A subdivision of this great class of words, thus specialised, is formed by common place-names which have become proper nouns by the aid of some determinant, itself possibly also unspecific. Such are the Red Sea, the Black Forest, Broadway, the Sublime Porte, the Watergate, the Blue Mountains, High Town, Beechwood, Broadmeadows, Coldstream, Troutbeck, Dog-island. It is similar, too, when an epithet attached as a distinguishing mark to a proper name comes to be apprehended as an integral portion of the proper name—in fact, as attaching to the individual; as, Richard the Humpback, Charles the Bald, William the Conqueror, Alexandra Land, the Mackenzie River, Weston-super-mare.
Compare also such compounds as Oldham, Littleton, Hightown, Lower-Austria, Great Britain.
The metaphorical application of a word is generally rendered intelligible by the context; especially and chiefly by the addition of a determinant: cf. ‘the head of the conspirators;’ ‘the heart of the enterprise;’ ‘the life of the undertaking;’ ‘the sting of death.’ Similarly, a determinant forming an element in a compound helps to render the metaphorical application intelligible; indeed, we are able by the aid of such a determinant to give to compounds a metaphorical sense, which we could hardly venture upon for the undetermined word alone: so, for instance, we give the name of German-silver to a material which we should not call merely silver; the name of sea-horse to what we would not call a horse: cf. further, sea-cow, elder-wine, ginger-beer, etc.
There are some cases, again, in which the compound has a proper, as well as a metaphorical meaning, and only as a compound acquires its metaphorical use: such are swallow-tail, negro-head, mothers’ joy, cuckoo-spittle, woolly bear, etc.
We have now to consider how syntactical and formal isolation contributes to further the fusion of the determinant with the determinate. If we compare two combinations such as kinsman with man-of-war, or man of deeds, we shall find that whilst the one has become an undoubted composition, the others are still groups of more or less independent parts. This is of course due to the fact that even now the word man is inflected, and that consequently the plurals, men of war and men of deeds, remind us of the fact that the first member of the group is an independent word. Formerly, when the flection was far more elaborate, this was, naturally, much more the case, and this alone would have sufficed to establish the feeling that, in compounds, the genitive which remained the same in all ‘cases’ of the compound had to precede. Of course, as long as flection sufficiently indicated the cases, both orders could be used in any group, but as then only such groups in which the genitive did precede became ‘compounds,’ those compounds became models, and the practice arose gradually and gradually became a rule. Another force then came to exert its influence in the same direction. In such genitival combinations it is, as a rule, the genitive which has the accent. When, then, this genitive was placed first, the whole group thereby resembled in accent the existing composites of the oldest formation, and so was more easily considered in the same light as these. The main cause must, however, be sought in a syntactical isolation, i.e., in our examples, an isolation in the construction of the article. As long as flectional terminations existed in their entirety, the Teutonic languages could dispense with the article before declined cases of nouns; in fact we may say the article did not exist, the demonstrative pronoun not yet having been degraded into what it became later on—a mere sign of case. Hence it was in old Teutonic languages quite possible, and a frequent practice, to use the genitive case of a noun alone without an article at all. We may be sure that this has also been true for the other cases. Phonetic decay, however, levelled the terminations of the other cases of a noun long before the genitive; and accusative and dative had long been alike (or very nearly so) at a time when in the masculine and neuter singular the genitive s was still preserved: in fact, as we know, in English it is all that has remained to us of the old flectional endings, with the exception of those s’s, in the plural which are original and not due to analogy. In that older stage of the language it was common to express an idea like the son of man by constructions just as in Ancient Greek, where the genitive stood between the article and the noun, which were both, of course, in the same case. Thus we find in Old High German, ther (NOM. SING. masc.) mannes sun (= ‘the man’s son’199). In Anglo-Saxon, Heofona rice ys gelíc ðám hiredes ealdre (‘of heaven’s (the) Kingdom is like the (DAT. sing.) household’s prince’). Gradually, however, the use of a noun without the article, largely, no doubt, owing to the levelling of all other cases, became more and more rare even in the genitive. Such rare standing expressions as remained without article, naturally assumed the appearance of compounds, and, especially in the case where the article belonging to the second noun preceded the genitive, the fusion was complete: the + kin’s + man became the + kinsman.200
We have already pointed out how the adjective and the noun entered into composition, and seen how, even in many combinations which we are not yet accustomed to look upon as fused into one, derivatives show that this fusion has at least partly been accomplished. Such are the many forms in ed, like black-eyed, etc., which are derived from the groups black eye, etc., and cannot be looked upon as compounds of black + eyed. We do not speak of an eyed person, for one who has eyes: cf. left-handed, self-willed, one-handed, etc.
In English, especially in Scottish dialects, many adverbs which commonly follow the verb, are occasionally made to precede it; as, to uplift, to backslide, etc. We may gather that in such forms no composition strictly so called has as yet set in, from the fact that the order is frequently transposed, as in sliding back, to lift up, etc. On the other hand, the fact that the words are joined in writing shows that the whole has begun to be apprehended as a unity.
In the case of most of these combinations we can trace the commencement of an isolation, which proves that the linguistic sense is ceasing to apprehend the elements as distinct. For instance, in English the old prepositional adverbs cannot be used independently and freely to form new combinations at will, but are confined to a definite group of combinations. Thus we can say, enfold and entwine: but not enthrow, for throw in. We can talk of onset, and onslaught, but not of on-run: of overflow, but not of over-pour. In many cases this isolation has led to a special development of meaning, and the word becomes still more definitely a compound; cf. such words as inroad, after-birth, offset, over-coat. From the union of the verb with the adverb, there arise nominal derivatives in which the sense is yet more specialised, such as offset, output, offal, under-writer.
An adverb derived from an adjective sometimes fuses with the nominal forms of the verb. The first impulse to this fusion is often given by the metaphorical application of one part of the compound: cf. deep-feeling, far-reaching, high-flying. The combination becomes even closer when the first part retains a meaning which has become unusual to it in general. For instance, in such a combination as ill-favoured, ill retains a trace of the time when it could be used as synonymous with bad.
In German, the comparative and superlative forms are actually used, showing the completeness of the fusion; as, der tieffühlendste Geist (Goethe), (lit. = ‘deep-feelingest ghost,’ i.e. ‘spirit’).
There are a few combinations of verbal-forms with an object accusative, which similarly occupy an intermediate position between the compound and the syntactic group; such as laughter-provoking, wrath-stirring, fire-spitting. No sharp line can be drawn between these instances of spontaneous and natural fusion, and the analogical formations coined by the poets; as sea-encompassed, storm-tossed, etc.
Again, and even in English, where the application of the inflected comparative and superlative is of so very limited application, it is the use of the comparative or superlative which affords a test as to the degree of fusion. It is, of course, possible to analyse most laughter-provoking, as provoking much laughter. But few would adopt such an explanation in a sentence like This is the most fire-spitting speech I ever heard.
Besides this, there are many verbal combinations which must be apprehended as compounds, from the fact that they represent a single notion only; such as with regard to, as soon as possible, forasmuch as, seeing that, none the less,—which must be considered to stand on the same footing as notwithstanding, nevertheless. This fusion is sometimes accompanied by a displacement of the psychological conception as to the parts of the sentence, whereby the natural mode of construction is altered, and the combination performs a new function, and becomes practically a different part of speech. For instance, we commonly hear I as good as promised it to them, where ‘as good as’ is nearly equivalent to ‘almost,’ and is construed like that adverb. We even meet with sentences like unclassified and prize-cattle, where a member of a compound is placed on the same footing as an independent word. Moreover, the first, or determinant member of the compound may be followed by determinants, as if it were itself independent; thus Milton can write hopeless to circumvent us; fearless to be overmatched: as if it had been ‘without hope to circumvent us;’ ‘having no fear to be overmatched.’ All this shows over and over again how completely impossible it is to draw the line between syntactical groups and compounds.
In this manner, then, syntactical isolation favours the fusion of a group into a compound. In our discussion of the form Jackanapes, we had already an instance how phonetic changes may have the same effect. This we shall now investigate and illustrate rather more in detail.
Though it would be impossible to prove the fact historically, it seems involved in the nature of the case that, for the most part, such phonetic changes at first arose in EVERY case of such closer and more intimate syntactical union; that they were re-adjusted and re-equalised later on, and were only preserved in groupings which, as a consequence of development of meaning, had become so far fused into one whole as to be capable of resisting the re-adjusting tendencies.
The simplest of such general effects of syntactical grouping is that the final consonant of a syllable is transferred in pronunciation to the next syllable. Thus, for instance, an apple is pronounced a-napple, without any pause; here + on is pronounced he + ron, etc. If, then, as in French, this final consonant disappears from pronunciation, save when thus made an initial, i.e. save before a word beginning with a vowel, we may expect its presence to have an isolating effect, and consequently to be sufficient to stamp the group as a compound. This, however, is only the case if such a preservation is not sufficiently frequent to be realised as a rule of pronunciation for all similar cases. In French, il peut = ‘he can,’ is pronounced without the t; in peut-être = ‘may be,’ ‘perhaps,’ the t is heard. Yet this has not isolated the form peut with t from the usual third person singular present indicative without t, because this t is preserved not in peut-être alone, or in a few such groups, but in all cases where the following word begins with a vowel; e.g., il peut avoir = ‘he can (may) have,’ pronounced with the t likewise. If we suppose the French language to discard at some time this liaison, as it is called, and always to pronounce peut without t even before vowels, then, and not till then, would the pronunciation peut-être with t stamp the combination as a compound.
So, again, the well-known process of avoiding hiatus by contraction or elision, in the case of a word ending in a vowel preceding one that begins with a vowel, has been sufficient to fuse two elements into one compound in many cases (e.g., about = a + be + ut (an); Lat. magnopere = magno + opere; Gothic sah, ‘this’ = sa + uh), but has no such effect in the case of the French article, or of the French preposition de, because the elision of the unaccented e and a is there an almost invariable and still ‘living’ rule.
A third general effect of close syntactical combination is the assimilation of a final and initial consonant. This, in present European languages, is scarcely, if at all, noticed or expressed in writing. It is, however, an exceedingly common occurrence in the spoken language, a fact of which every one can and ought to convince himself by a little attention to his own and other’s NATURAL pronunciation. It is only in cases where further reasons, in addition to this assimilation, such as, e.g., isolation by development of meaning or other phonetic development, have welded the group into a compound, or at least have advanced it a considerable distance on the road towards complete fusion, that the written language sometimes takes cognisance of the change, and, by the very spelling, indicates the compound nature of the group. We say ‘sometimes’ takes cognisance; for while spelling in no living language follows all the variations in pronunciation, no European tongue is further from accurately representing the spoken—that is, the real—language in its writing than English. Hence the instances even of acknowledged compounds, in which the assimilation in sound is indicated by the spelling, are comparatively rare. Such are gossib, for god + sib = ‘sib, or related, in God;’ leoman, for leof + man = ‘dear man;’ quagmire = quakemire, i.e. ‘quaking mire.’ Instances where the assimilation exists in pronunciation, but is not represented in writing, are plentiful: cupboard, pronounced cub-board (or cubberd); blackguard, pronounced blagguard, etc. In all these we must, on the one hand, admit with respect to the recognition of the group as compound, that, even if it has not promoted assimilation, it has at least checked the tendency to restore the theoretically correct pronunciation of the final consonant of the former member in each group. On the other hand, however, it is as certain that the very facility thus afforded to the working of the assimilating tendency has aided the phonetic isolation of the group and promoted the fusion.
The most effective cause of phonetic isolation, however, lies of course in the influence of accent. This has been sufficiently illustrated in the course of the foregoing discussions.
In all these discussions we have mainly regarded the transition of a syntactical group into a compound. Several of our examples, however, well illustrate the fact that, just as the fusion between the two members of some group may be insufficient to stamp the combination as a compound, so, also, such a compound loses its character as such for the consciousness of all but the student of language, when the fusion proceeds too far. The compound then becomes, to all intents and purposes, a simple word; it serves no more as model for analogical compounds with the same members, and at the very most gives the impression of having been ‘derived’ from its first member by a suffix. To instance this, we need only recall a few of our examples to the reader’s mind—bandog, auger, furlong, etc., or (with the suffixes) bishopric, kingdom, etc.
A careful study of these and similar examples will show that in the first-class of compounds, no longer recognised as such, sometimes both members have become obsolete, and in both classes almost always one.
We have now reached a point whence we can observe the conditions necessary to give birth to a suffix, or, if the phrase be preferred, necessary to degrade an independent word into a suffix.
We have seen a suffix originate in a noun which either (as in a case of ‘-ric’) became obsolete as an independent word, or whose connection with the etymologically identical independent form ceased to be felt in the linguistic consciousness of the community.
But such a fate may and does often befall a word without converting it into an acknowledged suffix. It has befallen the noun ðyrl (‘a hole’), in nostril (= nose-thirl), or the word búr (‘a dweller’) in neighbour (‘a near-dweller’), and yet neither -tril nor -bour have become recognised as suffixes in the English language.
What more, then, is required?
First of all, the first element must be etymologically perfectly clear; cf. kingdom, bishopric as against nos-tril, gos-sip.
Secondly, the second element must not occur in one or two combinations only, but in a sufficiently large group of words, in all of which it modifies the meaning of the first member in the same way; cf. nos-tril, gos-sip, as against ‘kingdom,’ ‘widowhood.’
This second condition can scarcely be fulfilled except in cases where—
Thirdly, the second element has originally, or in its combination with the others, some such abstract and general meaning as state, condition, quality, action, etc.
A few words on one of the best-known suffixes in English will make this clear. Though the phrase would hardly stand in written or literary language, we might indicate a dealer in pianos as the piano-man, i.e. ‘the man who has pianos.’ In the oldest stages of language, not only could a single noun be thus used with an almost adjectival force, but even a compound (or what was then still a syntactical co-ordination) of two or more nouns, or of adjective and noun, could be thus employed. Thus, e.g., in Sanscrit, a much-rice-king, would mean ‘a king who possesses much rice,’ i.e. ‘is rich;’ and the group man-shape (or its equivalent) might have been used for man-shape-having. Such compounds abound in Sanscrit, and could be formed at will. They were called Bahuvrîhi compounds. Now, without of course wishing to assert that the very combination man-ly is an original one, it is to such a combination of a noun with the noun which afterwards became lic in Anglo-Saxon that we owe the suffix ly. The phonetic differentiation and the development of meaning from shape-having to appearance or quality-having, isolated the member from its corresponding independent form (which in German and Dutch still exists as Leiche and Lyk = body or corpse), and gave us lic (later ly) as a suffix.
From all that we have said it must be clear that this process has gone on neither in prehistoric nor in historic times only, but is one which is repeated again and again, and consequently—seeing that prehistoric times are of unknown, but certainly enormous length—we must be on our guard against assuming that all these prototypes of Indo-Germanic suffixes must necessarily have existed at one time as independent words in the language, before the process which transformed them into suffixes began to operate. We may, nay, we are almost compelled to assume that there, too, they arose in succession, and that then as now, whenever phonetic decay or other causes had affected a suffix to such an extent as to take away the appearance of a derivative from what was once a compound, the suffix was no longer felt as such; it ceased to serve for new combinations, and another more weighty suffix took its function and supplanted it in all but a few remaining cases.
The most superficial knowledge of any modern language, or of Latin etymology, is sufficient to show that it is as impossible to draw a line between suffix and flectional termination, as between syntactical group and compound. Even a Frenchman, unless he has had the true historical explanation pointed out to him, feels in a future tense like j’aimerai, a verb-stem aim, and a termination -erai indicative of futurity, though, nowadays, there are but few students of French grammar who ignore the fact that aimerai is a compound of the infinitive aimer and the first person singular, present, indicative, ai = (I) have. Similarly, we may safely assume that few Romans felt in a pluperfect amaveram a perfect stem amav and eram the imperfect of sum, much less in amabo a present stem ama and a suffix derived from the same root as their perfect fu-i. It is certainly useless to illustrate this further.
We may now conclude with three observations, the truth of which will be apparent from what has gone before.
First. Even when an inflected form, by means of comparative study of all its oldest forms and equivalents in cognate languages, has been brought back to its prototype, and analysed into what are commonly considered to be its component parts, we must remember that these parts cannot have been fused into the integer which we now find made up of them, and yet have retained their original form and original meaning. Just as kingdoms has certainly not arisen from king + dom + s, a Greek optative pherois is not a compound of pher + o + i + s, though, undoubtedly, each of these elements have their regular representatives in other words of the same function, and most probably had their prototypes in fuller forms, in a more independent state. We have no means of knowing what these forms were, or what their original function was when still independent.
Second. Many words which we now consider as “simple” may have been compound or derivative. Our inability to further analyse does not prove primitive unity.
Third. In the history of Indo-European flection we do wrong if we assume the separate existence of a period of construction and one of decay.
The division commonly adopted of the parts of speech in the Indo-European language is convenient as a classification; but it must be borne in mind that it is not logically accurate, nor is it exhaustive. It is indeed impossible to divide words into sharply defined categories, seeing that, however we may divide them, we shall find it difficult to exclude some from each category which may fairly claim to be registered under some other category or categories, basing their claim upon at least certain uses.
The accepted grammatical categories have had their form determined mainly by the consideration of three points: (1) by the meaning of each word taken by itself; (2) by its function in the sentence; (3) by its capacity for inflection, and the part it plays in word-formation.
As regards the meaning of the word, we may notice that the grammatical categories of substantive, adjective, and verb correspond to the logical categories of substance, quality, and activity, or, more properly, occurrence. But here, at the outset, we find that the substantive is not confined to the denotation of substance, as there are also substantives denoting quality and occurrence as, ‘brightness,’ a ‘rise.’ There are also verbs which denote continuous states and qualities; as, ‘to remain,’ or the Latin ‘cande’ = ‘to be white.’ Pronouns and numerals again have a right on the score of meaning to be separated as classes from substantives and adjectives: but these, again, must be separated from each other in their substantival as against adjectival use (e.g. each as against each man; Six went and six stayed as against Six men, etc.; this and that as against this book and that one), which forbids us to simply co-ordinate the classes: substantive, adjective, pronoun, numerals. And, on the other hand, it must follow that, if pronouns and numerals are to be regarded as distinct species of the noun class, the same separation must be extended to the adverb class: since badly, there, twice, are related to each other just as bad, this, two.
To come to the connecting words. The lines that define the class of the conjunctions are quite arbitrary; where, for instance, is called an adverb even in passages like this:201 “Where, in former times, the only remedy for misgovernment real or supposed was a change of dynasty, the evil is now corrected at no greater cost than a ministerial crisis.” As and while, again, are called conjunctions. In the simple sentence, the test usually applied to distinguish prepositions from conjunctions is case-government. But it certainly is entirely illogical to call words like before, since, after prepositions when they occur in simple sentences, and to call them conjunctions when they connect sentences;—for this function is in both cases exactly the same; cf. before my interview with you, and before I saw you.
If we wished to classify words according to their function in the sentence, it might seem obvious to divide words (1) into those which can of themselves form a sentence, (2) into those which can serve as members of a sentence, and (3) those which can only serve to connect such members.
In the first division we might, then, place the interjections, which, when isolated, are really imperfect sentences. But these also occur as members of a sentence, sometimes with and sometimes without a preposition; as, Woe to the land! Out on thee! Oh my!
The finite verb in its original use better fulfils the idea of a perfect sentence. But in its present use it appears—if we except the imperative—as a mere predicate attached to a subject separately denoted. And the so-called auxiliaries are mainly used as mere connecting words.
Connecting words, again, such as conjunctions and prepositions, are, as we have seen, derived from independent words by a displacement as to the appreciation of the part which a word plays in a sentence (cf. Chap. XVI., pp. 282 and 284.). Such words are during, in regard to, notwithstanding. And there is this further reason why they cannot be sharply distinguished from other kinds of words—that a word may be an independent member of the particular sentence to which it belongs, and yet at the same time serve to connect this with another sentence. If I say, for instance, The man who believes this is a fool, the who is at once an independent member of the relative sentence and a connecting word between the principal and subordinate sentence. This is universally the case as regards the relative pronoun and relative adverb. It is true also of the demonstrative when this refers to the preceding or following sentence; as, I saw a man, he told me, etc. But even if this first classification as to function could be consistently carried out, any further attempt at subdivision leads us into fresh difficulties, considering that the substantive, as opposed to the adjective and verb, is the part of speech which serves as subject and object. We might, indeed, be tempted to utilize this fact as the principle of our subclassification. But we find in the first place that a substantive can also be used attributively and predicatively, like an adjective (cf. We are men, We are manly), and, on the other hand, other words may serve as the subject in such sentences as Well begun is half ended; Slow and steady wins the race; Finished is finished. An adjective, too, may serve as object; as, He takes good for bad; Write it down, black on white; to make bad worse.
We have indeed seen that the use of prepositions to introduce subordinate sentences is very common in English; as, After he had begotten Seth, etc.
The division which can be most systematically carried out is that which divides words according as they are inflected or not, and according to their mode of flection. In this way three convenient divisions may be made of nouns, verbs, and uninflected words. But even here the nominal forms of the verb, such as the infinitive, to love (amare, lieben) and indeclinable substantives such as the Latin cornu and the English adjectives, resist the carrying out of the division. Pronouns, again, are differently inflected from nouns, and they differ among themselves. In other languages, the system of inflection of the substantive is sometimes identical and sometimes not. It might be alleged that the formation of degrees of comparison was a decisive mark of the adjective: but even here we are met by the fact that some languages, like Sanscrit, can compare nouns and even persons of the verb;202 and others, like Latin, can compare the substantive (cf. Plautus’ use of oculissimus—Curc. I. ii. 28, etc.) amicissimus = ‘(my) best friend,’ etc. This usage is seen in the English word ‘top-most,’ which is the substantive top with a double superlative ending (see Mätzner, vol. i., p. 270); the termination most superseded the O.E. m- est, which answered to the A.S. (e) mest, derived from a positive (e) ma, which itself had a superlative signification (cf. optumus). Again, the very meaning of some adjectives renders them incapable of comparison; as, wooden, golden, etc.
It is, then, clear that the current division of the parts of speech, in which all these three principles of classification are more or less embodied, leads to so many cross divisions that it cannot be consistently carried out. The parts of speech cannot be sharply and neatly partitioned off into eight or nine categories. There are many necessary transitions from one class into another; these result from the general laws of change of meaning, and from analogical formations which are characteristic of language in general. If we follow out these transitions, we at the same time detect the reasons which originally suggested the division of the parts of speech.
To consider, first, the division between substantive and adjective. The formal division is based in the Indo-European languages on the capacity of the adjective of inflections of gender and comparison. In individual languages still further distinctions have arisen. Thus, for instance, the adjective in the Teutonic and Slavonic languages admits of a double, nay we may even say a triple, mode of inflection: cf. gut, guter, der gute; in which declensions forms occur absolutely without analogy in the substantives. In Modern High German, we have to note the existence of the two declensions (the weak and the strong). On their uses and that of the third or undeclined form of the adjective in the predicate, the most elementary German grammar will give the student all information. As for the forms of adjectival (and pronominal) declension which are distinct from the noun declension, it is necessary to go back to Anglo-Saxon, or, better still, to Gothic. It is, of course, not necessary to master these languages thoroughly in order to simply compare their systems of inflection. Seeing that in English the adjectives have no flection, the test is no longer applicable to the language in its present form; though the test of capacity for comparison applies here still. But in spite of all differentiations of form, the adjective may receive, at first ‘occasionally’ then ‘usually,’ the function of a substantive: cf. The rich and the poor, old and young, my gallants.203 From this substantival adjective a pure substantive may be derived by traditional use, especially if its form becomes in any way isolated as against other forms of the adjective; as, sir = Fr. sieur, from seniorem as against senior. The instinct of language shows that it apprehends the adjective definitely as a substantive when it connects it with an attributive adjective; as, the powdered pert (Cowper, Task); a respected noble, etc.: or with a genitive; as, the blue of the sky. In English the possessive pronoun is connected with many words, such as like, better, etc.,204 which, if felt as adjectives, would demand other constructions. Cf. He was your better, sir (Sheridan Knowles, Hunchback, III. ii.); To consult his superiors (Cooper, Spy, ch. i.): He is my senior.
There are many adjectives in all languages which are completely transformed, such as sir (cf. supra); priest (a shortened form of what in French appears as prêtre, older form prestre (cf. Dutch priester), all from Greek presbuteros, ‘older,’ the comparative of presbus, ‘old’); fiend, M.E. fend, A.S. féond, ‘an enemy,’ originally the present participle of the verb féon, ‘to hate;’ friend, M.E. frend, A.S. freónd, originally present participle of fréon, ‘to love;’ etc.
The transformation of a substantive into an adjective is less familiar, and perhaps more interesting. In the process, we disregard some parts of the meaning of the substantive, excluding from that meaning first and foremost the meaning of substance, so that only the qualities attaching to the substance remain in view. This transformation virtually occurs as an occasional use whenever a substantive is employed as predicate or attribute: a king’s cloak (for a royal cloak); He is an ass, etc. A substantive in apposition approaches the nature of an adjective, especially when it is used to denote a class; and, again, more especially when the combination is abnormal and metaphorical: cf. a virgin fortress; a maiden over; boy-competitors; turkey-cock, hen-sparrow; a house-maid;205 music-vows (Hamlet, III. i.) Sometimes an adverb which can strictly speaking be connected with an adjective only, is joined to the substantive, and serves to mark its adjectival nature. Thus we often hear such expressions as He is ass enough, idiot enough; More fool you, etc.
In other cases, again, such as twenty thousand troops were taken prisoner, the word prisoner shows by its absence of inflection that it is apprehended as an adjective.
It might be thought practicable to draw another distinction that would hold good as between substantive and adjective. The adjective, it might be alleged, denotes a simple quality, the substantive connotes a group of qualities. In such a word as blue, we have the one broad idea of one colour fairly defined and commonly understood within certain definite limits. In the meaning of, e.g., rose, we embrace all the qualities which go to make up our conception of flower in general, and the special flower which we call rose in particular. And no doubt the definition may be considered in the main correct. But the distinction cannot be consistently maintained throughout. For instance, there are many adjectives which cannot be said to indicate really one quality only. Such are most adjectives in like or ly (warlike, manly, etc.); and, on the other hand, substantives are again and again used so as to denote one quality and only one. The transition from the denotation of a simple quality to that of a group of qualities is effected by the use in a special sense of a substantival adjective; as, ‘the blacks,’ for ‘the negroes’ = ‘a radical,’ ‘a conservative.’ When once such usage has been started, there is no necessity for the train of thought, which led the first employer to specialise the word, to be present in the consciousness of other speakers. Directly the word has come to be so specialised, and the train of thought which led to its specialisation has been forgotten, the word stands isolated as an independent substantive.
The converse process is not uncommon; in which, out of a group of qualities, a single one is dwelt on and the rest are left out of consideration: such are, for instance, the names of colours; as, lilac, rose, mulberry, etc., used adjectivally. From this use the adjectives with specialised meanings, derived from substantives, we may gather that adjectives, i.e. terms for simple qualities, arose out of terms for groups of qualities, i.e. substantives. The process must have been from the very beginning that the speaker singled out one notion from a group and dwelt on it, passing over the others bound up in the group. In fact, the speaker must, at a very early stage, have used words in a figurative sense. In such expressions as That man is a bear, That woman is a vixen (as, indeed, when we say bearish or vixenish), we are ascribing to him or her only some one particular characteristic of the whole number of characteristics of the thing which the substantive indicates when used in its usual sense. The distinction between noun and verb might seem, at first sight, to be well marked both by the diversity of forms which characterise these separate parts of speech, and by the diversity of functions which they severally fulfil. But in English, we are at once met by the fact that we have numerous verbs which are identical in form with nouns, and in many cases are actually nouns employed as verbs; as, to lord it, to walk, to dog, to run: while we constantly see the process going on before our eyes, of the transference of a noun into the category of verbs; as, to chair a man, to table a motion. How near they may approach in function may be seen from sentences like I looked at the show, and I had a look at the show. No doubt it maybe said that verbs have certain formal characteristics, which distinguish the verb from the noun, such as personal terminations, distinctions between voices, and forms to denote mood and tense. But, in the first place, these forms have, to a great extent, disappeared in English, with its other inflections; and, in the second place, even in the most highly inflected languages we find verbs defective in some of these characteristics, and thereby approaching in form to nouns: cf. the Italian bisogna andare (= ‘I need to go’) as against Che bisogna andare (‘What need to go?’). While, again in nouns, forms occur defective in case and gender-signs; as, cornu, ‘horn;’ genu, ‘knee;’ etc. Further, in the Slavonic languages, we actually find the verb in the past tense agreeing in gender with its subject; as, Tui jelala, ‘Thou (feminine) didst wish,’ etc. Lastly, the differentiation of the construction of the two parts of speech is anything but sharply marked, as we may see in cases where a substantive actually takes the case which would naturally be taken by the verb with which it is connected: Seeing her is to love her; Hearing him recite that poem is enough to draw tears from the eyes.
Even in highly inflected languages, like Latin and Greek, the personal endings, commonly regarded as the special formal characteristic of the verb, have no place in the participles and infinitives.
Again, such an expression as Rex es, ‘Thou art king,’ is identical in meaning with Regnas, ‘Thou rulest;’ so that the verbal termination, as such, need not serve to mark any distinction of meaning between the verb and the adjective or substantive used predicatively.
If we say that it is of the essence of the verb to describe a mere transient process limited by time, while the adjective or substantive denotes a permanent quality, we must observe that the adjective may describe a transient quality; as, dirty, pale: while verbs may be used to describe states; as, to glow, cf. candere = to be white.
The participle must be regarded as partaking of the nature of the verb as well as of that of the adjective. The peculiarity of the participle, as compared with the adjective, is that it enables us to express an occurrence or event attributively; as, They, looking, saw. We must look upon adjectives as the older formation of the two, and indeed we must suppose that adjectives had been completely developed before participles could take their rise at all.
The characteristic difference between the participle and the so-called verbal adjective is that the participle, unlike the adjective, is capable of denoting tense; as, τύψας (= ‘having struck’). The participle, when standing as an attribute to a noun, partakes of the construction of a noun (i.e. substantive or adjective); as, Vir captus est (‘The man is caught’). But it may depart from the character of a noun by departing from such nominal construction, and striking out a new path of its own.
Thus, in He has taken her, He has slept, we have a use of the participle quite unlike the use of the adjective. No doubt it is true that such a phrase as He has taken her signified originally He has or holds her as one taken; cf. Cura intentos habebat Romanos, (Liv., xxvi. 1), but we do not now apprehend the construction thus. In French, the transition from the general adjectival into the special participial construction is clearer: J’ai vu les dames, ‘I have seen the ladies;’ but Je les ai vues, ‘I have seen (fem. plur.) them,’ and les dames que j’ai vues, ‘the ladies that I have seen (fem. plur).’ In Italian, we say Ho vedute (fem. plur.) le donne = ‘I have seen the ladies,’ as well as Ho veduto le donne (masc. or genderless sing.). In Spanish, all inflection in the case of periphrases formed with ‘haber’ is abolished; it is as correct to write la carta que he escrito = ‘the letter which I have written,’ as to say He escrito una carta = ‘I have written a letter.’ On the other hand, in periphrases made with tener (to hold, used as auxiliary like to have), a later introduction into the language, the inflection is always retained; in tengo escrita una carta, = ‘I have written (fem.) a letter (fem.)’ it is as imperative to observe the concord of gender as in Las cartas que tengo escritas = ‘The letters which I have written.’
Conversely: it is possible for the participle to gradually recur to a purely nominal character. Bearing in mind our definition of the participle, we may say that this recurrence has taken place as soon as the present participle is used for the lasting activity; as when we talk about a knowing man: and as soon as the perfect participle comes to be used to express the result of the activity; as, a lost chance. The more such participle is employed in a specialised meaning—as, for instance, metaphorically,—the more speedily and thoroughly will the transformation become accomplished; as in such cases as striking, charming, elevated, drunken, agèd, learnèd, crabbèd, doggèd, etc. Nay, such words may even combine with another, after the laws of verbal construction: as in the case of high-flying, well-wishing, flesh-eating, new-born, well-educated.
The participle, again, like other adjectives, may become a substantive, e.g. the anointed; and the substantival participle, like the adjectival, may either denote a momentary activity (or, rather, an activity limited as to time), e.g. the patient, i.e. the suffering one, or a state, e.g. the regent = the ruling one = the ruler. It may, indeed, entirely lose its verbal nature, as, friend, fiend, i.e. the loving one, the hating one, etc.
The nomen agentis, resembling in this respect the participle, may denote either a momentary or a lasting activity; as, the doer = ‘he who does;’ the dancer (if = ‘he who is wont to dance,’ e.g., as his profession). In the former application it remains closely connected with the verb; and there is no reason, except custom, why it should not, like the participle, take an object, just like the verb; in fact, that it should not be correct to say the teacher the boy for ‘he who teaches the boy,’ just as it is possible to say the school-teacher. We actually do find in Latin, dator divitias, ‘giver riches (acc. plur.)’ = ‘he who gives riches;’ justa orator (Plautus, Amphyt., 34), ‘the just things (acc. neut. plur.) orator or speaker’ = ‘he who speaks just things.’
In Shakespeare, we find and all is semblative a woman’s part (Twelfth Night, I. iv.), where an adjective, semblative, is similarly construed with a verbal force; the sentence being equivalent to ‘and all resembles that which we might expect in a woman.’ On the other hand, the nomen agentis, when denoting lasting activity, may separate more and more from the verb, and thus finally lose its special character, as noun indicating a ‘doer,’ e.g., owner, actor, father (lit. ‘he who feeds or who protects;’ from a root which means either to nourish or to protect).
The transition from verb to noun is again seen in nomina actionis, like transportation, liberation. These may also approximate to the verbal construction; as, My transportation from England to Ireland (‘I was transported from England to Ireland’); pearl fishery (‘the fishing for pearls’). Here, again, the notion of a lasting activity inherent in the substantive tends to make the original idea of a nomen actionis grow faint; and the connotation of a lasting condition sets in. And, again, the more that metaphorical and other unusual or special usages attach to the word, the more does such word become isolated as against its original use, cf. position, transportation, conviction, goings-on. It may, indeed, become so far isolated as to lose all connection with the verb, as in reckoning, in the sense of an account; cf. addition, in French, in the same meaning (cf. the French expression for ‘Waiter! the bill, please,’ Garçon! l’addition s’il vous plaît!)
The infinitive is really a case of the noun of action, and must originally have been constructed in accordance with the usage in force at the time for the syntactical combination of the corresponding verb with other nouns. But, in order that it may be felt as a true infinitive, its mode of construction must no longer be felt as it originally must have been felt; it must, in fact, have become isolated in its employment, and such isolation became then the basis of further development. But the infinitive having thus developed, reverts in many cases to the character of a noun: its want of inflection, however, always has a tendency to prevent this; and, accordingly, the most common cases in which it appears as a substantive are as subject or object. In sentences like ‘not to have been dipped in Lethe’s Lake Could save the son of Thetis from to die’ (Spenser, Faëry Queen); ‘Have is have’ (Shakespeare, King John, I. i.); ‘I list not prophecy’ (Winter’s Tale, IV. i. 26); ‘I learn to ride,’ etc., it seems certain that the infinitive is constructed after the analogy of a noun; but in such constructions as I let him speak, I hear him walk, it is hardly apprehended as so constructed by the instinct of language of the present day.
Languages which possess declined articles possess exceptional facilities for thus approximating the infinitive to a noun, as the Greek τὸ φιλεῖν, τοῦ φιλεῖν, etc. (= ‘the “to love”—of the to-love,’ etc.): cf. such instances as the English Have is have (Shakespeare, King John, I. i.); Mother, what does ‘marry’ mean? (Longfellow); Him booteth not resist (Spenser, Faëry Queen, I. iii. 20.) And similarly the German das lieben (‘the “to-love”’); French mon pouvoir (‘my “to-be-able”’). In Latin, the same approximation is rendered possible by the demonstrative pronouns; as, totum hoc philosophari (Cicero), ‘all this “to-philosophise;”’ Inhibere illud tuum (ibid.), (‘that “to-prohibit” of yours’). Modern High German and the Romance languages have gone so far as to employ the infinitive as the equivalent to a noun pure and simple, even in respect of inflection; as, Meines sterbens (= ‘of my “to-die”’); Mein hier-bleiben (= ‘my “here-remain,”’ i.e., ‘my remaining here’). In the Romance languages, the process is rendered easier by the abolition of case-difference; cf. mon savoir-faire (= ‘my “to know—to-do”’ = ‘my cleverness of management’). Old French and Provençal actually invest the infinitive with the s of the nominative case—Li plorers ne t’i vaut rien: ‘The “to-weep” not to thee there avails anything’ = ‘It avails thee nothing to weep’ (cf. Mätzner, iii., pp. 1-2).
It is possible for the verbal construction to be maintained in many cases, even in spite of the use of the article. For instance, τὸ σκοπεῖν τῖ πράγματα (lit. = ‘the “to-see” the matters.’).
The oldest adverbs seem to be mainly in their origin crystallised cases of nouns (adjectival or substantival), in some cases of which they are the result of the combination of a preposition with its case. Thus, in English, we have the genitive suffix appearing in else (formerly elles, the genitive of a root el or al, meaning ‘other’), once (= ‘ones’), twice needs. Much and little were datives, miclum and lytlum; cf. whilom (= hwílum.)
Thus, in Latin, many adverbs are derived from the accusative—as, primum, ‘first;’ multum, ‘much;’ foras, ‘abroad;’ alias, ‘at another time;’ facile, ‘easily;’ recens, ‘freshly:’ from the locative—as, partim, ‘partly;’ or the ablative, as falso, ‘falsely;’ recta, ‘by the right way;’ sponte, ‘voluntarily.’ The following are instances of the combination of a preposition with its regime: amid (= on-middum), withal, together, anon; French, amont, aval (= prep. a (‘at’) mont, ‘mountain,’ and val, ‘dale’ = upwards, and downwards).
This formation of adverbs leads us to suspect that the original method of forming them will also probably have been from nouns; and that as some of them may have proceeded from nouns before the development of inflections, in such cases merely the stem form, pure and simple, was employed to express adverbs. Thus such expressions as to speak true, to entreat evil, will represent the oldest types of adverbs.
The adverb stands in close relationship to the adjective. It bears a relation to the verb and to the adjective as well, analogous to that borne by an attributive adjective to a substantive; thus He stepped lightly is analogous to His steps were light; and That is absolutely true to The truth of that is absolute. This analogy manifests itself, among other instances, in this—that an adverb may, generally speaking, be formed from any adjective at will.
The adjective differs formally from the adverb in this, that the adjective, commonly speaking, admits of inflection, and hence of agreement with the substantive. In English, where this test is absent, it is difficult for the instinct of language to draw a sharp line between the two, as in to speak loud, to speak low. It is difficult, in English, to maintain that there is any real difference between the use of good in good-natured and the same word in he is good; or the use of well in he is well dressed, and in he is well.
Again, many adverbs in different languages resemble adjectives in this, that, when joined to another adverb, they take an adjectival inflection. Thus, in French, it is correct to say ‘toute pure,’ ‘toutes pures’ = ‘entire, (fem. sing.) pure,’ ‘entire (fem. plur.) pure (fem. plur.);’ both = ‘entirely pure,’ ‘quite pure:’ in Italian, tutta livida = ‘all (fem. sing.) livid’ = ‘quite livid:’ in Spanish, todos desnudos = ‘all (masc. plur.) nude’ = ‘quite naked.’
There are many cases in which an attributive adjective is employed convertibly with an adverb; cf. Hispania postrema perdomita est = ‘Spain LAST (fem. sing.) was conquered,’ for ‘AT LAST’ (Livy, xxviii. 12); Il arrive toujours le dernier, ‘He always comes last;’ Il est mort content = ‘He died happy.’ Compare also these two usages—De ces deux sœurs la cadette est celle qui est le plus aimée, ‘Of these two sisters the younger is the one who is the (neut.) more loved (fem. sing.);’ or la plus aimée, ‘the (fem.) more loved (fem.)’ (Acad.)206
Adjectives used in connection with nouns signifying the agent or the action are used in a way hardly to be distinguished from an adverbial use; as, a good story, a good story-teller, an old bookseller. In English, owing to its lack of inflections, an ambiguity may arise in such cases as the last cited; we might apply the word old to the man who sells the books, as well as to the books themselves. The common custom in English is to shun ambiguity by the use of the hyphen; as, an old-book seller. But English attempts likewise to remove the ambiguity by maintaining the adverb for one case, after the analogy of the construction with the verb—as, an early riser, a timely arrival, etc.—though this distinction is not consistently carried out.
The resemblance of adjectives and adverbs produces uncertainty in the meaning to be attached to certain adjectives; the adjective, when attached to a noun, may be conceived of as referring either to the person, or as referring to one of his qualities; thus, a bad coachman may either mean ‘a wicked coachman,’ or ‘a coachman looked upon as bad in the quality of his driving.’ In the latter case, the adjective is used in the special sense acquired by the adverb; as, he drives badly.
It is natural, then, as the adjective and the adverb so generally exist in pairs, that we should feel the need of possessing both parts of speech for all cases. There are, however, many adverbs which are derived from no adjective, and which thus have no adjective parallel to them. In this case we are compelled to employ the adverb with the function of the adjective, as in ‘He is there,’ ‘He is up,’ ‘The door is to,’ ‘Heaven is above;’ in which cases the instinct of language apprehends the construction as identical with that found in such phrases as He is active, The door is open, etc. Again, in such sentences as the mountain yonder, the enemy there, the drive hither, the adverb marks its difference from the adjective by its position in the sentence. But this rule is not consistently observed; there are cases in English where the adverb is inserted between the article and its substantive; as, on the hither-side, the above discourse, the then monarch, and more extensively in the vulgar that there mountain, this here book, where the adjectival adverbs are pleonastic.
Just as, e.g., in Latin, we find the adverb used in sic sum (‘so I am’), Ego hunc esse aliter credidi,207 ‘I him to be otherwise believed’ = ‘I thought he was a different kind of man;’ so we find in English While this scene was passing in the cabin of the man, one quite otherwise (i.e. different) was passing in the halls of the master (Mrs. Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, i. 43), in which, and other similar constructions, the adverb again has all the functions of an adjective.
Prepositions and conjunctions as link-words or connecting elements took their origin from independent words through a displacement of the distribution. Prepositions were once adverbs, serving to denote more closely the direction of the verbal action; as, ‘to go in,’ ‘to carry off,’ ‘to throw up,’ ‘to fall down.’ They then became displaced, i.e. detached from the verb, and came to belong to the noun, furthering the disappearance of its case-endings and assuming their office.
To stamp a word as ‘connecting word,’ this displacement must have become customary and general. For, in their occasional usage, the most various parts of speech may serve as connecting words. The functions of the adverb, as such, have been sufficiently illustrated. It is thus only where such adverbs are with a certain regularity, or preferably, used as link-words, that they begin to be felt as prepositions or conjunctions. But even then, notwithstanding such syntactical development, the word can still be used independently in its former function, and it remains impossible to definitely range it in any particular class. This only becomes rational and feasible when the word has become obsolete in its original usage.
We may accordingly define a preposition as a link-word which may be followed by any substantive in some of its case-forms where this combination is no longer syntactically parallel to that between noun or verb and the word in its original independent sense. Accepting this definition, we shall not explain considering, in such a sentence as considering everything he has done very well, as a preposition, because its construction is that of the verb to consider. When we come to instead of it is different. Stead, A.S. stede, meant ‘a place;’ and in the stead of the man would have been a perfectly natural construction, the genitive case showing the independence of the noun: but whether the genitive is still felt as a genitive depends on the question whether we think of instead as a compound of the preposition in with the noun stead. As soon as we cease to feel it as such, we do not think of the genitive as regularly depending on the preceding substantive, and the preposition is created. No doubt the instance which we have given proves that the instinct of language is vacillating; we still find in his stead looked upon as somewhat archaic indeed, but still current English. In some cases the isolation has become looser, and in others it has become absolute. The word nigh (A.S. neáh, M.E. neigh, as in ‘neighbour’) was originally an adverb, and identical in meaning with the word near (A.S. néar, the comparative degree of néah). But we do not think of nigh and near as connected. The word till is still more peculiar. It is, properly speaking, a case of A.S. tíli, a noun (cf. Germ. Ziel, Gothic tils) meaning ‘aim’ or ‘goal,’ whence the idea of towards developed. Off and of are not thought of as connected, and yet they are the same word. In this case the relationship becomes obscured, owing to divergency in the development of signification. In other cases the isolation of the word is due to the disappearance of the old method of construction in which it was used. Thus since, M.E. sithens, is from síððen = A.S. síððan, which is itself a construction for síððan, put for síððam, ‘after that.’ Here the ðam is the dative case masculine of the demonstrative pronoun used as a relative; it answers exactly to the N.H.G. seit dem; cf. ni ðanaseiðs (Ulphilas, Mark ii. 14) + ‘no more.’ In the same way, the word ere is a comparative form derived from A.S. ǽr, ‘soon.’
The origin and rise of the conjunctions may, like that of the prepositions, be followed historically. Many of them arise from adverbs or pronouns in their function as connective words, as we have discussed in the foregoing paragraphs. These words, then, are already connecting-words ere they become established as conjunctions pure and simple. All depends thus upon the linguistic consciousness of the speaker, whether he will consider them as still pronoun or adverb, or as real conjunction, and this consciousness, again, is largely dependent upon the degree to which the word in question has been etymologically obscured.
We have seen how the demonstrative that has become a conjunction, and can easily realise how to some extent in many others, such as because, in case, etc., though no demonstrative word proper has entered into their composition, the relation of the noun which forms their second part to what follows is of a demonstrative kind.
Prepositions and conjunctions are more clearly distinguishable in such languages, as, e.g., German, where the flection of noun and adjective, or the absence of flection, shows whether the word is used as the one or the other. In English, this test has disappeared. But even in highly inflected tongues this test is not applicable in cases where a preposition is used before an indeclinable word or combination of words. And that such difference could not arise before the flection had arisen, is self-evident.