Part 7 (2/2)

with more to the same effect. 'Christology' has been lately characterized as a monstrous importation from Germany. I am quite of the remonstrant's mind that English theology does not need, and can do excellently well without it; yet this novelty it is not; for in the _Preface_ to the works of that ill.u.s.trious Arminian divine of the seventeenth century, Thomas Jackson, written by Benjamin Oley, his friend and pupil, the following pa.s.sage occurs: 'The reader will find in this author an eminent excellence in that part of divinity which I make bold to call _Christology_, in displaying the great mystery of G.o.dliness, G.o.d the Son manifested in human flesh.' [Footnote: _Preface to Dr. Jackson's Works_, vol. i. p. xxvii. A work of Fleming's, published in 1700, bears the t.i.tle, _Christology_.] In their power of taking up foreign words into healthy circulation and making them truly their own, languages differ much from one another, and the same language from itself at different periods of its life. There are languages of which the appet.i.te and digestive power, the a.s.similative energy, is at some periods almost unlimited. Nothing is too hard for them; everything turns to good with them; they will shape and mould to their own uses and habits almost any material offered to them. This, however, is in their youth; as age advances, the a.s.similative energy diminishes. Words are still adopted; for this process of adoption can never wholly cease; but a chemical amalgamation of the new with the old does not any longer find place; or only in some instances, and very partially even in them. The new comers lie upon the surface of the language; their sharp corners are not worn or rounded off; they remain foreign still in their aspect and outline, and, having missed their opportunity of becoming otherwise, will remain so to the end. Those who adopt, as with an inward misgiving about their own gift and power of stamping them afresh, make a conscience of keeping them in exactly the same form in which they have received them; instead of conforming them to the laws of that new community into which they are now received.

Nothing will ill.u.s.trate this so well as a comparison of different words of the same family, which have at different periods been introduced into our language. We shall find that those of an earlier introduction have become English through and through, while the later introduced, belonging to the same group, have been very far from undergoing the same transforming process. Thus 'bishop' [A.S. biscop], a word as old as the introduction of Christianity into England, though derived from 'episcopus,' is thoroughly English; while 'episcopal,' which has supplanted 'bishoply,' is only a Latin word in an English dress.

'Alms,' too, is thoroughly English, and English which has descended to us from far; the very shape in which we have the word, one syllable for 'eleemosyna' of six, sufficiently testifying this; 'letters,' as Horne Tooke observes,' like soldiers, being apt to desert and drop off in a long march.' The seven-syllabled and awkward 'eleemosynary' is of far more recent date. Or sometimes this comparison is still more striking, when it is not merely words of the same family, but the very same word which has been twice adopted, at an earlier period and a later--the earlier form will be thoroughly English, as 'palsy'; the later will be only a Greek or Latin word spelt with English letters, as 'paralysis.'

'Dropsy,' 'quinsy,' 'megrim,' 'squirrel,' 'rickets,' 'surgeon,'

'tansy,' 'dittany,' 'daffodil,' and many more words that one might name, have nothing of strangers or foreigners about them, have made themselves quite at home in English. So entirely is their physiognomy native, that it would be difficult even to suspect them to be of Greek descent, as they all are. Nor has 'kickshaws' anything about it now which would compel us at once to recognize in it the French 'quelques choses' [Footnote: 'These cooks have persuaded us their coa.r.s.e fare is the best, and all other but what they dress to be mere _quelques choses_, made dishes of no nouris.h.i.+ng' (Whitlock, _Zootomia_, p.

147).]--'French _kickshose_,' as with allusion to the quarter from which it came, and while the memory of that was yet fresh in men's minds, it was often called by our early writers. A very notable fact about new words, and a very signal testimony of their popular origin, of their birth from the bosom of the people, is the difficulty so often found in tracing their pedigree. When the _causae voc.u.m_ are sought, as they very fitly are, and out of much better than mere curiosity, for the _causae rerum_ are very often wrapt up in them, those continually elude our research. Nor does it fare thus merely with words to which attention was called, and interest about their etymology awakened, only after they had been long in popular use--for that such should often give scope to idle guesses, should altogether refuse to give up their secret, is nothing strange--but words will not seldom perplex and baffle the inquirer even where an investigation of their origin has been undertaken almost as soon as they have come into existence. Their rise is mysterious; like almost all acts of _becoming_, it veils itself in deepest obscurity. They emerge, they are in everybody's mouth; but when it is inquired from whence they are, n.o.body can tell. They are but of yesterday, and yet with inexplicable rapidity they have already lost all traces of the precise circ.u.mstances under which they were born.

The rapidity with which this comes to pa.s.s is nowhere more striking than in the names of political or religious parties, and above all in names of slight or of contempt. Thus Baxter tells us that when he wrote there already existed two explanations of 'Roundhead,' [Footnote: _Narrative of my Life and Times_, p. 34; 'The original of which name is not certainly known. Some say it was because the Puritans then commonly wore short hair, and the King's party long hair; some say, it was because the Queen at Stafford's trial asked who that _round-headed_ man was, meaning Mr. Pym, because he spake so strongly.'] a word not nearly so old as himself. How much has been written about the origin of the German 'ketzer' (= our 'heretic'), though there can scarcely be a doubt that the Cathari make their presence felt in this word. [Footnote: See on this word Kluge's _Etym. Dict_.] Hardly less has been disputed about the French 'cagot.' [Footnote: The word meant in old times 'a leper'; see Cotgrave's _Dictionary_, also _Athenceum_, No. 2726.] Is 'Lollard,'

or 'Loller' as we read it in Chaucer, from 'lollen,' to chaunt? that is, does it mean the chaunting or canting people? or had the Lollards their t.i.tle from a princ.i.p.al person among them of this name, who suffered at the stake?--to say nothing of 'lolium,' found by some in the name, these men being as _tares_ among the wholesome wheat. [Footnote: Hahn, _Ketzer im Mittelalter_ vol. ii. p. 534.] The origin of 'Huguenot' as applied to the French Protestants, was already a matter of doubt and discussion in the lifetime of those who first bore it. A distinguished German scholar has lately enumerated fifteen explanations which have been offered of the word. [Footnote: Mahn, _Etymol. Untersuch_. p. 92.

Littre, who has found the word in use as a Christian name two centuries before the Reformation, has no doubt that here is the explanation of it.

At any rate there is here what explodes a large number of the proposed explanations, as for instance that Huguenot is another and popular shape of 'Eidgenossen.'] [How did the lay sisters in the Low Countries, the 'Beguines' get their name? Many derivations have been suggested, but the most probable account is that given in Ducange, that the appellative was derived from 'le Begue' the Stammerer, the nickname of Lambert, a priest of Liege in the twelfth century, the founder of the order. (See the doc.u.ment quoted in Ducange, and the 'New English Dictionary' (s. v.).)] Were the 'Waldenses' so called from one Waldus, to whom these 'Poor Men of Lyons' as they were at first called, owed their origin? [Footnote: [It is not doubted now that the Waldenses got their name from Peter Waldez or Valdo, a native of Lyons in the twelfth century. Waldez was a rich merchant who sold his goods and devoted his wealth to furthering translations of the Bible, and to the support of a set of poor preachers. For an interesting account of the Waldenses see in the _Guardian_, Aug. 18, 1886, a learned review by W. A. B. C. of _Histoire Litteraire des Vaudois_, par E. Montet.]] As little can any one tell us with any certainty why the 'Paulicians' and the 'Paterines'

were severally named as they are; or, to go much further back, why the 'Essenes' were so called. [Footnote: Lightfoot, _On the Colossians_, p.

114 sqq.] From whence had Johannes Scotus, who antic.i.p.ated so much of the profoundest thinking of later times, his t.i.tle of 'Erigena,' and did that t.i.tle mean Irish-born, or what? [Footnote: [There is no doubt whatever that _Erigena_ in this case means 'Irish-born.']] 'Prester John' was a name given in the Middle Ages to a priest-king, real or imaginary, of wide dominion in Central Asia. But whether there was ever actually such a person, and what was intended by his name, is all involved in the deepest obscurity. How perplexing are many of the Church's most familiar terms, and terms the oftenest in the mouth of her children; thus her 'Ember' days; her 'Collects'; [Footnote: Freeman, _Principles of Divine Service_, vol. i. p. 145.] her 'Breviary'; her 'Whitsunday'; [Footnote: See Skeat, s. v.] the derivation of 'Ma.s.s'

itself not being lifted above all question. [Footnote: Two at least of the ecclesiastical terms above mentioned are no longer perplexing, and are quite lifted above dispute: _ember_ in 'Ember Days' represents Anglo-Saxon _ymb-ryne_, literally 'a running round, circuit, revolution, anniversary'; see Skeat (s. v.); and _Whitsunday_ means simply 'White Sunday,' Anglo-Saxon _hwita Sunnan-daeg_.] As little can any one inform us why the Roman military standard on which Constantine inscribed the symbols of the Christian faith should have been called 'Labarum.' And yet the inquiry began early. A father of the Greek Church, almost a contemporary of Constantine, can do no better than suggest that 'labarum' is equivalent to 'laborum,' and that it was so called because in that victorious standard was the end of _labour_ and toil (finis laborum)! [Footnote: Mahn, _Elym. Untersuch_. p. 65; cf. Kurtz, _Kirchen-geschichte_, 3rd edit. p. 115.] The 'ciborium' of the early Church is an equal perplexity; [Footnote: The word is first met in Chrysostom, who calls the silver models of the temple at Ephesus (Acts xix, 24) [Greek: mikra kiboria]. [A primary meaning of the Greek [Greek: kiborion] was the cup-like seed-vessel of the Egyptian water- lily, see _Dict. of Christian Antiquities_, p. 65.]] and 'chapel'

(capella) not less. All later investigations have failed effectually to dissipate the mystery of the 'Sangraal.' So too, after all that has been written upon it, the true etymology of 'mosaic' remains a question still.

And not in Church matters only, but everywhere, we meet with the same oblivion resting on the origin of words. The Romans, one might beforehand have a.s.sumed, must have known very well why they called themselves 'Quirites,' but it is manifest that this knowledge was not theirs. Why they were addressed as Patres Conscripti is a matter unsettled still. They could have given, one would think, an explanation of their naming an outlying conquered region a 'province.'

Unfortunately they offer half a dozen explanations, among which we may make our choice. 'German' and 'Germany' were names comparatively recent when Tacitus wrote; but he owns that he has nothing trustworthy to say of their history; [Footnote: _Germania_, 2.] later inquirers have not mended the matter, [Footnote: Pott, _Etymol. Forsch._ vol. ii. pt. 2, pp. 860-872.]

The derivation of words which are the very key to the understanding of the Middle Ages, is often itself wrapt in obscurity. On 'fief' and 'feudal' how much has been disputed. [Footnote: Stubbs, _Const.i.tutional History of England_, vol. i. p. 251.] 'Morganatic' marriages are recognized by the public law of Germany, but why called 'morganatic' is unsettled still. [Footnote: [There is no mystery about this word; see a good account of the term in Skeat's _Diet_. (s. v.).]] Gypsies in German are 'zigeuner'; but when this is resolved into 'zichgauner,' or roaming thieves, the explanation has about as much scientific value as the not less ingenious explanation of 'Saturnus' as satur annis, [Footnote: Cicero, _Nat. Deor._ ii. 25.] of 'severitas' as saeva veritas (Augustine); of 'cadaver' as composed of the first syllables of _ca_ro _da_ta, _ver_mibus. [Footnote: Dwight, _Modern Philology_, lst series, p. 288.] Littre has evidently little confidence in the explanation commonly offered of the 'Salic' law, namely, that it was the law which prevailed on the banks of the Saal. [Footnote: For a full and learned treatment of the various derivations of 'Mephistopheles'

which have been proposed, and for the first appearance of the name in books, see Ward's _Marlowe's Doctor Faustus_, p. 117.]

And the modern world has unsolved riddles innumerable of like kind. Why was 'Canada' so named? And whence is 'Yankee' a t.i.tle little more than a century old? having made its first appearance in a book printed at Boston, U.S., 1765. Is 'Hottentot' an African word, or, more probably, a Dutch or Low Frisian; and which, if any, of the current explanations of it should be accepted? [Footnote: See _Transactions of the Philological Society_, 1866, pp. 6-25.] Shall we allow Humboldt's derivation of 'cannibal,' and find 'Carib' in it? [Footnote: See Skeat, s. v.] Whence did the 'Chouans,' the insurgent royalists of Brittany, obtain their t.i.tle? When did California obtain its name, and why?

Questions such as these, to which we can give no answer or a very doubtful one, might be multiplied without end. Littre somewhere in his great Dictionary expresses the misgiving with which what he calls 'anecdotal etymology' fills him; while yet it is to this that we are continually tempted here to have recourse.

But consider now one or two words which have _not_ lost the secret of their origin, and note how easily they might have done this, and having once lost, how unlikely it is that any searching would have recovered it. The traveller Burton tells us that the coa.r.s.e cloth which is the medium of exchange, in fact the money of Eastern Africa, is called 'merkani.' The word is a native corruption of 'American,' the cloth being manufactured in America and sold under this name. But suppose a change should take place in the country from which this cloth was brought, men little by little forgetting that it ever had been imported from America, who then would divine the secret of the word? So too, if the tradition of the derivation of 'paraffin' were once let go and lost, it would, I imagine, scarcely be recovered. Mere ingenuity would scarcely divine the fact that a certain oil was so named because 'parum affinis,' having little affinity which chemistry could detect, with any other substance.

So, too, it is not very probable that the derivation of 'licorice,'

once lost, would again be recovered. It would exist, at the best, but as one guess among many. There can be no difficulty about it when we find it spelt, as we do in Fuller, 'glycyrize or liquoris.'

Those which I cite are but a handful of examples of the way in which words forget, or under predisposing conditions might forget, the circ.u.mstances of their birth. Now if we could believe in any merely _arbitrary_ words, standing in connexion with nothing but the mere lawless caprice of some inventor, the impossibility of tracing their derivation would be nothing strange. Indeed it would be lost labour to seek for the parentage of all words, when many probably had none. But there is no such thing; there is no word which is not, as the Spanish gentleman loves to call himself, an 'hidalgo,' or son of something.

[Footnote: The Spanish _hijo dalgo_, a gentleman, means a son of wealth, or an estate; see Stevens' _Dict_. (s. v.)] All are embodiments, more or less successful, of a sensation, a thought, or a fact; or if of more fortuitous birth, still they attach themselves somewhere to the already subsisting world of words and things, [Footnote: J. Grimm, in an interesting review of a little volume dealing with what the Spaniards call 'Germania' with no reference to Germany, the French 'argot,' and we 'Thieves' Language,' finds in this language the most decisive evidence of this fact (_Kleine Schrift_. vol. iv. p. 165): Der nothwendige Zusammenhang aller Sprache mit Ueberlieferung zeigt sich auch hier; kaum ein Wort dieser Gaunermundart scheint leer erfunden, und Menschen eines Gelichters, das sich sonst kein Gewissen aus Lugen macht, beschamen manchen Sprachphilosophen, der von Erdichtung einer allgemeinen Sprache getraumt hat. Van Helmont indeed, a sort of modern Paracelsus, is said to have _invented_ the word 'gas'; but it is difficult to think that there was not a feeling here after 'geest' or 'geist,' whether he was conscious of this or not.] and have their point of contact with it and departure from it, not always discoverable, as we see, but yet always existing. [Footnote: Some will remember here the old dispute--Greek I was tempted to call it, but in one shape or another it emerges everywhere--whether words were imposed on things [Greek: thesei] or [Greek: physei], by arbitrary arrangement or by nature. We may boldly say with Bacon, Vestigia certe rationis verba sunt, and decide in favour of nature. If only they knew their own history, they could always explain, and in most cases justify, their existence. See some excellent remarks on this subject by Renan, _De l'Origine du Langage_, pp. 146-149; and an admirable article on 'Slang'

in the _Times_, Oct. 18, 1864.] And thus, when a word entirely refuses to tell us anything about itself, it must be regarded as a riddle which no one has succeeded in solving, a lock of which no man has found the key--but still a riddle which has a solution, a lock for which there is a key, though now, it may be, irrecoverably lost. And this difficulty-- it is oftentimes an impossibility--of tracing the genealogy even of words of a very recent formation, is, as I observed, a strong argument for the birth of the most notable of these out of the heart and from the lips of the people. Had they first appeared in books, something in the context would most probably explain them. Had they issued from the schools of the learned, these would not have failed to leave a recognizable stamp and mark upon them.

There is, indeed, another way in which obscurity may rest on a new word, or a word employed in a new sense. It may tell the story of its birth, of the word or words which compose it, may so bear these on its front, that there can be no question here, while yet its purpose and intention may be hopelessly hidden from our eyes. The secret once lost, is not again to be recovered. Thus no one has called, or could call, in question the derivation of 'apocryphal' that it means 'hidden away.'

When, however, we begin to inquire why certain books which the Church either set below the canonical Scriptures, or rejected altogether, were called 'apocryphal' then a long and doubtful discussion commences. Was it because their origin was _hidden_ to the early Fathers of the Church, and thus reasonable suspicions of their authenticity entertained?

[Footnote: Augustine (_De Civ. Dei_, xv. 23): Apocrypha nuncupantur eo quod eorum occulta origo non claruit Patribus. Cf. _Con. Faust_, xi.

2.] Or was it because they were mysteriously kept out of sight and _hidden_ by the heretical sects which boasted themselves in their exclusive possession? Or was it that they were books not laid up in the Church chest, but _hidden away_ in obscure corners? Or were they books _worthier to be hidden_ than to be brought forward and read to the faithful? [Footnote: For still another reason for the epithet 'apocryphal' see Skeat's _Etym. Dict_.]--for all these explanations have been offered, and none with such superiority of proof on its side as to have deprived others of all right to be heard. In the same way there is no question that 'tragedy' is the song of the goat; but why this, whether because a goat was the prize for the best performers of that song in which the germs of Greek tragedy lay, or because the first actors were dressed like satyrs in goatskins, is a question which will now remain unsettled to the end. [Footnote: See Bentley, _Works_, vol.

i. p. 337.] You know what 'leonine' verses are; or, if you do not, it is very easy to explain. They are Latin hexameters into which an internal rhyme has forced its way. The following, for example, are all 'leonine':

Qui pingit _florem_ non pingit floris _odorem_: Si quis det _mannos_, ne quaere in dentibus _annos_.

Una avis in _dextra_ melior quam quattuor _extra_.

The word has plainly to do with 'leo' in some shape or other; but are these verses leonine from one Leo or Leolinus, who first composed them?

or because, as the lion is king of beasts, so this, in monkish estimation, was the king of metres? or from some other cause which none have so much as guessed at? [Footnote: See my _Sacred Latin Poetry_, 3rd edit. p. 32.] It is a mystery which none has solved. That frightful system of f.a.gging which made in the seventeenth century the German Universities a sort of h.e.l.l upon earth, and which was known by the name of 'pennalism,' we can scarcely disconnect from 'penna'; while yet this does not help us to any effectual scattering of the mystery which rests upon the term. [Footnote: See my _Gustavus Adolphus in Germany_, p. 131.

[_Pennal_ meant 'a freshman,' a term given by the elder students in mockery, because the student in his first year was generally more industrious, and might be often seen with his _pennal_ or pen-case about him.]] The connexion of 'dictator' with 'dicere', 'dictare,' is obvious; not so the reason why the 'dictator' obtained his name.

'Sycophant' and 'superst.i.tion' are words, one Greek and one Latin, of the same character. No one doubts of what elements they are composed; and yet their secret has been so lost, that, except as a more or less plausible guess, it can never now be recovered. [Footnote: For a good recapitulation of what best has been written on 'superst.i.tio' see Pott, _Etym. Forschungen_, vol. ii. p. 921.]

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