with g, always has the same sound. Similarly, n, in such combinations as the Fr. vigne, Ital. ogni, has a consistent and regular pronunciation, and therefore there is no need for any special representation of it.
There are indeed languages, like Sanscrit, in which the principle of phonetic spelling is more or less carefully carried out. Generally, however, we find that the same sign of any particular alphabet has to serve for more than one sound, and it almost invariably happens that we augment the confusion by employing different signs for one and the same sound. The chief reason for these defects is because most nations, instead of creating symbols to represent the sounds in their own language, have been content to adopt an alphabet ready to hand, made to suit the requirements of the language of another nation. Thus the alphabet used by most civilised nations was that which the Phenicians elaborated from the Egyptian hieroglyphics; and the Russians adopted with modifications the Greek adaptation of this. Another reason for the inconsistency is that, as pronunciation changes, it is obvious that the denotation of symbols ought to change as well. These same causes may also produce an unnecessary superfluity of symbols. In English, for instance, the alphabet suffers alike from superfluity and defect. Several signs serve to denote the same sound, as c, k, ch; c, s; oo, ou; ou, ow; a, ai; e, i, ee, ea, ie, ei; i, y; cks, x; oa, aw; and many others might be cited. Again, there are many cases in which the same symbols denote different sounds, such as th in thin and then; a in hat and fatal; i in pin and pine.208
It is not the place here to point out in detail the advantages of a well-spelt language over a less well-spelt one.209 Practically, however, the consideration cannot be disregarded that, if English orthography represented English pronunciation as closely as Italian does Italian, at least half the time and expense of teaching to read and to spell would be saved. This is assumed by Dr. Gladstone210 to be twelve hundred hours in a lifetime, and as more than half a million of money per annum for England and Wales alone. A few instances, taken mainly from Pitman’s work, may serve to show how all-pervading the irregularity is.
The same symbol serves to denote different vowel sounds (1) even in words etymologically connected; as, sane, sanity; nation, national; navy, navigate; metre, metrical; final, finish; floral, florid; student, study; punitive, punish: (2) in words etymologically unconnected, as in fare, have, save; were, mere; give, dive; notice, entice; active, arrive; doctrine, divine; gone, bone; dove, move, rove, hover. Again, cf., change, flange; paste, caste; bind, wind; most, cost; rather, bather; there, here; fasting, wasting.
By collecting examples in this way, Mr. Pitman has arrived at the conclusion that, in English, we endeavour to express fourteen distinct sounds by using five signs in twenty-three different ways, without any real means of discriminating when one sound and when another is intended, or what sign should be used to denote a particular sound. But besides these separate vowel signs, digraphs and trigraphs to the number of twenty-two are used to express the same fourteen sounds which the five vowel signs have already attempted to represent; though they, in addition, attempt to represent two more diphthongal sounds, making sixteen distinct sounds in all. For instance, pail, said, plaid; pay, says; heat, sweat, great, heart; receive, vein, height; key, prey, eye; sour, pour, would; town, sown.211
Of the consonants, we may remark, in the first place, that many are silent, as in debt, limb, indict, condemn: in some cases, silent consonants have been interpolated to suggest a mistaken derivation, as in sovereign, foreign, island; in others, again, they have been capriciously retained to mark the derivation of a word (as in receipt), and yet omitted in the case of other words derived from the same source. Then, for instances of the inconsistent use of consonants, we may take the following table from Pitman; (a few examples have been added):—
ch.—church, chaise, ache; yacht, drachm. ck.—pick (k or c superfluous). gh.—ghost, cough, hough; dough, night, inveigh. ng.—singer, linger, infringer. ph.—physic, nephew; phthisical. rh.—rhetoric, myrrh, catarrh. sc.—science, conscience, discern, score. sch.—schism, schedule, scheme. th.—thistle, this, thyme. wh.—whet, whole.
If, in addition to these obvious defects in alphabets, we bear in mind the fact that the accentuation commonly remains for the most part undenoted, we must admit that our alphabets present us with a very imperfect picture of spoken language. For an attempt to realise a scientifically correct alphabet, we must refer to Sweet’s ‘Handbook of Phonetics,’ and Melville Bell’s ‘Visible Speech,’ ‘Sounds and their Relations,’ A. J. Ellis, etc., not to mention the works in other languages, such as those by Techmer, Vietor, Trautmann, Sievers, etc.
We have to bear in mind that writing is to living language nothing more than what a rough sketch is to a finished picture. The sketch is, commonly speaking, sufficient to enable one familiar with the figures which are meant to be represented, to recognise them. But should several painters attempt to reproduce a finished sketch from such rough outline, they would produce a set of pictures differing very much in details. For instance, each painter, if he did not recognise certain objects in the sketch, would be tempted to substitute in their place others with which he might be familiar. Just so, those who seek to reproduce the sounds of a language from written symbols, will be tempted to substitute similar sounds with which they are familiar for the sounds of the sketch, as, for our purpose, we may call the alphabet. Even in the case of a foreign language possessing an alphabet in some respects identical with our own, like the French, it is considered necessary to prefix to the alphabet a description of the sound intended to be conveyed by the symbol; and even this cannot obviate the necessity of hearing the sound, especially when the alphabet is not based upon scientific principles. It is equally true that the same remarks are applicable to the case of a dialect belonging to the same group of languages as our own.
In any linguistic area where the same language is spoken, there exist different dialects, i.e. variations from the standard language possessing a quantity of divergencies from the sounds of the standard language. The common alphabet has to stand as the representative of all these dialects alike, and the same symbol has to present, for instance, the u sound as uttered by a west countryman and as uttered by a Scotchman. R, again, is pronounced by a Londoner quite differently from the way in which it is pronounced by a Scotchman. F is pronounced like v in Devonshire and Cornwall; and the h is in many words notoriously written but not pronounced in the greater part of England proper. Besides such obvious differences, which might be multiplied indefinitely,212 we have to remember that the quantity, the pitch, and the accent remain undenoted by the standard alphabet in the different dialects; and we shall easily see that a large quantity of dialectic differences is taken no account of in writing. The obvious result of this want of adequate representation of the sounds of the separate dialects must be that the speakers in the separate dialects must each consider that the sound with which he is himself familiar is the one intended to be represented by the symbol which he sees.
The result of our present system of representing sounds is that we are unable to give an idea of other dialects than our own, except in cases where the discrepancy between these and our own is very strongly marked. Even in such cases merely a rough indication of the pronunciation can be given; but the delicate and manifold differences occurring between the speech of individuals of different communities and different generations must pass unmarked. It is needless to add that the present system of representation of sounds is useless as a register of the actual state of pronunciation, and of the changes which are gradually occurring. How interesting would it be to Englishmen had a scientific alphabet been employed to record the different stages of pronunciation of their language, so that the nineteenth century might know with approximate exactitude how Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Milton spoke!
But in any changes which we may see fit to make in orthography, we must beware of supposing that, in a perfect alphabet, we should possess an absolutely controlling influence over pronunciation and sound changes. No doubt if sounds were accurately registered by a scientific alphabet, the more educated classes of the community who were familiar with this alphabet and its denotation would be led to attempt to maintain their pronunciation in accordance with the standard afforded them by this. But, even assuming that such an alphabet were generally adopted, it is plain that it could only represent one particular dialect of any linguistic area, which dialect would, as a rule, be that of the best-educated classes in the community. Then, as now, dialects would remain unrepresented, or, at the best, would be registered for scientific purposes or for a limited use. Then, as now, absolutely different sounds occurring in different dialects would be denoted by the same letters. Then, as now, different sound images would be associated with different letters, which are, of course, merely connected with sounds by an association of ideas. Then, as now, the written language would be unable to record the changes that had passed upon the language of an entire community, confining itself to those that had passed over the normal or standard dialect, which, as we have seen, would be in England the dialect of the educated classes. But it must be held that language is not consciously altered to suit orthography; any such alteration would be contrary to the common development of language. The orthography may, however, be altered to suit the language; but, as it is obvious that the language must change more quickly than the orthography, it follows that the orthography must remain, at the best, an imperfect record of written sounds.
The defects of written speech which have been already indicated are not as great as those which set in when the orthography of a language has been long settled. The original spellers tried to commit the sounds of each word to writing; they broke up the word into its elements, and compounded the letters corresponding to these elements to the best of their ability. But there is no doubt that practice in reading and writing makes this process continually shorter. The consciousness that the symbol is bound up with the sound grows gradually fainter. A group of symbols represents a group of sounds; and the sounds are apprehended in groups, and not singly. The sentence, and not the word, becomes the basis of reading. Indeed, fluent reading and writing would be impossible if this were not the case. Poets, like Burns, who write in their own dialect, however much they may try to reproduce accurately the sounds of that dialect, and however well they may succeed, still are fain to content themselves with a certain conventional approximation to accurate representation; in fact they are very much influenced by the conventional orthography of the literary language. They are also constrained to attempt to produce an approximate amount of accuracy with the smallest amount of labour; and their labour is considerably lessened by their acceptance of conventional symbols. Our forefathers really tried to indicate consistently their pronunciation of their words. They tried to spell phonetically, and the result may be seen in the different spellings of the manuscripts of Langland, Chaucer, Shakespeare, etc.
The advantages of a fixed orthography are mainly that the reader connects a definite orthographic image with a definite signification. We can understand this if we take two words which are pronounced identically but differently spelt, such as bough, and the verb to bow. Were these words written identically, the written picture common to the two would associate itself with the sound common to the two words, whereas, at present, each meaning has its own distinct symbol. Each divergence in spelling, though from a phonetic point of view it may be an improvement, increases the difficulty of understanding what is written. Divergencies or want of fixity in spelling may arise from the awkwardness of writers, who may have employed several signs to denote the same sound, or a single sign for more than one; or, again, it may arise from the want of some controlling body, like an academy, whose business it is to regulate orthography. On the other hand, it may be due to the very perfection and consistency of the characteristics of the language which has to be reproduced. If, for instance, as in Sanscrit, or in Welsh, the spelling of the same word varies with its pronunciation according to its position in the sentence, a single meaning must be expressed by different symbols, and it is impossible for one definite written picture to connect itself with the first form. The more fixed the orthography, the more is the process in reading and writing facilitated.
On the whole, it is true that the natural tendency of the orthography is towards greater fixity, though it is also true that retrogressive movements sometimes occur, as when marked phonetic changes set in. There are three principal methods whereby it is commonly sought to produce a fixed and uniform orthography: (1) by the abolition of variations between several different methods of spelling; (2) by regarding etymology and taking it as a guide to orthography; and (3) by holding to traditional spelling and disregarding sound. The first of these methods is, generally speaking, in accordance with the aims of phonetic reformers; the two latter are in direct contravention of their aims. But against these efforts to produce fixity in orthography there remains always the counter tendency to bring language and its written expression into harmony; and this tendency exhibits itself partly in the effort to correct original deficiencies in spelling, and partly in a reaction against the discrepancies constantly produced in written language by sound-change. As these two tendencies are constantly operative, the history of orthography is a description of the temporary triumph of one or other of these two forces.
If we should institute a comparison between the development of writing and that of language, we shall find certain points of resemblance, and others of marked divergence. With reference to the latter; in the first place, changes in orthography are brought about more consciously, and with more purpose on the part of the writer, than changes of language on the part of the speaker. In the second place, whereas in language a whole linguistic community is exposed to a change, in the case of writing, only that portion of the community who write or print or publish are directly interested. And thus it is that the authority of single individuals is able to carry weight to a much larger extent than in language. Again, orthographical changes do not depend upon personal contact, but appeal to the eye, and therefore are capable of affecting a wider, if a less numerous, public than linguistic changes. A good instance of the effect of changed orthography is seen in the Welsh language as contrasted with the Gaelic. The Welsh has changed its old cumbrous orthography for a simpler and more phonetic system; and, in consequence, the Welsh language has become more easy to acquire, and, generally speaking, a handier instrument of literary intercourse. No reformer has arisen for Gaelic, which consequently is little read and little written in comparison with its Cymric sister.
One of the most obvious difficulties that meets the orthographical reformer at the outset is the presence in the alphabet of one or more signs to represent the same sound, a case which has been already referred to in this chapter. This superfluity of sound-signs may be an inheritance from the language whence the alphabet in use is borrowed; thus, in our alphabet, we have received c and k and q, all denoting the same sound. Or, again, it may happen that, in the language from which the alphabet was borrowed, two signs had a different value, but that the language which borrows them is unable to employ these signs to make such a distinction, which, indeed, does not exist in it. Thus, the Greek alphabet employed χ to represent the aspirated guttural; but, as we do not employ that sound at all, the symbol ch, as seen in cholera, is superfluous. Again, both symbols of the borrowed language easily pass into use in the language which borrows them, if the sound which the borrowing language means to represent lies between the two sounds represented by the symbols borrowed. Thus, for instance, in the Upper German dialect, at the time of the introduction of the Latin alphabet, there was no distinction answering to that between the Latin g and k, b and p, f and v, consequently, one of these symbols was, for that particular German dialect, superfluous.
In English there is one cause of vacillation which should be noticed as of interest, viz., the attempt of certain writers to omit certain letters which seem to them superfluous, as when honor, color, etc. are written instead of honour, colour, etc. As far as this spelling expresses supposed philological accuracy, it is, of course, erroneous.
Superfluities in spelling are disposed of in much the same way as superfluities in words and forms. The simplest way is by the disuse of one of the two signs. The other way is by differentiating the signs which were originally used indifferently. This differentiation may serve to supply a want in the language; as when, in Modern German, i, u, and j, v were gradually parted into vowel and consonant. Thirdly, it happens that one manner of spelling becomes usual in one word, and a different manner in another, the differences depending upon mere caprice. Thus we spell precede, but proceed; proceeding, but procedure; stream (from A.S. stréam) with ea, but steep (A.S. stéap) with ee. A.S. bréad is now written bread, but A.S. réad has become red; A.S. nu we write now, but ðu is at present thou; etc. Some of these and similar inconsistencies owe at least their preservation, if not their origin, to the desire of differentiating in the spelling such words as have the same sound but different meanings; e.g., to and too, steel and steal, red and read, etc.
Etymology, or, more correctly, etymological grouping, and analogy have great influence upon spelling, as well as on the spoken language. Again and again an older phonetical spelling has been replaced by a real or fanciful etymological one. Thus, for instance, it is owing to the influence of etymological grouping when certain alternations of sound, due to flection or other change of position, are left without indication by any corresponding changes of spelling. Thus, in Anglo-Saxon, the word dæg had its plural dagas. Final g was dropped, and the vowel before it changed into the sound now represented by ay in day. A g between two vowels, however, generally became w, and, accordingly, dagas became dawes, a form frequently found in Middle English. In this case, analogy interfered, and a new ‘regular’ plural, formed directly from the singular day, replaced the older historically correct form. It is, however, possible to imagine that this had not happened in the spoken language, and that, whilst people SAID day, dawes, they had WRITTEN day, dayes. Or rather, if the declined cases in the singular had remained in use—in which cases, also, the g stood between two vowels—that the w written in the declined cases of the singular, and in all cases of the plural, had begun in time to be written also in the nominative singular, where the y was the ‘regular’ form. This supposititious case is only an instance of what has happened in many languages, e.g., in German. German ‘unvoices’ all final consonants; i.e., a d or t, when final, is pronounced t, a p or b is pronounced p, etc. Before terminations of inflection, however, d and b remained ‘voiced,’ and we find accordingly in Middle High German such pairs as nom. tac, gen. tages. The g of the declined cases has, however, supplanted the c of the nominative singular, and the word is now written throughout with g, though no one pronounces the same sound in the nominative singular, as in, say, tages, or nom. plur. tage, etc.
Again, etymological considerations first caused and now preserve the insertion of b in debt, g in reign. That, in many cases, these etymological considerations arose from sheer ignorance does not alter the fact that it was their influence which, after causing the insertion of, e.g., the g in sovereign, the h in rhythm, the l in could, the w in whole, the p in receipt, saved these absurdities from desirable extinction.
It must, however, be admitted that, owing to these very irregularities and inconsistencies of spelling, as far as it is to be regarded as representing the spoken language, we owe sometimes a greater uniformity and regularity in the grammar of the written language than could obtain if spelling followed pronunciation more closely than it does.
Thus, for instance, in most weak verbs the past tense is expressed in writing by the addition of ed, though sometimes, in the spoken word, nothing but the sound of d (I roll, I rolled), or even t (I express, I expressed), is added. The ed, in these cases, may be considered to be preserved partly from habit, partly from a feeling, to some extent etymological, that such and such a meaning (or change of meaning) is indicated by such and such a spelling or letter-group.
There are two senses in which we may speak of mixture in language—the broader sense in which every speaker must influence those who hear him, and be influenced by them in turn, and the narrower sense in which one language or one dialect is influenced by another with which it is but distantly connected.
In order to understand the process of such mixture as this, we ought to observe, in the first place, what passes in the case of individuals. The circumstances leading to such mixture may be best observed in the case of persons who speak more than one language. Bi-lingualism on a large scale, of course, is best seen where a community resides upon the confines of two linguistic areas, as on the borders of England and Wales. It may, again, be due to the sojourn of a person in a foreign country: it becomes more marked still when persons pass from one country and settle in another; and still more when large masses of people are permanently transferred under foreign domination by conquests and by colonisation, as in the case of the inhabitants of British India or the French population of Lower Canada.
The knowledge of a foreign tongue may also be imparted by writing, as when we learn classical Latin and Greek; but in this case, the influence exerted by the foreign tongue is felt only by the better educated classes of society.
In all cases where nations have been brought into contact, and have been mixed on a large scale, bilingualism is common. It is natural to expect that, of the two languages employed, that of the more prominent nation will gain a preponderance over the other, whether its prominence be due to its power, or industrial or intellectual capacity. There will be a change, in fact, from bilingualism to unilingualism; and the process will leave traces more or less marked on the superior language.
An instance of this process on a large scale was afforded by the Roman Conquest of Gaul, the consequence of which was a struggle between the tongue of the Latin conquerors and that of the Celtic conquered race. The result was that the Latin ousted the Celtic, but not without leaving traces of the Celtic idiom in certain words, in the pronunciation, and the construction of the language.
But it will be found that the mixture will not easily affect single individuals, so as to transform their diction into a language made up of elements equally, or nearly equally, taken from either of the two conflicting languages. Even assuming that a person is perfectly master of both languages, and that he may pass from one to another with perfect ease, he will yet adhere to one language for the expression of a clause or a sentence. Each tongue may, however, exercise a modifying influence upon the other in the way of affecting its idioms, its accent, its intonations, etc. It may happen that the influence of one tongue may be predominant in particular areas of language, as we see that the English is in Lower Canada in matters of commerce. This leads to such expressions as jobbeur, cheurtine (shirting), sligne (sling), charger le jury, forger, cuisiner les comptes, etc.: see American Journal of Philology, vol. x., 2.213 Of course, where one of two or more languages has been learnt as the mother tongue, this will always have more influence over foreign languages, however perfectly acquired, than the latter will have over the mother tongue; but we must not under-rate the influence which a foreign language may have upon the mother tongue, especially when it is looked upon as fashionable, or as the key to an important literature. The influence of the foreign tongue may obviously spread to persons who are wholly unacquainted with it, by the contact of these with persons who have adopted or assimilated the foreign elements.
The two principal ways in which a foreign idiom may influence the mother tongue are these. In the first place, foreign words may be adopted into the mother tongue and retained, commonly speaking, in a more or less altered form. The English language has borrowed words of this kind from numerous languages. Thus, from Dutch, we get the word sloop (sloep, itself a loan-word from Fr. shaloupe; whence we, again, have borrowed shallop), yacht: yam, from some African language, through the Portuguese: from Spanish—flotilla, cigar (Sp. cigarro), mosquito: from Italian—domino, casino, opera, stucco: from Persian—chess (Persian sháh, a king, through O.Fr. eschac), orange, shawl, rice, sugar. India gives us sepoy; Germany, meerschaum; Russia, a steppe; China, tea; etc.214
In the second place, the method of connecting and arranging the sentences, and the idioms used by the mother tongue may be taken from the foreign language, and this, even though the material of the language be maintained intact.
The chief cause for the adoption of foreign words into the mother tongue is, of course, the need felt for them in the mother tongue. Words are constantly adopted for ideas which have as yet no words to express them. The names of places and persons are the most common among such adopted words, to which may, of course, be added the names of foreign products, such as tea, sago, chocolate. The names of such products may be taken from the language of communities in a very low state of civilisation. On the other hand, when a language finds it necessary to introduce technical, scientific, religious, or political terms, it is fair to suppose that the language which lends the words must be that of a nation in a higher state of culture than the language of the nation which borrows them. There are many words relating to social subjects imported into English from French which may serve to give a good idea of the weak point of the nation which borrows, and of the strong point of the nation which supplies them. Such are numerous works having reference to ease in conversation, such as bon-mot, esprit, ‘wit;’ verve, ‘liveliness; ‘élan,’ spring;’ etc.; and it will be correspondingly found that the language whence such supplies are drawn is very rich in the qualities for which it possesses such abundance of names.
But languages may be tempted to borrow beyond their actual needs when the foreign language and culture is higher prized than the native, and when, accordingly, the usage of such words is considered fashionable or tasteful. Instances in point are the numerous Greek words introduced into classical Latin, such as techinæ (Plautus, Most., II. i. 23), and the numerous French words borrowed by German and English, such as étiquette, chaperon, à outrance.
If a speaker has an imperfect mastery of a foreign tongue, he will be apt to employ, when endeavouring to speak it, numerous loan-words from his mother tongue. He will, in fact, insert into the foreign tongue any number of words which may serve the purpose of expressing the idea which he feels necessary. Such loan-words, of course, take time before they become usual. They cannot become usual unless they are often repeated, and, as a rule, unless they proceed spontaneously from several individuals as the expression of a general need. Even then they may only become current in particular circles: as when, for instance, such technical terms as those applicable to music are borrowed. Such words, when fairly accepted by the language, are treated like other words in the language, and are regarded by the speakers of it as native, and inflected as such. Foreign words, when borrowed, are commonly treated thus. There are no two languages in which the two stocks of sounds are precisely identical. Consequently, the speaker will, as a rule, replace the foreign sounds by those which he conceives most nearly to represent them in his own language; and, in cases where the foreign language possesses sounds not known in his own, he will fail to pronounce these correctly, at least till after much practice. It is well known how very seldom any one masters a foreign tongue so as to speak it without some incorrect accent. Thus it happens that in the cases where a conquering language spreads over a nation speaking a different language, the original language of the conquered people must leave some traces in the production of sounds, and changes will occur in other ways as in accentuation, etc. Numerous instances might be cited of where such invasion of a conquering tongue has occurred on a large scale, as in the case of the Moorish invasion of Spain, the Latin invasion of Gaul, the Norman-French invasion of Saxon England.
In cases where one people merely comes into contact with another in the course of travel or of literary intercourse, the number of those who acquire the language of the foreign people will be necessarily small. The word will, therefore, from the outset, be pronounced imperfectly; the persons who first introduced the word or those who immediately accepted it will insert sounds with which they are familiar among the foreign ones. It thus happens that when a foreign word has once made its way into a language, it commonly exchanges its proper sounds for those native to the language which borrows it. Even those who know the foreign language most perfectly, and are aware of the proper pronunciation of the loan-word, have to conform to the pronunciation of the majority, at the risk of passing for affected or pedantic. For instance, in English, in spite of all the numerous loan-words which occur in the written language, very few new sounds have been introduced, such as the nasal m in employé; and even these sounds are dispensed with among the uneducated, and imperfectly reproduced by many of the better educated. One common result of the adoption of a foreign word into another language is that popular etymology begins to operate, causing the word to appear less strange to those who have borrowed it, as in the familiar instance rose des quatre saisons, ‘rose of the four seasons,’ transformed by English gardeners into quarter sessions rose.215
The changes which naturally affect foreign words upon their reception into the language, must of course be kept distinct from those which affect them after they have become an integral part of the language, when they change according to the laws of sound-change of the language into which they are adopted. In fact, it is often possible to tell the epoch at which a word has passed from one language into another, by noting whether it has or has not participated in certain laws of sound-change. Thus, where in Old High German the Latin t is represented sometimes by t, and sometimes by z (as tempal = templum), ‘temple’ as against ziagil (= tegula = ‘till’), the form with z represents an older stage of borrowing than the form in t; and, again, words in which the Old High German represents the Latin p by ph or f, must be held to represent an older stage of borrowing than those in which it is found as p or b: cf. pfeffer, ‘pepper;’ Pfingsten, ‘Pentecoste,’ as against pîna, (Lat. ‘pæna’): priester (Gk. ‘presbuteros’).
Similarly, such a word as chamber, or chant, must plainly have been borrowed before the period of sound-change when the sound of ch regularly took the place of the Latin c; and this we know to have been the history of the c sound in the dialect of the Ile de France, whence those and other similar forms come to us.
But foreign words are exposed, after their adoption, to the same assimilating forces as when they are first adopted: and one of the transforming forces which should be mentioned is the transference of the native system of accentuation to foreign words. In English, a study of Chaucer or Langland will show us how French words originally adopted and pronounced according to the French method of accentuation, by degrees, and not till after a period of vacillation, passed over to the system common in Teutonic languages: thus Chaucer has lánguage and langáge; fórtune and fortúne; báttaile and battáile; láboure and labóur: thus Pope accentuates gallánt. Of course, words may be so far phonetically modified as to become unrecognisable even by persons who know the language whence they are borrowed. Who, for instance, would recognise in the word pastans216 the French passé-temps, our pastime; or in the common Scotch word ashet, the French assiette. Thus, in the same author, Gavin Douglas, we find veilys (calves), representing the old French word, véel (vitellus). The strangeness may be increased still more by changes which have occurred in the language from which the word is borrowed. Thus our word veal represents an older form of the French language than veau; and the German pronunciation of many French words is that of an older period of French pronunciation; as París, concért, offizíer. German words adopted by Romance languages have been even more violently transformed: who, in the French words tape, taper, would recognise the German zapfen; in the Italian toppo, the German zopf; in the French touaille, the South German zwehle; in the Italian drudo, the German traut? In the same way, the signification of the word in the parent speech may change; as in the case of the French emphase, ‘bombast,’ as against emphasis; biche (‘hind’), etc. Finally, it may disappear in the parent language and survive as a loan-word in the language which has borrowed it; as, for instance, the French word guerre, ‘war,’ in which survives the Old High German werra, ‘quarrel,’ the same word as our war.
The word may be borrowed several times at different periods. It appears in different forms, of which the more recent bears the stamp of the parent language, while the older has been exposed to phonetic changes which have more or less violently acted upon its form. It will generally be found that the meaning attaching to the word when it is borrowed a second time will differ from that which it bears on the first occasion. These words which are more than once borrowed are commonly called doublets; they are very numerous both in French and English, and have been treated of at length by Bréal and Skeat. Instances of such are priest, presbyter; champagne, campaign; preach, predict; prove, probe. Proper names constantly afford instances of repeated forms of borrowing processes; cf. Evans, Jones, Johns; Thomasson, Thomson; Zachary, Zachariah. It sometimes happens that a loan-word long since naturalised in a language receives a partial assimilation to its form in the language whence it originally came; a good instance of this is seen in such forms as honor, color, etc., which, especially in America, are often so written, instead of honour, colour, etc. Sometimes words are adopted into a language from two kindred languages; the signification will then be similar, and the sound will differ but little—the sense, as well as the form, contributing to keep the two words together. German has several of such loan-words borrowed from the French and Latin; as, ideal and ideell; real and reell; which at a former period had an actually identical meaning, but now are differentiated. In English, spiritual and spirituel differ like spiritus and esprit. Some words, again, are borrowed from a language in which they already occur as loan-words. Thus the French have borrowed from English the word square, O.Fr. esquarré. Thus, again, Greek words come to us through the medium of the Latin: whence it is usual to write such forms as Æschylus, Hercules, instead of Aischulos, Heracles. Thus, again, Latin words borrowed from Greek have come into English through the medium of French—cf. such words as music, protestant, religion, etc.; and also such proper names as Horace, Virgil, Ovid, and Livy. Persons conversant with the original naturally refer such words to the language through which they came; and thus, in adopting Greek words, they employ the Latin accent and the regular English termination which represents that French termination whence the English one came. Such words are alopecy, academy, etc.
Derivatives formed with unusual suffixes often receive in addition the regular normal suffix. This is specially the case when a native synonymous suffix is added to the foreign one: as in Waldensian, Roumanian, sometimes the native suffix is substituted for the original suffix of the foreign language; as, Sultana, for Sultaneh. Words are borrowed in their entirety; but not suffixes, whether derivative or inflectional. When, however, a large number of words is borrowed containing the same suffix, these range themselves into a group, and fresh formations are formed upon the analogy of these. Thus, in English, after the analogy of such words as abbey, rectory, etc., we have such words formed as bakery, tannery, brewery: and, again, we find Romance words like French mouchard, ‘a spy,’ Italian falsardo, ‘impostor,’ with the Teutonic suffix: and very many English words with a French suffix; as, oddity, eatable, drinkable, murderous: and, again, poisonous, as against vénéneux in French. In English, again, we find such suffixes as -ist in jurist forming fresh additions to their group by analogy, mostly, however, in educated circles; as, Elohist and Jahvist, though such words spread eventually to the whole nation, as in the case of protectionist. -Ism is another of these, as in somnambulism; and -ian, as in Hartingtonian.
Inflectional terminations are also thus adopted, but more rarely, and only between nations that have been in close contact. In German it is common to use Christi as the genitive of Christus, and often the French plural in s is applied to German words, as in Frauleins. In English, we speak of phenomena, etc., and we employ indices in a mathematical sense. The English genitive ending has found its way into Indo-Portuguese, as in Hombres casa, ‘the man’s house.’ The gypsy dialects have adopted the inflectional terminations of each country where they are spoken.
Words are sometimes affected in their meaning by other languages; and further, the idioms peculiar to one language are affected by those current in another. This influence is called the influence upon linguistic form. The most common instance of the effect of one language upon another in this case, is where, when two words partially coincide in meaning, they are assumed to exactly tally in the whole extent of their meaning. This is, of course, one of the most common faults in translation. Thus an English child, learning French, will often be heard to use expressions like ‘Cela n’est pas le chemin,’ for ‘That is not the way;’ a German will say ‘brought a leading article,’ for wrote; a Frenchman, ‘Can you conduct?’ for ‘Can you drive?’ Sir Charles Dilke, in his Problems of Greater Britain,217 gives an interesting account of the French Language as spoken by the French settlers in lower Canada. It appears that the more educated of these speak a somewhat archaic and very pure French, but that the peasant or shopkeeper will say Je n’ai pas de change, for ‘I have no change.’ He will describe dry goods on his sign-board as marchandises sèches, and will call out when busy ‘J’ai un job à ramplir.’ In public meetings we hear of ‘les minutes,’ and the seconder of a resolution is called officially ‘le secondeur.’ The ‘speaker’ is l’orateur, and ‘Hear! Hear!’ is rendered by Ecoutez.
Sometimes a word is coined in one language after the model of one existing in another language, to supply a want felt by the language which borrows. This is especially the case with technical terms, as when accusative, ablative, etc., are introduced into English from the Latin model; and such words as these are liable to be misunderstood, as they may only tally with one portion of the meaning of the original word, or, indeed, in some cases be a mistranslation, as where, genetivus, ‘the begetting case,’ was taken as the Latin equivalent of γενικός, ‘the general case,’ and accusativus, ‘the accusing case,’ of αἰτιατική, ‘the conditional case.’ Another instance is the word solidarity, which we have coined to express the French solidarité.
Again: entire groups of words, or idioms, are literally translated from one language into another. Thus we hear, in the mouths of Irishmen, such expressions as I am after going, this being the literal translation of the Irish idiom for the rendering of the future tense. Thus the Austrians say Es steht nicht dafür, for ‘it is not worth the trouble,’ because the Bohemians express this phrase by nestojé za to. The following idioms are current in Alsace;218 it will be seen that they are literal French renderings of German phrases. Est-ce que cela vous goûte? ‘Does that please your taste?’ Il a frappé dix heures, ‘It has struck ten;’ Il brûle chez M. Meyer, ‘There is a fire at M. Meyer’s;’ Ce qui est léger, vous l’apprendrez facilement, ‘That which is easy, you will learn it easily;’ Cher ami, ne prends pas pour mauvais, ‘Dear friend, do not take it amiss;’ Pas si beaucoup, ‘Not so much;’ Attendez; j’apporterai une citadine, ‘Wait; I will bring a citadin (drink).’ On the other hand, the South-West Germans employ phrases after the French model; as, Es macht gut wetter, ‘It is fine weather.’
Finally; the syntax of one language may exercise an influence over that of another language. An instance of this has been already given. The form of the French language, which is a Romance language grafted on to a Celtic stock, has been much influenced by Celtic syntax (cf. the mode of expressing numerals, soixante-dix = 60 + 10, parallel to Celtic 3 scores + 10; quatre-vingts = 4 × 20 = Celtic 4 scores, etc.).
Again: as the Slavonic languages can employ one form for all genders and numbers of the relative, we find in Slavo-German the word was (what) correspondingly employed; cf. ein mann, was hat geheissen Jacob: der knecht, was ich mit ihm gefahren bin.
Of course authors may consciously imitate a foreign idiom with the view of producing a particular effect, as when Milton wrote ‘and knew not eating death;’ ‘Fairest of all her daughters Eve.’
In the case of dialects, almost the same remarks hold good as in the case of different languages. Word-borrowing is the most common process. Such words are most readily borrowed as are needed by the borrowing dialect for its own purposes; such as the Scotch words dour, douce, feckless, etc. Sounds, on the other hand, are not easily influenced by kindred dialects. The nearest native sounds are commonly substituted for those of the alien dialect. Of course the case may occur where two dialects have, in the course of their development, so far parted that words etymologically connected have lost all connection in sound. In this case, the sound of the alien dialect will as a rule be maintained. An instance of this is the Scotch unco’ in the phrase unco’ guid, which is really the same as uncouth; but the accent has shifted, and this tends to disguise the origin of the word.
In all modern civilised countries, we find, side by side with numerous dialects, a standard language, professing to stand aloof from all dialects, and to represent what may be called the classical form of the language. This standard language is in fact an abstraction, an ideal, a supreme court of language prescribing rules to be followed in the case of each language. It bears the same kind of relationship to the actual processes active in language, as a particular code of laws to the aggregate of all the cases in any district in which that code is applied; or of a definite dogmatic text-book to the religious practices and faiths of all the individuals of a community confessing the particular faith embodied in that book.
Such a standard language as we have described,—as it does not result from the various processes natural to the life of language,—necessarily differs from language in general by its fixity; wherever a change takes place in a standard language, the element of consciousness is more clearly present than in the ordinary changes of language. Not that a standard is absolutely all-foreseeing in its provisions, or can claim to decide on the entirety of the cases for which it gives the example. A code of law, in the same way, or a confession of faith, may be liable to several interpretations, and may not cover some of the cases which come under its purview. Besides this, we must always take into account the possible lack of intelligence on the part of those who ought to act up to its provisions; and, again, the feeling which must set in from time to time, that many of the provisions of the code are obsolete, owing to fresh moral or economical views which may have become current since it was drawn up. When such a feeling has set in strongly, the code is commonly altered to suit the demands of the day. Just so the standard language may, and indeed must, alter from time to time; but its alterations are, like those of the code, adopted designedly, or at all events with much more consciousness than those which set into the ordinary course of language.
This standard language is, speaking generally, the language of a certain restricted circle in an entire community—most commonly, as in England, the language of the best-educated classes. The standard language may be settled in two different ways: (1) by spoken language; (2) by written authorities. Supposing that a standard language is to result from a spoken language, it is necessary that the persons who are regarded as authorities should be in continuous and full communication with each other, in order to keep the standard as consistent as possible. Sometimes we find a particular town or district cited as speaking the language which is quoted as the standard. Thus it is common to quote Hanover, in Germany, and Tours in France, as places where the purest German and French are heard. But it is clear that, even assuming the correctness of such model towns or districts, none but the better-educated classes even of those districts can be looked upon as likely to maintain the standard language in its purity. In England, the standard language can be defined in no other way than as the language of the well-educated classes, who make it their object to speak alike, and to exclude abnormal or dialectic variations from the standard language. In France, besides the appeal to the usage of the educated, there is the further tribunal of the Academy, whose verdict is final upon all questions of literary taste and diction. In Germany, the language which must be taken as the standard language is not that of any town or district, but the purely artificial language employed on the German stage in serious drama. This language forms a very interesting and remarkable example of a standard language which is consciously maintained as the most effective medium of communication for a nation which is more divided into dialects than most other European nations. The stage language of Germany is maintained by a continuous and careful training, based on a knowledge of the science of phonetics. The objects aimed at by the actors have been twofold: in the first place, it was necessary to practise an eclecticism in the choice of their language, which should succeed in making it intelligible to the largest number of German speakers: in the next place, beauty and grace could not be left out of consideration. Hence a fixed norm had to be settled on and maintained, as it is plain that a consistent pronunciation maintained unchanged is a main factor in promoting intelligibility. Again, inconsistency in pronunciation is practically the admission of dialectical peculiarities: and such peculiarities at once suggest characterisation where none would be in place. Those points, then, in the varying dialects, were alone selected for this normal language which seemed more conducive to clearness. Sounds and intonations peculiar to any dialect were admitted into the standard language if they contributed to this result. Syllables which had come, in the course of time, to be slurred over on account of their light stress were reinstated in the integrity of their original sounds. The orthography was made to aid in the reconstruction of the pronunciation. Such studied straining after clearness must necessarily prevent the stage language from passing into a colloquial language. Its very clearness would savour of a stilted affectation. But, with all its rigidness and precision, the stage language still exercises some influence upon the sounds of the colloquial language—considerably more than that exercised by any particular dialect. But its form is to a large extent poetical; indeed, it receives much of its language ready made from the poets.
As we stated above, in the case of our own language the only normal standard that we are able to point to as the purest English is that commonly spoken among educated people. In this case it is obvious that the agreement between the different classes who aim at maintaining the norm can be at best but an imperfect one. Each class of educated men will have a tendency to fall into certain peculiarities of speech which will mark them off in some degree from all others. The language of the bar is not quite that of the army. The language of the Church differs from that of both. The language of the educated in England, however,—in other words, the language of those who aim at following the norm,—agrees in one respect, that in all an emancipation from dialect is aimed at, and, to a large extent, attained. This result is largely owing to the fact that in England the better-educated classes are in the habit of sending their sons to be educated out of their own dialectical district, and the result is that they come into contact, at an early period of their lives, with companions whose language is characterised either by different dialectical peculiarities from their own, or by an absence of any. But even so it must always be remembered that those who speak their language in its greatest purity, i.e. with the greatest absence of dialectical peculiarities, are subject to the changes which mark all language and are an inseparable concomitant of its existence.
But there is another means whereby a standard or common language may become fixed, and may come to serve as the normal or ideal language of the speakers of any given language. This means is the reduction of such normal language to writing. The reduction of the standard language to writing renders it independent of those who speak it, and enables it to be transmitted unchanged to the following generations. It further permits the standard language to spread without direct intercourse. Of course, the influence of a written language upon dialects is much more powerful upon the material than upon the phonetic side. A Scotch peasant may read a page of the Times every day, and, if he reads it aloud to his family, the absence of Scotticisms will act powerfully upon the younger generation, and to a certain extent upon himself. But he will probably continue to pronounce the standard language in much the same way as his native dialect.
It is possible to make strict rules for the maintenance of a written language, by adhering to the usage of definite grammars and dictionaries, or of particular authors, and admitting no other authorities. This happens when, for instance, modern Latinists aim at reproducing the style of Cicero, like Mr. Keble in his celebrated Prælectiones. But if so-called purity of style and expression be gained by this process, surely far more is lost. The author writing under such restrictions must necessarily lose much of his power of original expression, and must find himself very much cramped in his vocabulary. In fact, writing at a period when the whole character of the civilisation has changed from that of his model’s epoch, he will find himself at a loss for words to express his most common conceptions.
The fact is that a written language, in order to live and be effectual, must change with the changing times, and admit into itself words and methods of expression which have become usual among those for whom it is to serve as the model. It may maintain a conservative influence by refusing to admit such words and expressions too hastily; but it must allow of no absolute barriers to their ingress. Modern Latin, in the shape of the Romance languages, has survived, and has proved adequate to the expression of modern thought; but in its ancient form, it has died out as a living language; and the fair dream of the Humanists that the tongue of Cicero might serve as the medium of communication to all civilised Europe was destined to pass away unrealised, from the simple fact that they insisted too strongly that this tongue should be exclusively modelled upon that of Cicero himself.
A literary language which has emancipated itself from its models must, of course, become less regular as time goes on, and each individual who employs it introduces into it some of his own peculiarities of idiom. But it need not split up into varieties geographically situated, as must needs be the case under similar circumstances with spoken language. For instance, the English written in America is much more like the English written in England than is the dialect spoken in Cornwall like that spoken in Yorkshire. Sound-change, of course, under our present alphabetic system remains wholly undenoted. Inflections, word-significations, and syntax are of course exposed to change, but to a less extent than in the spoken language. Such a word as bug may have retained its older significance of insect in America, and have been specialised in England; but the word is written in the same way in the two countries alike. Similarly, will and shall may be exchanged, or one of these used to the exclusion of the other; but they will remain spelt in the same way. Besides this, it must be remembered that the so-called classical models in any language will always continue to exert a large influence upon those who write in it; and this will always be an influence antagonistic to change.
The method whereby a standard language may best secure the greatest possible agreement over the largest possible area, and may join to this agreement the necessary adaptation to the changed circumstances of civilisation, is by keeping to the ancient models in syntax and accidence, and by allowing, at the same time, a certain freedom in the creation of new words, and in the application of new significations to old ones.
Our great national languages are at once literary and colloquial, and hence they possess a standard literary language and a standard colloquial pronunciation and vocabulary. The problem is how to keep those two languages in harmony. The colloquial language is, of the two, as we have seen, liable to change in its phonetic conditions—a change to which the written language is not so much exposed. It is therefore obvious that the more a language changes phonetically, the less will it be represented by the written language; and it is also plain that in a language like English, whose spelling is so very far from phonetic, the discrepancy between the written and spoken language may go so far that the former may cease to exert much, if any, influence upon the latter. To remedy this state of things, phonetic alphabets have been drawn up, and various reforms in spelling have been recommended from time to time, in order to bring the written into harmony with the spoken language.
The more that the natural language of each individual departs from the standard language, the more will he naturally regard the standard language as something foreign; the effect of this will often be that, as the discrepancies between his natural dialect and the standard language are more clearly felt, he will make a more conscious effort to seize and get over those differences. Thus, in the border counties of Wales, or of the Highlands, a more correct literary English is spoken than in many English counties.
The different individual dialects of any country, i.e. the forms of language used by each individual, are constantly changing their position in respect to the norm, or standard written language. On the one hand, the natural changes incident to all language are always tending to alienate these from the norm; on the other, the conscious and artificial efforts made to approximate the individual language to the norm are constantly in play side by side with the other tendency. The main method whereby this conscious approximation is effected is, in the first place, the instruction given in civilised countries at school; and, in this case, the standard language, or an approximation to it, is learnt at the same time as the language of the district. But the dialect of each individual’s home cannot fail to influence largely his acquisition of the standard language. England, as before remarked, forms an exception to most other countries in this respect, that many children are brought up comparatively free from the dialect spoken in their geographical area.
But, when all is said, there remains to be taken into account the difference in each individual’s pronunciation, and his greater or less capacity for assimilating the difference between the artificial dialect and his own. These considerations will always operate as powerful solvents of the integrity of a standard language.
It must further be noticed that the stock of words and their meanings, as well as inflections and syntax of the artificial or standard language, are constantly being recruited from the natural language. Instances in point would be the different Scotch words, such as ne’er-do-weel, adopted into standard English. Where the same word occurs both in the natural and the artificial language, it sometimes happens that both words are preserved in the latter; sometimes with a differentiation of meaning and sometimes without; instances are birch, church, shred, as distinct from the Northern birk, kirk, screed. It will thus be seen that the colloquial language which serves as the model of each individual is itself a compromise between the strict normal language and the home dialect.
In the second place, the artificial language affects the natural language by supplying it with words and inflections in which it is deficient. Such terms would naturally be such as the artificial language is more fitted to supply. No dialect throughout Britain is free from such influence as that described.
In the third place, it should be observed that when persons speak an artificial and a natural language side by side, the use of the former spreads at the expense of the latter. The artificial language was originally confined to writing, and was employed as a means of communication with persons speaking a strange dialect. Once established as an official channel of communication, it has a tendency to spread to all literature, and gradually to private correspondence. And this is easy to understand, seeing that the young generation generally learns to read and write from written records, and that it is obviously easier to accept a form of orthography made ready to our hand than to invent a system of orthography which shall be applicable to other dialects besides one’s own.
When the artificial language has once become the fashion, then, and not till then, will the employment of dialect seem a mark of want of culture. There are many countries still in which the most educated persons are not ashamed to speak in their natural dialect. This is the case, for instance, in Switzerland and in Greece at the present day, and, to a less extent perhaps, in Scotland. It is therefore a mistake to suppose that the natural language must necessarily be deemed inferior or more vulgar than the artificial. It is, in fact, the necessity for the employment of the artificial language which causes it to be universally adopted.
We have now briefly to consider under what circumstances a common language becomes established. It seems to be certain that no common language would have arisen without some necessity for its appearance; and that necessity arose from the fact of the different dialects into which any linguistic area must naturally be split up becoming so far alienated from each other as to be reciprocally unintelligible, and, of course, the difficulty of comprehension would be greater in the case of dialects, geographically more widely separated, than in the case of those spoken by neighbouring people. Indeed, the wider the area over which a common language spreads, and the more numerous the dialects which it embraces, the more successful does it commonly turn out. Good instances of this truth are afforded by the Greek κοινή, and in that of the Latin language in its spread over the Romance-speaking areas.
We assume, then, in the first instance, the necessity felt for a common language, before such is called into existence. It is further an indispensable preliminary that a certain degree of intercourse, whether literary, commercial, or otherwise, should exist between the areas, however distant they may be, which are to partake of the common language. It might seem natural to suppose that as soon as, and whenever any certain given number of dialects had reached a certain degree of difference from each other, there would naturally be evolved a common language which would suffice for their needs. But, as a matter of fact, we do not find this to be the case. The common language sometimes develops between two or more areas possessing dialects less nearly related to each other, more readily than between similar areas linguistically nearer related, supposing that there are special circumstances to favour the development. In some cases political circumstances may effect this, as where a common dialect for Germany was called into being on the basis of a common German nationality. As a contrast to this, we may take the case of Polish and Czechish, which are, linguistically speaking, more nearly related than High and Low German, and which yet, as in the main belonging to different political areas, have no necessity for a common language, and have therefore never created one.