Even at present, in the case of a verb like to smell, the relation between the subject and predicate differs essentially when we say, I smell the flower; or, The flower smells. An effort on the part of our linguistic imagination is again needed, but the effort need not be very difficult, in order to enable us to realise that in a sentence like John smell flower, or John strike Alfred, BOTH nouns may once have been felt as standing in the subject relation to the predicate; so that, again, in the latter sentence, gestures or circumstances were needed in order to make it clear who was the acting subject and who the suffering subject, whereas, in the former sentence, no such confusion could arise.
If we take a sentence like ‘Give him a book,’ we feel both the person and the thing as objects of the action; and observation of this fact will enable us further to understand still more clearly that, at an older period of language, two subjects may have stood in the same sentence with the same predicate, though the relation between them and that predicate was not the same. It may further aid us to understand how, when once one of these subjects had developed into the grammatical category of OBJECT, the possible relations of such objects were so varied that the differentiation into various grammatical categories of accusative, dative, etc., becomes intelligible and natural.
The object, when once developed, may and often does become, by the nature of its relation to the predicate, a mere limitation or definition of such predicate, instead of remaining a member of the sentence equivalent in importance and weight with the subject, as it is, e.g., in such sentence as John strikes Alfred: whilst in a sentence like John runs a mile, the object is a mere attribute to the predicate, and the sentence can no longer be looked upon as tripartite, but must be regarded as consisting of two parts, i.e. (1) the subject, and (2) the predicate with its extension. These two cases, however, are not separated by any clear line of demarcation.
And just as the predicate may receive such a defining word, so may the subject and the object developed from it. These now commonly occur in the shape of attributes, whether substantival or adjectival, and genitives of substantives; as, The cattle are the farmer’s best; The cattle are beautifully fat. This could not be expressed at all in languages which have as yet developed no inflections: these could merely employ the defining word in juxtaposition to the word defined; as, in Chinese, T’su sin heu sin t’u ye, literally meaning ‘Origin Sin prince Sin spring final part,’ i.e. ‘Originally the prince of Sin sprang from Sin,’ i.e. ‘was born of a woman of the Kingdom of Sin.’ The fact that the determinant attached to the subject is not a predicate can then only be discovered by the presence of a third word which is detached from the two words that together make up the subject by a greater stress or, it may be, by a slight pause. Thus, if we say, liber pulcher, it is impossible to say whether pulcher is a predicate or merely the attribute to liber, unless we add some verb like est or habetur, or unless the custom of the language leads us to apprehend pulcher, from its position, as a predicate.
In truth the determinant, in this case ‘pulcher,’ is nothing but a degraded predicate, uttered not so much for its own sake, i.e. for the information it conveys, as in order to assign to this group of subject and determinant a further predicate, which predicate then conveys the real information; as, Liber pulcher nobis gaudio est: Hæc res agetur nobis, vobis fabula (Plautus, Captivi, Prologue.)
We have stated that the determinant is merely a degenerate or degraded predicate. The meaning of this statement may be most easily apprehended from cases in which the finite verb is affected by this degeneration, so that of the two predicates one might be logically replaced by a relative sentence; as, There is a devil haunts thee (Henry IV., Pt. I., Act II., iv.); I have a mind presages me (Merchant of Venice, I. i.); He groneth as our bore lith in our stie (Chaucer, Canterbury Tales, 7411); And was war of a pistel stood under a wal (Tale of Gamelyn); I’ll have none shall touch what I shall eat (Massinger, City Madam, I. i.); I can tell you news will comfort you (ibid., III. i.); The price is high shall buy thy vengeance (Middleton, Spanish Gipsy, V. i. 443).
A similar construction was found in the older stages of the Romance languages; cf. O.Ital. Non vi rimasse un sol non lacrimassi (‘There remained none did not cry’); O.Fr. Or n’a baron ne li envoit son fil (‘There is no baron does not send him his son’). Nor must we suppose that this construction is one peculiar to the Indo-European languages, and entirely inherited from an early stage in their development. Its use in Teutonic languages becomes more general towards the end of the Middle Ages than before that time. But even in Semitic languages like Arabic, we meet with expressions such as ‘I passed by a man slept.’
In the above instances, we have seen that the finite verb could sink into the position of a mere attributival determinant. In other words, in such a sentence as ‘There is a devil haunts thee,’ the very words show that the important word, in which the chief information lies, is devil, while the verb haunts might almost as well be expressed by an adjectival attributive, as ‘haunting.’ It is plain that if a verb could thus easily lose its predicatival character, a predicate bearing no distinguishing marks of its verbal character could, with even more facility, be similarly degraded. The border-land between meus in ‘liber meus’ (= the book is mine) and liber meus amittitur is a very narrow one.
It is very necessary to distinguish between the various functions of the determinant—the differences in which, however, commonly remain undenoted by us by any corresponding verbal difference, though they are, logically speaking, of the greatest importance. The determinant may leave the extent of the subject untouched; in other words, the epithet may apply to all the objects or ideas which the substantive by itself, or limited as it is by other circumstances, denotes: this is the case in mortal man; the almighty God. On the other hand, it may serve to restrict the meaning of the substantive; as when we say, old houses, an old house, a (or the) son of the king, the journey to Paris, Charles the Great. Similarly, if we say, the old house, meaning to contrast it with the new one, it is obvious that we individualise the meaning of house: while the expression would come under the first head in a sentence like Lo, the place where I was born! Humble as it is, I love the old house. In the latter class of instances, the determinant must be expressed, because without it the predicate is meaningless or untrue. If we say, A journey obliges us to cross the channel, we ascribe by these words to all journeys what is true of some only, e.g., of a journey to Paris. In the first category, in considering the epithet, we may notice that it may already be known as commonly attached to the word to which it is appended, as in This red wine (the speaker holding it up) I prefer to many more expensive ones; or it may tell us something new, as in the case of That poor man has no children, where the sentence without poor would state the same fact, the word poor conveying additional information. In this case it approaches the nature of a true predicate, and we often employ a relative sentence to express it: thus, instead of saying, Poor Charles has had to emigrate; if we wished to emphasise the adjective, we should say, Charles, who was poor, etc. Again, the determinant need stand in no direct relation to the predicate, as in our above example, where the fact that the man has no children is independent of his being poor; but it may also stand to the predicate in the relation of cause and effect, as in The cruel man would not listen to his victim’s prayers, where the determinant ‘cruel’ is applied owing to the fact mentioned in the predicate.
We have now seen that attributes are degenerated predicates. There are sentences in which the determinant has, as yet, a somewhat greater independence than is the case with the ordinary attributes, and which, therefore, may be said to represent a transition stage. In a sentence like He arrived safe and sound, the determinant safe and sound is still predicate, in the wider sense of the term, to he, but subordinate to the other predicate arrived, which alone in present grammar would bear this name. Safe and sound are, IN COMPARISON WITH arrived, a mere attribute to he, and nowadays such determinants are, for the linguistic consciousness, what has been very correctly termed PREDICATIVE ATTRIBUTES. These are distinguished from ordinary attributes by a greater freedom in the place they may occupy in the sentence, and thereby manifest their greater independence.
Predicative attributes are very frequently, but not always, adjectives: we might, e.g., replace the one in our example by a prepositional phrase like in safety and in good health. In Modern High German, where the attributive adjective is declined in agreement with its noun, the near affinity of this construction to the predicate shows itself in the use of the uninflected form of the adjective as in the case of the predicate. Thus we say, Er is gesund nach Paris gekommen: just as we say, Er ist gesund.
When once all these various determinations have been developed from original subjects or predicates, the sentence may become further complicated, (1) by a combination of a determined and a determining element becoming determined by a new element,—as in All good men (i.e. good men + all); John’s eldest daughter (i.e. either eldest daughter + John’s or John’s daughter + eldest, according to circumstances); He falls easily into a passion,—to be understood, He falls into a passion + easily: (2) this combination may itself serve as a determinant,—as in Very good children (i.e. children + very good); An all-sacrificing love (i.e. a love + all sacrificing); He speaks very well (i.e. He speaks + very well); or (3) several determining elements may be joined to one determinate,—as in Bad gloomy weather; He walks well and fast: or (4) several determinate elements may be joined to a single determinant, just as several subjects may be joined to one predicate, or several predicates to a single subject,—e.g., John’s hat and stick; He hits right and left.
These constructions are not always distinctly separable: for instance, a phrase like big round hats may be understood as hats that are big and that are also round (constr. No. 3,) or we may take it as round hats that are big (constr. No. 1). Though the results of both constructions would be the same, the ways in which these results are obtained are logically distinct; just as the result of 3 × 5 is identical with 5 × 3, though the genesis of that result varies according as we have groups of five and take three of such groups, or as there are groups of three and we put five of them together.
We have now considered the simple sentence and its extensions according to the formula a + b + a (see p. 110) in all their bearings and consequences. We said, however, that besides extensions on this plan, there were others in which some combination of subject and predicate became itself the predicate or subject to another member of a sentence.
This we may symbolise by (a + b) + a.40
We here enter on the ground covered by the complex sentence; but if the reader has understood what has been already said, he will see that, if we consider this division into simple and complex sentences from a historical and psychological point of view, no clear line of demarcation is to be found. It is indeed true that, as long as we agree that no set of words shall be called a sentence unless it contains a finite verb, a definite criterion exists. If, however, we fully realise that a combination of noun and adjective, for instance, is as much subject and predicate as noun and verb (cf. homo vivus with homo vivit), we shall likewise feel that ‘The good man lives’ is a complex sentence, one predicate of which has degenerated: it must accordingly be admitted to differ in degree, but not in kind, from ‘The man who is good lives’, where, again, the complexity is of precisely the same nature as in the phrase round straw hats, if we were to say, for instance, ‘Round straw hats are pretty, but round felt hats are ugly.’
Combinations on the plan (a + b) + a are common enough: I think you are mistaken; The doctor saw I was not well; Remember you owe me sixpence: in which cases the subject and predicate (a + b) serve as object to another predicate.
There are, however, other constructions conceivable which would be more strictly conformable to the scheme; such as I owe you sixpence is true, or You are in danger grieves me; where we now use the so-called conjunction that, which is originally a pronoun standing as a repetition or a resumption of the subject—‘That I owe you sixpence is true’ being originally ‘I owe you sixpence; that is true.’
To find such constructions as I owe, etc., is true in actual use, we must go back to older stages of language, e.g., to Hans Sachs, the German shoemaker—poet—dramatist (1494-1576), who framed such sentences as A couple (man and wife) lived in peace for seventy years vexed the devil, for A couple lived, etc., and this vexed, etc.;41 The afflicted woman stabbed herself tells Boccaccio. In the former of these the sentence is subject, in the latter, object. A sentence (a + b) serving as actual predicate we might illustrate by remembering that in Latin Imperator felix may mean ‘The emperor is happy,’ and then using Imperator qui capite est operto for the emperor’s answer in the well-known anecdote—‘The emperor is he who has his hat on his head.’
Remembering this, and always carefully remembering the extended meaning of the terms subject and predicate, we realise that in the common construction like You are always grumbling, a bad habit, we have really, in the so-called apposition a bad habit, a predicate.
In this way we can follow up the development of the sentence from its simplest to its most complex form. After thus studying the hypotaxis in all its bearings, we need only touch briefly on the subject of parataxis.
Though, of course, it may occur that we have reason to make in immediate succession two or more statements which are absolutely independent of one another, this will be naturally rare; and, when it happens, we are not likely to combine these statements into one compound clause. Even in the nearest approach to such a case, where we enumerate different but analogous or contrasting facts, the sentences are not absolutely disconnected and independent: cf. She is crooked, he is lame. Here, undoubtedly, more is expressed by means of the parataxis than the mere enumeration of the two facts; an additional significance being given to each by the very analogy between the two cases. Similarly in He is laughing, she weeps, where the contrast is an additional fact expressed by the coupling of the sentences. Still, the approach to independence is here undoubtedly very close. We already depart a step further from mere co-ordination in the case where—in grammatically absolutely identical manner—two or more sentences are co-ordinated in a story; as, e.g., I arrived at twelve o’clock; I went to the hotel; they told me there was not a single room to be had; I went to another hotel, etc., where each sentence to a certain extent expresses a cause or defines the time of occurrence of the fact which is mentioned in the next. Now, though this additional meaning is clearly there, it is a meaning which at the moment of uttering each clause is not necessarily, nay not probably clearly present in the speaker’s mind: we might more fully and perhaps more correctly, though undoubtedly very clumsily, express the course of thought by: I arrived ..., and when I had arrived, I went ..., but when I had gone to the hotel, they told ..., and because they told ... I went to another, etc.
We have, then, in our example a combination of independence with interdependence which is the first step on the road towards subordination of one member to the other.
Instead of the clumsy method of repetition which, if ever, is of course but very seldom employed, we give partial expression to this mutual relationship by demonstrative pronouns or verbs. (1) I arrived ..., then I went ..., there they told ..., etc. (2) I met a boy; he told me.... (3) He bought a house; that was old. (4) He told a lie; that was a pity. A careful study of these examples,—in the third of which the demonstrative pronoun refers (as in the second) to one part only of the preceding sentence, whilst in the fourth it relates to the whole statement made in the former part,—will show (a) the method of development of demonstrative into relative pronoun; (b) that of demonstrative pronoun into conjunction—It was a pity that he told a lie; (c) the concomitant change from parataxis to hypotaxis—from He bought a house, + that (house) was old, to He bought a house that was old = ‘which was old.’
A peculiar kind of paratactical subordination occurs where an imperative or interrogative clause loses its independence and becomes an expression of condition; e.g., Go there yourself, (and or then) you will see that I am right, or Do you want to do it? then make haste.
We have considered, in Chapter IV., the different ways in which words change their meanings: and have remarked that change of meaning consists in the widening or narrowing of the scope or application of each word. We wish, in this chapter, to point out that these processes are not confined to words, but that whole syntactical combinations are constantly undergoing changes of meaning of a similar nature. It may be well to give at the outset an instance illustrative of such difference. Let us take the sentence, ‘The book reads like a translation.’ In this sentence the meaning which we attach to the word book has developed from that attached to A.S. bóc, a beech tree.42 The word read has been specialised in meaning from the more primitive signification ‘to interpret.’ In the same way, translation meant originally nothing more than a transference of any kind, but has been specially applied to a transference of the ideas expressed by one language into those of another. Such, then, are examples of changes of meaning which have occurred in words.
But besides these changes, it is obvious that we have here a sentence in which the relation between the subject and predicate differs considerably from that which is the usual one. We do not in the aforesaid sentence mean to say that the subject book performs the action reads, but we wish to assert that the subject is of such a nature as to admit of some person performing the action in question. This usage of the subject and predicate, though, when employed circumspectly, it need cause no obscurity, yet is an exceptional usage, or, as we have elsewhere called it, an occasional one. Such a construction might, however, easily spread, and become habitual or usual. In that case we should have to admit that the meaning of the general syntactical relation between subject and predicate connected by a verb in the active voice had widened in extent, and contracted in content. Instead of stating that the subject does the action, we should now have to adapt the statement to the wider but more indefinite relation—the subject either does or admits of the action. We shall have occasion to return to these and similar phrases later on.
Now let us take the phrase ‘He reads himself into the mind of his author.’ In this case we shall find that the meaning of reads is the same as that which we usually attach to it; the peculiar meaning lies not in the separate words, but in the phrase taken as a whole. The particular, occasional use of the accusative himself, together with the combination of the words, is what expresses the whole thought implied; and thus we have here an instance of a specific construction in which the force of the accusative connected with the word is different from the force of the case in more common usage. Though the application of the accusative in the way we have just mentioned must originally have been an occasional one, yet the phrase, though it has indeed become specific, has become so common, that we may in this combination call its meaning usual. We have, then, in studying change of meaning in syntactical relations, besides the classification of occasional and usual, another distinction to draw; that between (a) a change of meaning in a general relation, without reference to the individual terms which happen to stand in that relation (such as subject and predicate, verb and object, noun with accompanying genitive, preposition and its régime), and (b) a change in meaning of a case, or other syntactical relation, with regard to a specific word or expression, in connection with which it has come to express a new shade of thought. These two classifications are independent of each other, and cross one another. It is further to be noticed that, just as it is impossible to draw a hard and fast line of distinction between the occasional and usual in the meaning of a word, so it is impossible to always clearly formulate when the change in meaning of a syntactical relation is general or special; nay, it would in many cases be difficult to decide whether a change of meaning in a group of words is owing to a change of meaning in the words, or in their syntactical relations. Yet it is necessary to keep the distinction in view.
Instances of these syntactical changes are common in all languages. We might take, as a simple instance, from the Latin, the syntactical change which is brought about in the relationship of the transitive verb and its accusative. Transitive verbs commonly take the accusative of the direct object; as, Grecia capta ferum victorem cepit. But many words not originally transitive become so when composed with a preposition; as, accedere, præcellere, transgredi, just as to forego in English is transitive, while to go is intransitive. This construction was then felt as usual. But besides these we find a quantity of verbs strictly intransitive employed with the accusative; as, ambulare maria, (to walk the seas: Cicero, de Finibus, ii. 34); ludere Appium (just as we say, to play the fool: Cicero, ad Quint. Fratr., ii. 15); saltare Cyclopa (to dance the Cyclops dance: Horace, Sat. I. v.); stupere donum, (Vergil); etc. It was felt that the relationship between ambulare and maria, e.g., was closely enough related to that of regere currum on the one hand, and to that of ambulare super maria on the other, to enable analogy to become widely operative in extending this use. The result was that some of the constructions passed into regular usage; some stood out longer, and must always have appeared as exceptional or occasional; as, sudare mella (Vergil, Eclogue iv. 30).
One of the most ordinary changes brought about by relations in syntax is that due to the relationship of what is commonly called the governing word and its case. The signification, for example, borne by an accusative standing in the relation of object to a verb may cause the verb to bear a meaning more special than its ordinary meaning. Thus, in the case of such a phrase as I beat, it is clear that in to beat a dog, to beat the enemy, to beat the air, different values are attached to the meaning of the word ‘(to) beat,’ and the word thereby is narrowed in its definition and correspondingly enriched in its contents. It seems natural to examine a little more in detail the relationship borne by the cases to the word which governs them: there seems no objection to the use of the word governs, provided only that it be understood with due limitations; that certain particular forms are commonly devoted to the expression of certain ideas or relationships, and that the idea be not entertained that there is anything in the nature of the meanings of the words indissolubly connected with a particular form.
To deal with the Cases first. It is impossible to set together the different uses of the genitive, and to draw from these by induction any certain proof of the functions which this case fulfilled in the primitive Indo-European languages. For instance, the use of the genitive when it depends on verbs seems to have nothing in common with that of the same case when connected with substantives. In the former case, for instance, in the Classical languages, we find merely a few isolated instances of the genitive regularly governed by verbs, especially those verbs which signify ruling over, remembering, lacking, etc. The genitive with nouns, on the other hand, seems most probably to have been used in Indo-European for the expression of any relation between two substantives, as indeed it was in classical Greek, and, to a less extent, in Latin; cf. such different usages as Cæsaris horti; docendi gratia; reus Milonis; urbis instar; me Pompeii esse scio (Cicero, Fam., ii. 13); Germanicus Ægyptum proficiscitur cognoscendæ antiquitatis (Tacitus, Annals, xi. 59); hoc præmii; ut adhuc locorum (Plautus, Captivi, 382). In modern English, on the contrary, the function of the genitive in connection with substantives is greatly restricted. Many usages possible in Anglo-Saxon are at the present day obsolete; for instance, Criste is ALLRE kinge king (Orm., 3588), MÁDMA mænigo (Beowulf, 41), ðaer wæs MÁDMA fela (ibid., 36), RINCA manige (ibid., 729), he ÐAES WÆPNES onláh sélran sweord-frecan = he lent the weapon to the brave hero (ibid., 1468-69), tó gebídanne ÓÐRES YRFEWEARDES = to expect another heir (ibid., 2453,) he ʒef Horse MÁDMES inoʒe (L.I. 163, Fiedler and Sachs, ii. p. 277).43 The genitive at the present day is confined to certain characteristically special usages, and possesses several apparently independent significations. It must, however, be noticed that the true inflectional genitive in English is that which characterises the possessive case; as, John’s hat. In other cases in Modern English, we have commonly dropped the inflection, and are accustomed to render the genitival relation by a periphrasis with the preposition of. Using the word genitive in this sense, we may say that the typical usages of the genitive in modern English are the possessive genitive (the man’s brother), the partitive genitive (a cup of wine), and the genitive denoting that the governing substantive is what it is in virtue of what depends upon it (the writer of the work). This last division falls naturally into two sub-divisions in the case of nouns of action: the subjective genitive (surly Gloster’s governance—Shakespeare, 2 Henry VI., I. iii.) and the objective genitive (the government of the country). These usages have survived the various original methods of the application of the genitive, and they must thus be counted amongst genuine grammatical categories.
The relation of the accusative to its governing verb resembles the relation of the genitive to its governing substantive. The most general definition of the meaning of the accusative might be that it denotes any and every kind of relation that a substantive can bear to a verb, except that of a subject to its predicate. It is, however, true that, in English, we are unable to employ it in every case to denote such relation: nor, indeed, does this use seem to have been permissible in the original Indo-European languages; though it is true that the accusative was used more freely and commonly in old Greek and Latin, for instance, than in later times: cf. such constructions as ἄπορα πόριμος (Æsch., Prom. Vinctus); Quid tibi hanc rem tactio est? (Plautus, Pœnulus, V. v. 29), humeros exsertus uterque (Statius, Thebais, v. 439). Hence, in considering the different uses of the accusative, we must at the very outset place those meanings side by side which have gradually become independent.
The first distinction which we must remark in the use of the accusative is that between the free accusative, or accusative which is independent of the nature of the verb which it follows,—as, to buy a hat,—and the attached accusative, which is connected with a few verbs only by a close tie, and in each case with a restricted signification,—as, to blow a gale, to row a race. The free accusative is more freely used in English than in French or German; many of the relations which in those languages are expressed by the genitive and dative are in English expressed by the case under consideration.
One of the original usages of the free accusative was the expression of an extension over space and time; and in this case, it is not always found with verbs. We have in Latin, Cæsar tridui iter processit (Cæsar, Bell. Gallic., i. 38); Unguem non oportet discedere (Cicero, ad Att., xiii. 20): and, in English, such uses as To write of victories next year (Butler, Hudibras, II., III., 173); My troublous dream this night (Henry VI., Part II., Act. II., ii.); where the dative was usual in Anglo-Saxon (see Koch, ii., p. 94; Mason, p. 147). As instances of the attached accusative, we must especially consider the accusative of such substantives as are ETYMOLOGICALLY CONNECTED with the verb; as, to fight a hard fight; to see a strange sight; sangas ic singe (Ps. xxvi. 7).44 This ‘cognate accusative’ most probably furnishes the cue to such constructions as Come and trip it as you go, where it seems to replace some noun, as, e.g., tripping. Once established, this use of it instead of a cognate noun in the accusative, would easily be extended to cases like to foot it for to dance a dance, where the use of the verb to foot is but an ‘occasional’ one, and apparently too unusual to admit of the formation of the noun footing in the sense of dance. We must, then, suppose that the word it stands for a dance, i.e. for an accusative not cognate with the verb actually used, but with another and synonymous verb. The use of the accusative of towns in Latin, in answer to the question Whither?—as, Ire Romam, Tarentum, etc., further illustrates the attached accusative with which we may compare expressions in English, as to go west; flying south, etc.
The usage, now common in English, whereby a predicative adjective is connected with an intransitive verb seems to be of later origin. Cf. to cry one’s eyes red; to wash one’s forehead cool; to eat one’s-self full; to dance one’s-self tired; to shout one’s-self hoarse. In these cases the predicatival force of the accusative must be regarded as a widening of the signification. No doubt, however, special factors must have aided to bring this construction into use: such as the survival of the memory of the general signification of the accusative, as representing the goal of the verbal action; and, again, the analogy of such cases as to shoot a man dead; to buy a man free; to strike a man dumb; to beat black and blue;—where the accusative serves to define the verb, and indeed, almost enters into composition with it, as it in fact actually does in many cases in German, like tot schlagen; cf. the English dumb-foundered. There are a large number of colloquial phrases which are similar,45 such as to talk a person’s head off; to worm one’s-self into another’s confidence; to read one’s-self into an author; to laugh a man down, etc.
There is, next, the case of the accusative after compound verbs, where the simple verbs are intransitive or govern a different kind of accusative from that taken by the verb when compounded. Such are circumdare and præcellere in Latin, and, in English, to forego, to underrate, to withstand, to outlast; or, A.S. ofer-swimman, forestandan, etc.; e.g., (hé) oferswam sioleða bigong—He swam across the sea (Beowulf, 2368): Wið ord and wið ecge ingang forstód—He withstood entrance against sword and spear (ibid., 1550).46 These are on the border line of ‘free’ and ‘attached’ accusatives.
There are certain verbs composed with certain prefixes which, in virtue of their composition, receive a transitive force; as, belabour, begrudge, bewitch, belie, befleck, etc., and which, in some cases, receive in addition the power of adopting a different kind of object, generally calling in the aid of metaphor to extend their meaning; as, embody, encompass, enthral, overrule.
An ‘attached’ accusative, or one properly attached adverbially, in a defining and qualifying sense,47 to one definite individual verb, has, as a rule, only one single meaning, limited by use. But sometimes we find that in this case, too, several applications have set in; such may have been in some cases original, and in others due to the fact that the one ‘usual’ signification has extended by ‘occasional’ transgression. Take such cases as to blow a gale, to blow a sail, to strike a blow; to strike a man, to strike terror; to run a race, to run a man down; to stone a man, to stone cherries; pacing the ground, the morrice pacings; to keep a man from harm, to keep harm from a man; to stick a man with a knife, to stick a stamp; and in Latin, defendere aliquem ab ardore solis, defendere ardorem solis ab aliquo; prohibere calamitatem a provincia, prohibere provinciam calamitate; mutare equum mercede, mutare mercedem equo. So, too, in Greek: ἀρκεῖν τινα ἀπὸ κινδύνου; ἀρκεῖν κίνδυνον ἀπό τινος.
Poetry has a strong tendency to aid such ‘occasional’ constructions to become ‘usual:’ for it is a part of the technique of poetry to produce strong impressions by using its material in a fresh and striking way: thus we find in Latin, vina cadis onerare (Vergil, Æneid, i. 199: a variation for cados vinis); liberare obsidionem (Livy, xxvi. 8), instead of liberare urbem obsidione; vina coronant (Vergil, Æneid, iii. 526) instead of pocula vinis coronant: δάκρυα τέγγειν = ‘to stain tears,’ instead of ‘to stain with tears’ (Pindar): αἷμα δεύειν = ‘to stain blood,’ instead of ‘to stain with blood’ (Sophocles). Thus, in English, we have The Attic warbler pours her throat (Gray); to languish a drop of blood a day (Shakespeare, Cymbeline, I. ii.) The relation expressed by the accusative may in itself be more than a single one; and thus the connection of a single verb with several accusatives to express different ideas is quite natural.
It seems hardly true to state that the Indo-European prepositions governed any particular case. The case which followed the preposition was actually referred to the verb; the general meaning of the verb was still felt and was merely specialised by the preposition; whence it comes that the same preposition is followed by different cases, each bearing its own special meaning. The Greek language offers good examples of this, and seems to stand nearer the original state, as far as usage goes. Take, for instance, a preposition like πάρα. Its general meaning may be defined as ‘from:’ when followed by the genitive it signifies ‘proceeding from;’ when followed by the accusative, ‘to,’ reference to the source not being overlooked: similarly with κατά, μετά, etc. In English, more than in most European languages, the tendency has been to multiply the use of prepositions, and to employ them independently of any feeling for the case. The case has thus become more and more independent of the preposition: the connection of the latter with the case has become merely matter of custom; and the consciousness of the original signification of the case has become fainter. With regard to the Latin prepositions which govern one case only (like ex, ab), or which govern more than one without affecting the sense (like tenus), the employment of the case is merely traditional, and no value can be attached to it. Between the absolute fixity of the one use and the original freedom of the other use stands the employment of in, sub, and super, sometimes with the ablative, sometimes with the accusative, but with different meanings for the respective cases.
The changes that have appeared in Syntax in the case of prepositions are very well exemplified in English, in which language their use has so greatly spread, and plays such an important part. They were, in the first place, prefixed to the verb, which they qualified adverbially,48 forming, in fact, a compound with it; as, ‘to overtake,’ ‘overreach,’ ‘overlook.’ They were next detached from the verb, but not prefixed to the noun; as, ‘to take over,’ ‘to reach over,’ ‘to look over;’ and the difference in meaning between these three pairs of phrases will show us how the preposition came to lose memory of the proper signification of the case. In a later stage still, they appear prefixed to nouns, and serve to particularise the relations of actions to things—relations which, in the inflected state of language, were expressed by the case endings of nouns; cf. Bigstandað me strange genéatas (Cædmon) = ‘Stout vassals bystand me;’ He heom stód wið (Layamon) = ‘He them stood against;’ or Again the false paiens the Christens stode he by (P. Langtoft) = ‘Against the false pagans the Christians he stood by;’ i.e. ‘He stood by the Christians.’
We sometimes find the partitive use of the genitive replaced by apposition. The simplest and most natural example of this is where the apposition is made up of several members which are collectively the equivalent of the substantive to which they are appended; for instance, ‘They went, one to the right, the other to the left;’ ‘Postero die terrestrem navalemque exercitum, non instructos modo, sed hos decurrentes, classem in portu, simulacrum et ipsam edentem navalis pugnæ ostendit’ (Livy, xxix. 22). ‘Duæ filiæ harum, altera occisa, altera capta est’ (Cæsar, Bell. Gallic., i. 53); ‘Diversa cornua, dextrum ad castra Sammitium, lævum ad urbem tendit’ (Livy, x. 41); ‘Capti ab Iugurtha, pars in crucem acti, pars bestiis objecti sunt’ (Sall., Iug.). But the same appositional construction appears when the whole apposition represents only a part of the expression or phrase of which it is the expansion; as, ‘Volsci maxima pars cæsi,’ (Livy): ‘Cetera multitudo decimus quisque ad supplicium lecti’ (Livy); ‘Nostri ceciderunt tres’ (Cæsar); ‘My arrival, although an only son, unseen for four years, was unable to discompose, etc.’ (Scott, Rob Roy, i.); ‘Tuum, hominis simplicis, pectus vidimus’ (Cicero, Phil., ii. 43). This is also the case where the subject is expressed only by the personal termination of the verb; as, ‘Plerique meminimus’ (Livy); ‘Simoni adesse me quis nuntiate’ = ‘Tell Simo, one or the other of you!’ (Plautus). Similarly, in the case of the designation of materials, we find an apposition taking the place of the partitive genitive; thus we find, in Latin, ‘aliquid id genus’ for ‘something of that kind;’ ‘Scis me antea orationes aut aliquid id genus solitum scribere’ (Cicero, Att., xiii. 12); ‘Pascuntur omne genus objecto frumento maxime ordeo’ (Varro, de Re Rustica, iii. 6);49 ‘arma magnus numerus’ (Livy). Thus, ‘He gained the sur-addition Leonatus’ (Shakespeare, Cymbeline, I. i.).
This more simple and primitive appositional construction is very common in modern xml:lang; as, ein stück brot, ein glas wasser: in Middle High German it was rarer; in modern Scotch it is common in such instances as a wee bit body, a curran days (a number of days): it was common in Anglo-Saxon; as, ‘scóp him Heort naman’ (Beowulf, 78); Emme broðer ðe queene (Robert of Gloucester); The Duke of Burgoys, Edmonde sonne (Wa., i. 87); David Kingdom (R. of G., i. 7.):50 and is found in Chaucer,—Gif us a busshel whet or malt or reye (Canterbury Tales, 7328); half a quarter otes (ibid., 7545): and has survived even in modern English, in such cases as The Tyrol passes (Coleridge, Picc., i. 10); Through Solway sands, through Tarras moss (Scott, Lay of Last Minstrel, i. 21). We must regard this method of apposition as the most primitive in language; the two words in apposition are simply placed side by side like two Chinese roots, and must be looked upon as the simple stems without any inflection.
Even the subject of a verb may deviate from previous usage in the way whereby it denotes a relation: cf. such phrases as The cistern is running dry; The roof drips with water; The trees drop honey. Thus we can say, The river is running over; The wood is resonant with song; The window will not shut; The fire will not draw; The kettle boils; This sample tastes bad; The hall thick swarming now with complicated monsters (Milton): in Italian, Le vie correvano sangue (Malespini): in Spanish, Corrieron sangue los rios: Sudare mella (Vergil, Ecl. iv., 30); cf. also, the use of sapere, in Latin, in such cases as cum sapimus patruos (Persius, Sat. i., 11); sentir, in French, as Cela sent la guerre. In these cases we should expect the subject and object to be inverted.
A similar departure from ordinary usage occurs in the case of what we commonly speak of as ‘transferred’ epithets; i.e. adjectives referring to merely indirect relations with the substantive to which they are attached. Such are expressions like wicked ways; quiet hours; in ambitious Latin (Carlyle, Past and Present, ii. 2); the blest abodes (Pope, Essay on Man, iii. 259). Many of these linguistic licences have become quite usual, and it is forgotten that the epithet attached to the word does not strictly fit it: thus we speak quite commonly of the happy event, a joyful surprise, happy hours, a learned treatise, an intoxicated condition, in a foolish manner, a gay supper, a bright prospect, etc.; and we can even say, He gives us an unhealthy impression, a stingy gift, etc. The word secure in English, like sûr in French, refers in the first instance to a person who need not be anxious; in the second place, to a thing or person about whom no one need be anxious. Thus we can say, I am safe in saying that he is safe. As soon as these freer combinations are apprehended as an ordinary epithet applied to its substantive, we may state that a change in word-meaning has occurred.
Such licence occurs in the case of the participles and nouns in -ing even more than in that of adjectives; thus we can say, in a dismantled state (Dickens, Pickwick, 2); a smiling answer; this consummation of drunken folly (Scott, Rob Roy, 12); a dazzling prospect; the selling price; the dying day; a parting glass; writing materials; sleeping compartment; dining room; singing lesson; falling sickness; waking moments; the ravished hours (Parnell, Hesiod, 225). So, too, we speak of a talented man; cf. also the common French expressions, thé dansant, café chantant. Tacitus has such uses as Muciano volentia rescripsere (Hist., iii. 52) for volenti, etc.
We may probably compare with this use that of the
so-called ‘misrelated participle,’ a freely attached predicatival
attribute, which is indeed condemned as
ungrammatical and careless, but which still occurs very
commonly in even the best authors. Cf. ‘When gone
we all regarded each other for some minutes with
confusion’ (Goldsmith, Vicar of Wakefield, 13);
‘Thus repulsed, our final hope
Is flat despair’
‘Amazed at the alteration in his manner, every
sentence that he uttered increased her embarrassment’
(Miss Austin, Pride and Prejudice, ch. xliii.).51 We
are, indeed, accustomed to say that in this case we must
supply a subject, and that the full expression would
be ‘Amazed as she was,’ in the last instance cited. But
if we use such an expression as ‘a pitying tear,’ we
might maintain as well that it is necessary to explain
this as, ‘with a tear, shed in sign of his pity.’ The fact
is, that these loosely appended predicatival attributes
answer to a need felt in language, just as much as
such words as regarding, during, vu que, instar, supply
a requirement in the prepositional category.
In the case of participial constructions, the participle expresses formally the time-relation in which the condition or action denoted by the participle stands to the finite verb. Thus, ‘Being frightened he runs away’ expresses formally nothing more than the temporal relation between the fright and what follows it. It is, however, possible to understand different relations as implied by this participle; thus there would, in this instance, be a connection of cause and effect. There are many cases in which, were we to extend the participial construction into a separate sentence, we should have to employ different conjunctions; sometimes those denoting the reason,—as, ‘Since he was frightened he ran away;’ sometimes we should have to employ such conjunctions as denote an opposition,—as, ‘Notwithstanding that;’ thus, supposing that the sentence in question ran, ‘Being frightened he did not run away,’ this would naturally be broken up into ‘Notwithstanding that he was frightened, he did not run away.’ Sometimes, again, the participle expresses a condition, as in such common cases as ‘Failing an heir, the property passes to the crown.’
Still it is unnecessary to assert that the participle, as such, denotes these different meanings—such as cause, condition, opposition, etc. These relations are only accidental and occasional. When, however, we have dependent sentences introduced by a temporal conjunction, like quum, since, the accidental relation of this conjunction to the governing sentence may come to attach itself and become permanent; in this case, the conjunction will experience a change of syntactical meaning. Take the case of since, formed by the adverbial genitive suffix es, from sin = sithen (from sið, þ̱am, after that). While, again, from meaning ‘the time that’ (a thing occurred,) has come to denote ‘in spite of the fact that,’ in such phrases as ‘While you pretend that you love me, you act as though you did not.’ In the case of the modern German weil, the temporal signification has completely disappeared; and in the same way prepositions, such as through and by, which possess strictly speaking a local or temporal meaning, pass into a causal meaning.
The instances given above may serve to show the way in which changes are constantly occurring in syntax, and will aid in pointing out how language is constantly aiming at supplying, in an economical fashion, its needs as they successively present themselves.
We have discussed, in Chapter V., the force of analogy and its effect. We have now to study a phenomenon of language which may be called ‘contamination,’ and which, though widely differing from analogy in the most characteristic instances of both, is yet so closely allied to it as to render it a difficult matter to draw any hard and fast line of demarcation between the two.
We call the process ‘contamination’ when two synonymous forms or constructions force themselves simultaneously, or at least in the very closest succession, into our consciousness, so that one part of the one replaces or, it may be, ousts a corresponding part of the other; the result being that a new form arises in which some elements of the one are confused with some elements of the other.
Thus, for instance, to take an imaginary case, a person seeing a book on the table might wish to exclaim, ‘Take that thing away!’ Just, however, as he is uttering the word thing, the consciousness that it is properly called a book forces itself upon him, and he utters the word thook. Of course such a form is a mistake, and a mistake so palpable and, indeed, so absurd that the speaker will at once correct it. Every one, however, who is in the habit of watching closely the utterances of others, and indeed of himself, will be aware that such slips of the tongue are extremely common; and it is clear that, though such formations are, in the first instance, sudden and transitory, and generally travel no further than the individual from whom they proceed, yet they may, by repetition on the part of the same individual, or, it may be, by imitation, conscious or unconscious, on the part of others, end by becoming ‘usual.’
Contamination manifests itself not merely in the form of words, but also in their syntactical combination. In the case of such a curious mixture of two words as that which we took for our example, the very grotesqueness of the result would probably bar the way to the spreading of the word, though, as we shall see, traces are to be found of cases hardly less grotesque than this. In syntactical combinations, however, the results have far more frequently proved permanent; or, in any case, the results do not commonly appear in such jarring contrast to received usage as to challenge immediate correction, and, consequently, instances can be more easily found in literature of syntactical than of verbal contamination; some cases of such contamination pass into language and become ‘usual;’ some are refused admission into normal language and are set down as the peculiarities of the individual writer or speaker, or, it may be, as his mistakes.
We saw that formation by analogy manifests itself as the alteration of one form in compliance with a rule more or less consciously abstracted from a number of examples drawn from a group to which that form does not, strictly speaking, belong. Contamination is the alteration of one form on the model of another synonymous form. The difficulty of distinguishing between the two arises from this—that the contaminating form or construction often derives additional force from being associated with other members of its group, so that it may be doubtful whether the rule or the one synonym gave the impetus to the new formation. Nevertheless, we may lay it down that for analogy we must demand a sufficient number of examples on which to base a rule; while for contamination, a single form or construction may suffice. If we bear in mind these main points of distinction, we shall commonly find no difficulty in deciding to which of the two classes we should refer any particular case.52
Among the results of contamination in single words, we must naturally expect that those have the best chance of becoming permanent which least deviate from the correct form; i.e. where the synonymous53 forms confused resembled each other, and the form due to their contamination consequently bore sufficient resemblance to both to enable it to arise repeatedly in the mouth of several speakers, and, when formed, to escape observation. Thus the word milt (the soft roe of fishes) is a substitute for milk (it appears in Swedish as mjölke); this was probably due to contamination with milt (spleen), which is a different word.54 Again, the English combination ough is due to the contamination of three distinct forms, viz., ugh (A.S. -uh), -ogh (A.S. -áh), -oogh (A.S. -óh); whilst, at the same time, the loss of the gh has affected the quality of the preceding vowel by the principle of compensation. Thus the word through should have appeared as thrugh, A.S. *ðruh (for ðurh); but it has been altered to through, as if from A.S. *ðrúh, or else to *thurgh (A.S. ðurh), which has been lengthened to thor(ou)gh.55
A.S. byrðen, ‘a load,’ became burthen, and is now burden, the change being assisted by confusion with burden (Fr. bourdon), ‘the refrain of a song.’56 The word anecdotage is a wilful contamination of anecdote + dotage, with a side glance at age (time of life), though in dotage the suffix age has no connection with the noun of same sound. Another-gaines, which was used by Sydney in his Arcadia (1580) seems to have resulted from the confusion of anotherkins (of another kind), which survives in the Whitby dialect, and anothergates (of another gate, manner). On these instances, see Murray’s Dictionary, s.v.
In this and similar instances, where the fact that the word occurs in more than one meaning is due to confusion or misconception, it is often difficult to say whether we have to deal with contamination proper, as we defined it and illustrated it by the example on page 140. There exist, however, in many languages words and forms which can be explained in no other way. Such is the O.Fr. form oreste, a contamination between orage and tempeste; and again, the O.Fr. triers seems to be a contamination between tres (trans) and rier (retro).57
The confusion was rendered easier in the case of forms which may easily pass into a grammatical paradigm. Thus, from the Italian o of sono and the perfect termination in -ro (= runt), the o was transferred to the other third person plural forms; whence such forms as old Tuscan fecérono (modern furono) are contaminations between the forms fecéro and amano.
The confusion of words belonging to the same etymological group is more common: an instance may be seen in the Italian trápano (τρύπανον), whose form seems to have been affected by traforare.58 In Old French the form doins is due to a contamination between dois and don. In Provençal, the form sisclar seems a contamination between sibilare and fistulare.59 The English yawn represents a fusion of two Anglo-Saxon forms, géonian and gánian.60 The word minnow is a contamination between M.E. menow and the O.Fr. menuise. Both of these are ultimately from the same base, min (small),61 but underwent a different development. We might add as an instance the jocular coinage squarson = Squire + Parson.
Our word ache offers a further curious illustration. There was in Anglo-Saxon a verb ácan with past tense oc, past participle acen, which gave us the verb ake (to hurt)—now erroneously spelt ache, but still correctly pronounced. The noun in Anglo-Saxon was æce, in which the k sound was palatalised into the sound of ch (in church), whilst it remained k in the verb.62 Accordingly we find still in Shakespeare the distinction between the verb ake and the noun ache (pronounced with tch as in batch, etc.). The confusion began about A.D. 1700, when the verb began to replace the noun in pronunciation, and occasionally the spelling ache was used for both noun and verb. The prevalence of this spelling at present is mainly due, it appears, to a mistaken derivation from the Gr. ἄχος;—the pronunciation to confusion, or to contamination of the noun by the verb.
We reach the borderland of ‘Analogy,’ if we do not actually enter it, in those cases where a word—under the influence of a modal group with a synonymous function—assumes a suffix or prefix whose modal significance was already expressed by the word in its simpler form. Thus it has been considered a case of contamination of the comparative worse with the modal groups of the other comparatives in er, when we find the double comparative worser. Similarly, the Latin frequentative iactare (iacio) was extended into iactitare under the influence of the modal group composed of words like volitare, etc.: again, in English, the form lesser has, as an adjective, almost entirely superseded the form less; just as, in the colloquial language of the uneducated, we find leastest by the side of least. There is, in Gothic, a superlative aftuma, beside which we, however, find even there the double superlative aftumists. This appears in Anglo-Saxon63 as æftermest, M.E. eftermeste, and in Modern English as aftermost; where the o in the last syllable is due to the mistaken idea that the whole word was a compound of most, though, as we have seen, it was really another instance of a double suffix.
Contamination plays a far more important part in
the area of syntax. It is easy to cull from the pages
of authors of repute instances of anomalies which have
no permanent influence on language: cf. ‘Amazed at
the alteration in his manner, every sentence that he
uttered increased her embarrassment’ (Miss Austen,
Pride and Prejudice, ch. 43,64—a confusion between
‘She was amazed at the alteration,’ etc., and ‘Amazed
as she was.’) There are many similar constructions
in Shakespeare: cf. ‘Marry, that I think be young
Petruchio’ (a confusion of ‘That I think is’ and ‘I
think that be’—Romeo and Juliet, I. v. 133); so,
again, ‘Why do I trifle thus with his despair is done
to cure it’ (a confusion between ‘Why I trifle is to cure’
and ‘My trifling is done to cure,’—Lear, IV. vi. 33).65
The following are instances of syntactical contamination
from various quarters:—‘Showering him with
abuse and blows’ (Mary L. Booth, Translation of
‘Abdallah’ by Laboulaye, p. 4,—from ‘Showering
abuse and blows upon him’ and ‘Overwhelming him
with abuse and blows’).
‘Let us once again assail your ears....
What we have two nights seen.’
(from ‘Let us once again tell you’ and ‘Let us assail
your ears with what we....’).
‘Jhone, Andrew, James, Peter, nor Paull
Had few houses amang thame all’
(Sir David Lyndsay, The Monarche, Bk. III. i. 4541-42),
(from ‘John, Andrew, etc. and Paul had few houses
among them all’ and ‘Neither John, Andrew, etc. nor
Paul had many houses’).
‘Thare ryches, rentis nor tressour
That tyme, sall do thame small plesour’
(Ibid., Bk. IV., 5504-5; see Skeat, ‘Specimens,’ iii.),
(from ‘Riches, rent, and treasure shall give small
pleasure’ and ‘Riches, rent, nor treasure shall give
much (or great or any) pleasure’).
‘What with griefe and feare my wittes were reft’
(Cf. Th. Sackville, Mirrour for Magistrates—Skeat, Specimens, iii., p. 287—stanza 18),
(from ‘What with grief and what with fear my wits’
and ‘With grief and fear my wits, etc.’).
‘She was not one of those who fear to hurt her complexion’ (W. Besant, The World went very well then, ch. 26). ‘What Castilla insists’ (= What Castilla pretends + upon which Castilla insists),—Ibid. ‘If our eyes be barred that happiness’ (= If our eyes be debarred from that ... + If (to) our eyes be denied that happiness),—Comus, 343. ‘On attempting to extract the ball, the patient began to sink’ (= On attempting ... ball, the doctors saw that the patient, etc., + when the doctors attempted, ... the patient began, etc.),—Nichol and M’Cormick, p. 56. ‘I must insist, sir, you’ll make yourself easy on that head’ (She stoops to conquer, ii. 1,—a confusion between ‘I must insist upon your making yourself easy,’ and ‘I hope, or demand, that you will make, etc.’). ‘Was ever such a request to a man in his own house?’ (ibid.,—a confusion between ‘Was ever such a request made to a man?’ and ‘Did ever you hear such a request to a man?’). ‘A very troublesome fellow this, as ever I met with’ (ibid.,—A very troublesome fellow this + As troublesome a fellow as ever I met with). ‘There can be no doubt but that this latest step ... has been the immediate result of ...’ (President’s Address, Mechanical Section, British Association, Manchester;—a confusion between ‘There can be no doubt that’ and ‘It cannot be but that’). ‘I prefer to go to London rather than to Paris,’ (a confusion between ‘I prefer going (to go) to London to going to Paris,’ and ‘I would go to London rather than to Paris’).66
In many cases the contamination has become usual. We say in English, I am friends with him, from ‘I am friendly with him’ and ‘We are friends.’ The Danish popular idiom is similar: Han er gode venner med dem (He is good friends with them). Compare too, the following expressions: ‘a friend of mine;’ Fare thee well (a confusion between ‘Keep thee well’ and ‘Fare well’). On my behalf arose out of a confusion of the A.S. on healfe, ‘on the side of,’ with a second common phrase be healfe, ‘by the side of.’67 In Greek we find expressions like ὁ ἥμισυς τοῦ χρόνου, a confusion between ὁ ἥμισυς χρόνος and τὸ ἥμισυ τοῦ χρόνου, etc.; in Spanish, muchas de virgines, instead of muchas virgines or mucho de virgines: in Italian, la più delle gente (Boccaccio). We have a similar instance of contamination in the case of the Latin gerund: Pœnarum solvendi tempus (Lucretius), from Pœnarum solvendarum and pœnas solvendi; nominandi istorum quam edundi erit copia (Plautus, Captivi, IV. ii. 72). Cicero, again, writes, Eorum partim in pompa partim in acie illustres esse voluerunt, in which there is a confusion between eorum pars and ii partim. Occasionally, a contamination results from the confusion of the active and passive constructions; e.g., I care na by how few may see (Burns’s song, ‘First when Maggie was my care’).
Sometimes an inaccuracy arises owing to the idea of a word which might have been used displacing the word which actually was used by the writer. Thus, for instance, the idea of the inhabitants displaces that of the town or the country: cf. Θεμιστοκλῆς φεύγει ἐς Κέρκυραν, ὢν αὐτὼν εὐεργέτης (Thuc., 1. 136): Auditæ legationes quorum (Tacitus, Annals, iii. 63). Cf. The revolt of the Netherlands (for the Netherlanders) from Spain; ‘That faction (for the partisans) in England who most powerfully opposed his pretensions’ (Mrs. Macaulay.)68 Here belongs the pleonastic use of pronouns, common in English: cf. ‘I bemoan Lord Carlisle, for whom, although I have never seen him, and he may never have heard of me, I have a sort of personal liking for him’ (Miss Mitford, Letters and Life, 2nd Series, 1872, vol. ii., p. 160).69 In Latin and Greek we often find the relative referring to a possessive pronoun, as if the personal pronoun had preceded: cf. Laudare fortunas meas qui natum haberem (Terence, And., I. i. 69);70 Τῆς ἐμῆς ἐπεισόδου, ὃν μήτ’ ὀκνεῖτε (‘The approach of me whom neither fear ye’—Sophocles, Œd. Col., 730).
We have next to note confusions of the comparative and superlative manner of expression, resulting in combinations like ‘Hi ceterorum Britannorum fugacissimi’ (Tacitus, Agricola). Cf. ‘The climate of Pau is perhaps the most genial and the best suited to invalids of any other spot in France’ (Murray, Summer in Pyrenees, vol. i., p. 131). ‘Mr. Stanley was the only one of his predecessors who slaughtered the natives of the region he passed through’ (London Examiner, Feb. 16, 1878, p. 204).71
A case of contamination sometimes results from the idea of the past time rising into memory simultaneously with that of present time: cf., in Latin, the use of iamdudum when joined to the imperative; as iamdudum sumite pœnas (Vergil, Æneid, ii. 103),—a confusion between iam sumite pœnas and sumite pœnas iamdudum meritas, i.e. between the thoughts ‘pray take’ and ‘you should long ago have taken.’ Cf. Those dispositions that of late transform you from what you rightly are (Lear, I. iv. 242), and He is ready to cry all the day; cf., also, such instances in Latin as Idem Atlas generat and Cratera antiquum quem dat Sidonia Dido (Vergil, Æneid, ix. 266), where the effect of the action once performed is intended to be brought out by the use of the present.
We often find in English an interrogation with the infinitive, where we should expect a finite verb; as, I do not know what to do; where we should rather have expected I do not know what I should do. This construction seems a confusion between cases in which the infinitive was directly dependent on the verb without any interrogative, as, Scit dicere (He can say); Il sait dire: and such constructions as What to say? I do not know. Other instances are Shelley, like Byron, knew early what it was to love (Medwin’s Memoirs of Byron, p. 9); How have I then with whom to hold converse (Milton); then sought where to lie hid (ibid.); hath not where to lay his head. This construction is common in the Romance languages; as in French,—je ne sais quel parti prendre; Italian,—non ho che dire; Spanish,—non tengo con quien hablar; Latin,—rogatus ecquid haberet super ea re dicere (Aul. Gellius, iii. 1).
Another form of syntactical contamination is when an interrogative sentence is made dependent on a verb, and, at the same time, the subject of this interrogative sentence is made the verb’s nominal object; as, I know thee who thou art: You hear the learned Bellario what he writes (Merchant of Venice, IV. i. 167): cf., also, Lear, I. i. 272. This usage is common in Latin; as, Nosti Marcellum quam tardus sit (Cicero): in Italian an instance occurs in tu’l saprai bene chi è (Boccaccio).