Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Let us look at the history of the name before we look at the mischief which it, like many other names, has caused by making people believe that whenever there is a name there must be something behind it. The name was invented by Greek philosophers who, in their first attempts at classifying and giving names to the various forms of language, did not know whether to class such forms as γράφειν, γράψειν, γράψαι, γεγραφέναι, γράφεσθαι, γράψεσθαι, γέγραφθαι, γράψασθαι, γραφθῆναι, γραφθήσεσθαι, as nouns or as verbs. They had established for their own satisfaction the broad distinction between nouns (ὀνόματα) and verbs (ῥήματα); they had assigned to each a definition, but, after having done so, they found that forms like γράφειν would not fit their definition either of noun or verb.[19] What could they do? Some (the Stoics) represented the forms in ειν, etc., as a subdivision of the verb, and introduced for them the name ῥῆμα ἀπαρέμφατον or γενικώτατον. Others recognized them as a separate part of speech, raising their number from eight to nine or ten. Others, again, classed them under the adverb (ἐπιῤῥημα), as one of the eight recognized parts of speech. The Stoics, taking their stand on Aristotle’s definition of ῥῆμα, could not but regard the infinitive as ῥῆμα, because it implied time, past, present, or future, which was with them recognized as the specific characteristic of the verb (_Zeitwort_). But they went further, and called forms such as γράφειν, etc., ῥῆμα, in the highest or most general sense, distinguishing other verbal forms, such as γράφει, etc., by the names of κατηγόρημα or σύμβαμα. Afterwards, in the progress of grammatical science, the definition of ῥῆμα became more explicit and complete. It was pointed out that a verb, besides its predicative meaning (ἔμφασις), is able to[20] express several additional meanings (παρακολουθήματα or παρεμφάσεις), viz.: not only time, as already pointed out by Aristotle, but also person and number. The two latter meanings, however, being absent in γράφειν, this was now called ῥῆμα ἀπαρέμφατον (without by-meanings), or γενικώτατον, and, for practical purposes, this ῥῆμα ἀπαρέμφατον soon became the prototype of conjugation.

So far there was only confusion, arising from a want of precision in classifying the different forms of the verb. But when the Greek terminology was transplanted to Rome, real mischief began. Instead of ῥῆμα γενικώτατον, we now find the erroneous, or, at all events, inaccurate, translation, _modus infinitus_, and _infinitivus_ by itself. What was originally meant as an adjective belonging to ῥῆμα, became a substantive, the infinitive, and though the question arose again and again what this infinitive really was, whether a noun, or a verb, or an adverb; whether a mood or not a mood; the real existence of such a thing as an infinitive could no longer be doubted. One can hardly trust one’s eyes in reading the extraordinary discussions on the nature of the infinitive in grammatical works of successive centuries up to the nineteenth. Suffice it to say that Gottfried Hermann, the great reformer of classical grammars, treated the infinitive again as an adverb, and, therefore, as a part of speech belonging to the particles. We ourselves were brought up to believe in infinitives; and to doubt the existence of this grammatical entity would have been considered in our younger days a most dangerous heresy.

And yet, how much confused thought, and how much controversy might have been avoided, if this grammatical term of infinitive had never been invented.[21] The fact is that what we call infinitives are nothing more or less than cases of verbal nouns, and not till they are treated as what they are shall we ever gain an insight into the nature and the historical development of these grammatical monsters.

Take the old Homeric infinitive in μεναι, and you find its explanation in the Sanskrit termination +mane+, _i.e._ +manai+, the native of the suffix +man+ (not, as others suppose, the locative of a suffix _mana_), by which a large number of nouns are formed in Sanskrit. From _gnâ_, to know, we have +(g)nâman+, Latin _(g)nomén_, that by which a thing is known, its name; from +gan+, to be born, +gán-man+, birth. In Greek this suffix man is chiefly used for forming masculine nouns, such as γνώ-μων, γνώ-μονος, literally a knower; τλή-μων, a sufferer; or as μην in ποι-μήν, a shepherd, literally a feeder. In Latin, on the contrary, _men_ occurs frequently at the end of abstract nouns in the neuter gender, such as _teg-men_, the covering, or _tegu-men_ or _tegi-men_; _solamen_, consolation; _voca-men_, an appellation; _certa-men_, a contest; and many more, particularly in ancient Latin; while in classical Latin the fuller suffix _mentum_ predominates. If then we read in Homer, κύνας ἔτευξε δῶμα φυλασσέμεναι, we may call φυλασσέμεναι an infinitive, if we like, and translate “he made dogs to protect the house;” but the form which we have before us, is simply a dative of an old abstract noun in μεν, and the original meaning was “for the protection of the house,” or “for protecting the house;” as if we said in Latin, _tutamini domum_.

The infinitives in μεν may be corruptions of those in μεναι, unless we take μεν as an archaic accusative, which, though without analogy in Greek, would correspond to Latin accusatives like _tegmen_, and express the general object of certain acts or movements. In Sanskrit, at least in the Veda, infinitives in +mane+ occur, such as +dấ-mane+, to give, Greek δό-μεναι; +vid-máne+, to know, Greek ϝίδ-μεναι.[22]

The question next arises, if this is a satisfactory explanation of the infinitives in μεναι, how are we to explain the infinitives in εναι? We find in Homer, not only ἴμεναι, to go, but also ἰέναι; not only ἔμμεναι, to be, but also εἶναι, _i.e._, ἔσ-εναι. Bopp simply says that the _m_ is lost, but he brings no evidence that in Greek an _m_ can thus be lost without any provocation. The real explanation, here, as elsewhere, is supplied by the _Beieinander_ (the collateral growth), not by the _Nacheinander_ (the successive growth) of language. Besides the suffix _man_, the Aryan languages possessed two other suffixes, _van_ and _an_, which were added to verbal bases just like _man_. By the side of +dâman+, the act of giving, we find in the Veda +dâ-van+, the act of giving, and a dative +dâ-váne+, with the accent on the suffix, meaning for the giving, _i.e._ to give. Now in Greek this _v_ would necessarily disappear, though its former presence might be indicated by the _digamma æolicum_. Thus, instead of Sanskrit +dâváne+, we should have in Greek δοϝέναι, δοέναι, and contracted δοῦναι, the regular form of the infinitive of the aorist, a form in which the diphthong ου would remain inexplicable, except for the former presence of the lost syllable ϝε. In the same manner εἶναι stands for ἐσ-ϝέναι, ἐσ-έναι, ἐέναι, εἶναι. Hence ἰέναι, stands for ἰϝέναι, and even the accent remains on the suffix _van_, just as it did in Sanskrit.

As the infinitives in μεναι were traced back to the suffix _man_, and those in ϝεναι to a suffix _van_, the regular infinitives in εναι after consonants, and ναι after vowels, must be referred to the suffix _an_, dat. _ane_. Here, too, we find analogous forms in the Veda. From +dhûrv+, to hurt, we have +dhû́rv-aṇe+, for the purpose of hurting, in order to hurt; in Rv. IX. 61, 30, we find +vibhv-áne+, Rv. VI. 61, 13, in order to conquer, and by the same suffix the Greeks formed their infinitives of the perfect, λελοιπ-έναι, and the infinitives of the verbs in μι, τιθέ-ναι, διδο-ναι, ἱστα-ναι, etc.

In order to explain, after these antecedents, the origin of the infinitive in ειν, as τύπτειν, we must admit either the shortening of ναι to νι, which is difficult; or the existence of a locative in ι by the side of a dative in αι. That the locative can take the place of the dative we see clearly in the Sanskrit forms of the aorist, +parsháṇi+, to cross, +nesháṇi+, to lead, which, as far as their form, not their origin, is concerned, would well match Greek forms like λύσειν in the future. In either case, τύπτε-νι in Greek would have become τύπτειν, just as τύπτε-σι became τύπτεις. In the Doric dialect this throwing back of the final ι is omitted in the second person singular, where the Dorians may say ἀμέλγες for ἀμέλγεις; and in the same Doric dialect the infinitive, too, occurs in εν instead of ειν; _e.g._, ἀείδεν instead of ἀείδειν. (Buttman, “Greek Gr.,” § 103, 10, 11.)

In this manner the growth of grammatical forms can be made as clear as the sequence of any historical events in the history of the world, nay, I should say far clearer, far more intelligible; and I should think that even the first learning of these grammatical forms might be somewhat seasoned and rendered more really instructive by allowing the pupil, from time to time, a glimpse into the past history of the Greek and Latin languages. In English what we call the infinitive is clearly a dative; _to speak_ shows by its very preposition what it was intended for. How easy, then, to explain to a beginner that if he translates, “able to speak,” by ἱκανὸς εἰπεῖν, the Greek infinitive is really the same as the English, and that εἰπεῖν stands for εἴπενι and this for εἴπεναι, which, to a certain extent, answers the same purpose as the Greek ἔπει, the dative of ἔπος, and therefore originally ἔπεσι.

And remark, these very datives and locatives of nouns formed by the suffix ος in Greek, as in Sanskrit, _es_ in Latin, though they yield no infinitives in Greek, yield the most common form of the infinitive in Latin, and may be traced also in Sanskrit. As from _genus_ we form a dative _generi_, and a locative _genere_, which stands for _genese_, so from _gigno_ an abstract noun would be formed, _gignus_, and from it a dative, _gigneri_, and a locative, _gignere_. I do not say that the intermediate form _gignus_ existed in the spoken Latin, I only maintain that such a form would be analogous to _gen-us_, _op-us_, _fœd-us_, and that in Sanskrit the process is exactly the same. We form in Sanskrit a substantive +càkshas+, sight, +càkshus+, eye; and we find the dative of +càkshas+, _i.e._ +càkshase+, used as what we should call an infinitive, in order to see. But we also find another so-called infinitive, +jîvàse+, in order to live, although there is no noun, +jîvas+, life; we find +áyase+, to go, although there is no noun +áyas+, going. This Sanskrit +áyase+ explains the Latin _i-re_, as *+i-vane+ explained the Greek ἰέναι. The intention of the old framers of language is throughout the same. They differ only in the means which they use, one might almost say, at random; and the differences between Sanskrit, Greek, and Latin are often due to the simple fact that out of many possible forms that might be used and had been used before the Aryan languages became traditional, settled, and national, one family or clan or nation fancied one, another another. While this one became fixed and classical, all others became useless, remained perhaps here and there in proverbial sayings or in sacred songs, but were given up at last completely, as strange, obsolete, and unintelligible.

And even then, after a grammatical form has become obsolete and unintelligible, it by no means loses its power of further development. Though the Greeks did not themselves, we still imagine that we feel the infinitive as the case of an abstract noun in many constructions. Thus χαλεπὸν εὑρεῖν, difficult to find, was originally, difficult in the finding, or difficult for the act of finding; δεινὸς λέγειν, meant literally, powerful in speaking; ἄρχομαι λέγειν, I begin to speak, _i.e._, I direct myself to the act of speaking; κέλεαί με μυθήσασθαι, you bid me to speak, _i.e._, you order me towards the act of speaking; φοβοῦμαι διελέγχειν σε, I am afraid of refuting you, _i.e._, I fear in the act, or, I shrink when brought towards the act, of refuting you; σὸν ἔργον λέγειν, your business is in or towards speaking, you have to speak; πᾶσιν ἁδεῖν χαλεπόν, there is something difficult in pleasing everybody, or, in our endeavor after pleasing everybody. In all these cases the so-called infinitive can, with an effort, still be felt as a noun in an oblique case. But in course of time expressions such as χαλεπὸν ἁδεῖν, it is difficult to please, ἀγαθὸν λέγειν, it is good to speak, left in the mind of the speaker the impression that ἁδεῖν and λέγειν were subjects in the nominative, the pleasing is difficult, the speaking is good; and by adding the article, these oblique cases of verbal nouns actually became nominatives, τὸ ἁδειν, the act of pleasing, τὸ λέγειν, the act of speaking, capable of being used in every case, _e.g._, ἐπιθυμια τοῦ πίειν, _desiderium bibendi_. This regeneration, this process of creating new words out of decaying and decayed materials may seem at first sight incredible, yet it is as certain as the change with which we began our discussion of the infinitive. I mean the change of the conception of a ῥῆμα γενικώτατον, a _verbum generalissimum_, into a _generalissimus_ or _infinitivus_. Nor is the process without analogy in modern languages. The French _l’avenir_, the future (_Zukunft_), is hardly the Latin _advenire_. That would mean the arriving, the coming, but not what is to come. I believe _l’avenir_ was (_quod est_) _ad venire_, what is to come, contracted to _l’avenir_. In Low-German _to come_ assumes even the character of an adjective, and we can speak not only of a year to come, but of a to-come year, _de tokum Jahr_.[23]

This process of grammatical vivisection may be painful in the eyes of classical scholars, yet even they must see how great a difference there is in the quality of knowledge imparted by our Greek and Latin grammars, and by comparative grammar. I do not deny that at first children must learn Greek and Latin mechanically, but it is not right that they should remain satisfied with mere paradigms and technical terms, without knowing the real nature and origin of so-called infinitives, gerunds, and supines. Every child will learn the construction of the accusative with the infinitive, but I well remember my utter amazement when I first was taught to say _Miror te ad me nihil scribere_, “I am surprised that you write nothing to me.” How easy would it have been to explain that _scribere_ was originally a locative of a verbal noun, and that there was nothing strange or irrational in saying, “I wonder at thee in the act of not writing to me.” This first step once taken, everything else followed by slow degrees, but even in phrases like _Spero te mihi ignoscere_, we can still see the first steps which led from “I hope or I desire thee, toward the act of forgiving me,” to “I trust thee to forgive me.” It is the object of the comparative philologist to gather up the scattered fragments, to arrange them and fit them, and thus to show that language is something rational, human, intelligible, the very embodiment of the mind of man in its growth from the lowest to the highest stage, and with capabilities for further growth far beyond what we can at present conceive or imagine.

As to writing Greek and Latin verse, I do not maintain that a knowledge of Comparative Philology will help us much. It is simply an art that must be acquired by practice, if in these our busy days it is still worth acquiring. A good memory will no doubt enable us to say at a moment’s notice whether certain syllables are long or short. But is it not far more interesting to know why certain vowels are long and others short, than to be able to string longs and shorts together in imitation of Greek and Latin hexameters? Now in many cases the reason why certain vowels are long or short, can be supplied by Comparative Philology alone. We may learn from Latin grammar that the _i_ in _fîdus_, trusty, and in _fîdo_, I trust, is long, and that it is short in _fides_, trust, and _perfidus_, faithless; but as all these words are derived from the same root, why should some have a long, others a short vowel? A comparison of Sanskrit at once supplies an answer. Certain derivatives, not only in Latin but in Sanskrit and Greek too, require what is called +Guṇa+ of the radical vowel. In _fîdus_ and _fîdo_, the _i_ is really a diphthong, and represents a more ancient _ei_ or _oi_, the former appearing in Greek πείθω, the latter in Latin _foedus_, a truce.

We learn from our Greek grammars that the second syllable in δείκνῡμι is long, but in the plural, δείκνῠμεν, it is short. This cannot be by accident, and we may observe the same change in δάμνημι and δάμναμεν, and similar words. Nothing, however, but a study of Sanskrit would have enabled us to discover the reason of this change, which is really the accent in its most primitive working, such as we can watch it in the Vedic Sanskrit, where it produces exactly the same change, only with far greater regularity and perspicuity.

Why, again, do we say in Greek, οἶδα, I know, but ἴσ-μεν, we know? Why τέτληκα, but τέτλαμεν? Why μέμονα, but μέμαμεν? There is no recollection in the minds of the Greeks of the motive power that was once at work, and left its traces in these grammatical convulsions; but in Sanskrit we still see, as it were, a lower stratum of grammatical growth, and we can there watch the regular working of laws which required these changes, and which have left their impress not only on Greek, but on Sanskrit, and even on German. The same necessity which made Homer say οἶδα and ἴδμεν, and the Vedic poet +véda+ and +vidmás+, still holds good, and makes us say in German, _Ich weiss_, I know, but _wir wissen_, we know.

All this becomes clear and intelligible by the light of Comparative Grammar; anomalies vanish, exceptions prove the rule, and we perceive more plainly every day how in language, as elsewhere, the conflict between the freedom claimed by each individual and the resistance offered by the community at large, establishes in the end a reign of law most wonderful, yet perfectly rational and intelligible.

These are but a few small specimens to show you what Comparative Philology can do for Greek and Latin; and how it has given a new life to the study of languages by discovering, so to say, and laying bare, the traces of that old life, that prehistoric growth, which made language what we find it in the oldest literary monuments, and which still supplies the vigor of the language of our own time. A knowledge of the mere facts of language is interesting enough; nay, if you ask yourself what grammars really are--those very Greek and Latin grammars which we hated so much in our schoolboy days--you will find that they are store-houses, richer than the richest museums of plants or minerals, more carefully classified and labeled than the productions of any of the great kingdoms of nature. Every form of declension and conjugation, every genitive and every so-called infinitive and gerund, is the result of a long succession of efforts, and of intelligent efforts. There is nothing accidental, nothing irregular, nothing without a purpose and meaning in any part of Greek or Latin grammar. No one who has once discovered this hidden life of language, no one who has once found out that what seemed to be merely anomalous and whimsical in language is but, as it were, a petrification of thought, of deep, curious, poetical, philosophical thought, will ever rest again till he has descended as far as he can descend into the ancient shafts of human speech, exploring level after level, and testing every successive foundation which supports the surface of each spoken language.

One of the great charms of this new science is that there is still so much to explore, so much to sift, so much to arrange. I shall not, therefore, be satisfied with merely lecturing on Comparative Philology, but I hope I shall be able to form a small philological society of more advanced students, who will come and work with me, and bring the results of their special studies as materials for the advancement of our science. If there are scholars here who have devoted their attention to the study of Homer, Comparative Philology will place in their hands a light with which to explore the dark crypt on which the temple of the Homeric language was erected. If there are scholars who know their Plautus or Lucretius, Comparative Philology will give them a key to grammatical forms in ancient Latin, which, even if supported by an Ambrosian palimpsest, might still seem hazardous and problematical. As there is no field and no garden that has not its geological antecedents, there is no language and no dialect which does not receive light from a study of Comparative Philology, and reflect light in return on more general problems. As in geology again, so in Comparative Philology, no progress is possible without a division of labor, and without the most general coöperation. The most experienced geologist may learn something from a miner or from a ploughboy; the most experienced comparative philologist may learn something from a schoolboy or from a child.

I have thus explained to you what, if you will but assist me, I should like to do as the first occupant of this new chair of Comparative Philology. In my public lectures I must be satisfied with teaching. In my private lectures, I hope I shall not only teach, but also learn, and receive back as much as I have to give.

NOTES.

NOTE A.

ON THE FINAL DENTAL OF THE PRONOMINAL STEM _tad_.

One or two instances may here suffice to show how compassless even the best comparative philologists find themselves if, without a knowledge of Sanskrit, they venture into the deep waters of grammatical research. What can be clearer at first sight than that the demonstrative pronoun _that_ has the same base in Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, and German? Bopp places together (§ 349) the following forms of the neuter:--

Sanskrit Zend Greek Latin Gothic
+tat+ _taḍ._ τό _is-tud_ _thata_

and he draws from them the following conclusions:--

In the Sanskrit +ta-t+ we have the same pronominal element repeated twice, and this repeated pronominal element became afterwards the general sign of the neuter after other pronominal stems, such as +ya-t+, +ka-t+.

Such a conclusion seems extremely probable, particularly when we compare the masculine form +sa-s+, the old nom. sing., instead of the ordinary +sa+. But the first question that has to be answered is, whether this is phonetically possible, and how.

If +tat+ in Sanskrit is +ta+ + +ta+, then we expect in Gothic _tha_ + _tha_, instead of which we find _tha_ + _ta_. We expect in Latin _istut_, not _istud_, _illut_, not _illud_, _it_, not _id_, for Latin represents final _t_ in Sanskrit by _t_, not by _d_. The old Latin ablative in _d_ is not a case in point, as we shall see afterwards.

Both Gothic _tha-ta_, therefore, and Latin _istud_, postulate a Sanskrit +tad+, while Zend and Greek at all events do not conflict with an original final media. Everything therefore depends on what was the original form in Sanskrit; and here no Sanskrit scholar would hesitate for one moment between +tat+ and +tad+. Whatever the origin of +tat+ may have been, it is quite certain that Sanskrit knows only of +tad+, never of +tat+. There are various ways of testing the original surd or sonant nature of final consonants in Sanskrit. One of the safest seems to me to see how those consonants behave before +taddhita+ or secondary suffixes, which require no change in the final consonant of the base. Thus before the suffix +îya+ (called +cha+ by Pâṇini) the final consonant is never changed, yet we find +tad-îya+, like +mad-îya+, +tvad-îya+, +asmad-îya+, +yushmad-îya+, etc. Again, before the possessive suffix +vat+ final consonants of nominal bases suffer no change. This is distinctly stated by Pâṇini, I. 4, 19. Hence we have +vidyut-vân+, from +vidyut+, lightning, from the root +dyut+; we have +udaśvit-vân+, from +uda-śvi-t+. In both cases the original final tenuis remains unchanged. Hence, if we find +tad-vân+, +kad-vân+, our test shows us again that the final consonant in +tad+ and +kad+ is a media, and that the _d_ of these words is not a modification of _t_.

Taking our stand therefore on the undoubted facts of Sanskrit grammar, we cannot recognize _t_ as the termination of the neuter of pronominal stems, but only _d_;[24] nor can we accept Bopp’s explanation of +tad+ as a compound of +ta+ + t, unless the transition of an original _t_ into a Sanskrit and Latin _d_ can be established by sufficient evidence. Even then that transition would have to be referred to a time before Sanskrit and Gothic became distinct languages, for the Gothic _tha-ta_ is the counterpart of the Sanskrit +tad+, and not of +tat+.

Bopp endeavors to defend the transition of an original _t_ into Latin _d_ by the termination of the old ablatives, such as _gnaivod_, etc. But here again it is certain that the original termination was _d_, and not _t_. It is so in Latin, it may be so in Zend, where, as Justi points out, the _d_ of the ablative is probably a media.[25] In Sanskrit it is certainly a media in such forms as +mad+, +tvad+, +asmad+, which Bopp considers as old ablatives, and which in +madîya+, etc., show the original media. In other cases it is impossible in Sanskrit to test the nature of the final dental in the ablative, because _d_ is always determined by its position in a sentence. But under no circumstances could we appeal to Latin _gnaivod_ in order to prove a transition of an original _t_ into _d_; while on the contrary all the evidence at present is in favor of a media, as the final letter both of the ablative and of the neuter bases of pronouns, such as +tad+ and +yad+.

These may seem _minutiæ_, but the whole of Comparative Grammar is made up of _minutiæ_, which, nevertheless, if carefully joined together and cemented, lead to conclusions of unexpected magnitude.

NOTE B.

DID FEMININE BASES IN _â_ TAKE _s_ IN THE NOMINATIVE SINGULAR?

I add one other instance to show how a more accurate knowledge of Sanskrit would have guarded comparative philologists against rash conclusions. With regard to the nominative singular of feminine bases ending in derivative _â_, the question arose, whether words like _bona_ in Latin, ἀγαθά in Greek, +sivâ+ in Sanskrit, had originally an _s_ as the sign of the nom. sing., which was afterwards lost, or whether they never took that termination. Bopp (§ 136), Schleicher (§ 246), and others seem to believe in the loss of the _s_, chiefly, it would seem, because the _s_ is added to feminine bases ending in _î_ and _û_. Benfey[26] takes the opposite view, viz. that feminines in _â_ never took the _s_ of the nom. sing. But he adds one exception, the Vedic +gnâ-s+. This remark has caused much mischief. Without verifying Benfey’s statements, Schleicher (l.c.) quotes the same exception, though cautiously referring to the Sanskrit dictionary of Boehtlingk and Roth as his authority. Later writers, for instance Merguet,[27] leave out all restrictions, simply appealing to this Vedic form +gnâ-s+ in support of the theory that feminine bases in _â_ too took originally _s_ as sign of the nom. sing. and afterwards dropped it. Even so careful a scholar as Büchler[28] speaks of the _s_ as lost.

There is, first of all, no reason whatever why the _s_ should have been added[29]; secondly, there is none why it should have been lost. But, whatever opinion we may hold in this respect, the appeal to the Vedic +gnâ-s+ cannot certainly be sustained, and the word should at all events be obelized till there is better evidence for it than we possess at present.[30]

The passage which is always quoted from the Rv. IV. 9, 4, as showing +gnâ-s+ to be a nom. sing. in _s_, is extremely difficult, and as it stands at present, most likely corrupt:--

Utá gnấḥ agníḥ adhvaré utó gṛhá-patiḥ dáme, utá brahmấ ní sídati.

This could only be translated:--

“Agni sits down at the sacrifice as a woman, as lord in the house, and as priest.”

This, however, is impossible, for Agni, the god of fire, is never represented in the Veda as a woman. If we took +gnâḥ+ as a genitive, we might translate, “Agni sits down in the sacrifice of the lady of the house,” but this again would be utterly incongruous in Vedic poetry.

I believe the verse is corrupt, and I should propose to read:--

Utá agnấv agníḥ adhvaré.

“Agni sits down at the sacrifice in the fire, as lord in the house, and as a priest.”

The ideas that Agni, the god of fire, sits down in the fire, or that Agni is lighted by Agni, or that Agni is both the sacrificial fire and the priest, are familiar to every reader of the Veda. Thus we read, I. 12, 6, agnínâ agníḥ sám idhyate, “Agni is lighted by Agni;” X. 88, 1, we find Agni invoked as ấ-hutam agnáu, etc.

But whether this emendation be right or wrong, it must be quite clear how unsafe it would be to support the theory that feminine bases in _â_ ended originally in _s_ by this solitary passage from the Veda.

NOTE C.

GRAMMATICAL FORMS IN SANSKRIT CORRESPONDING TO SO-CALLED INFINITIVES IN GREEK AND LATIN.

There is no trace of such a term as infinitive in Sanskrit, and yet exactly the same forms, or, at all events, forms strictly analogous to those which we call infinitives in Greek and Latin, exist in Sanskrit. Here, however, they are treated in the simplest way.

Sanskrit grammarians when giving the rules according to which nouns and adjectives are derived from verbal roots by means of primary suffixes (Kṛt), mention among the rest the suffixes +tum+ (Pâṇ., III. 3, 10), +se+, +ase+, +adhyai+, +tavai+, +tave+, +shyai+, e, +am+, +tos+, +as+ (IV. 4, 9-17), defining their meaning in general by that of +tum+ (III. 3, 10). This +tum+ is said to express immediate futurity in a verb, if governed by another word conveying an intention. An example will make this clearer. In order to say he goes to cook, where “he goes” expresses an intention, and “to cook” is the object of that intention which is to follow immediately, we place the suffix +tum+ at the end of the verb +pak+, to cook, and say in Sanskrit, vrajati pak-tum. We might also say pâcako vrajati, he goes as one who means to cook, or vrajati pâkâya, he goes to the act of cooking, placing the abstract noun in the dative; and all these constructions are mentioned together by Sanskrit grammarians. The same takes place after verbs which express a wish (III. 3, 158); _e.g._, icchati paktum, he wishes to cook, and after such words as +kâla+, time, +samaya+, opportunity, +velâ+, right moment (III. 3, 167); _e.g._, kâlaḥ paktum, it is time to cook, etc. Other verbs which govern forms in +tum+ are (III. 4, 65) +śak+, to be able; +dhṛsh+, to dare; +jñâ+, to know; +glai+, to be weary; +ghaṭ+, to endeavor; +ârabh+, to begin; +labh+, to get; +prakram+, to begin; +utsah+, to endure; +arh+, to deserve; and words like +asti+, there is; _e.g._, asti bhoktum, it is (possible) to eat; not, it is (necessary) to eat. The forms in +tum+ are also enjoined (III. 4, 66) after words like +alam+, expressing fitness, _e.g._, paryâpto bhoktum, alam bhoktum, kuśalo bhoktum, fit or able to eat.

Here we have everything that is given by Sanskrit grammarians in place of what we should call the Chapter on the Infinitive in Greek and Latin. The only thing that has to be added is the provision, understood in Pâṇini’s grammar, that such suffixes as +tum+, etc., are indeclinable.

And why are they indeclinable? For the simple reason that they are themselves case terminations. Whether Pâṇini was aware of this, we cannot tell with certainty. From some of his remarks it would seem to be so. When treating of the cases, Pâṇini (I. 4, 32) explains what we should call the dative by +Sampradâna+. +Sampradâna+ means giving (δοτική), but Pâṇini uses it here as a technical term, and assigns to it the definite meaning of “he whom one looks to by any act” (not only the act of giving, as the commentators imply). It is therefore what we should call “the remote object.” Ex. Brâhmaṇâya dhanam dadâti, he gives wealth to the Brâhman. This is afterwards extended by several rules explaining that the +Sampradâna+ comes in after verbs expressive of pleasure caused to somebody (I. 4, 33); after +ślâgh+, to applaud, +hnu+, to dissemble, to conceal, +sthâ+,[31] to reveal, +śap+, to curse (I. 4, 34); after +dhâray+, to owe (I. 4, 35); +spṛh+, to long for (I. 4, 36); after verbs expressive of anger, ill-will, envy, detraction (I. 4, 37); after +râdh+ and +îksh+, if they mean to consider concerning a person (I. 4, 39); after +pratiśru+ and +âśru+, in the sense of according (I. 4, 40); +anugṛ+ and +pratigṛ+, in the sense of acting in accordance with (I. 4, 41); after +parikrî+, to buy, to hire (I. 4, 44). Other cases of +Sampradâna+ are mentioned after such words as +namaḥ+, salutation to, +svasti+, hail, +svâhâ+, salutation to the gods, +svadhâ+, salutation to the manes, +alam+, sufficient for, +vashaṭ+, offered to, a sacrificial invocation, etc. (II. 3, 16); and in such expressions as na tvam triṇâya manye, I do not value thee a straw (II. 3, 17); grâmâya gacchati, he goes to the village (II. 2, 12): where, however, the accusative, too, is equally admissible. Some other cases of Sampradâna are mentioned in the Vârttikas; _e.g._, I. 4, 44, muktaye harim bhajati, for the sake of liberation he worships Hari; vâtâya kapilâ vidyut, a dark red lightning indicates wind. Very interesting, too, is the construction with the prohibitive +mâ+; _e.g._ mâ câpalâya, lit. not for unsteadiness, _i.e._, do not act unsteadily.[32]

In all these cases we easily recognize the identity of +Sampradâna+ with the dative in Greek and Latin. If therefore we see that Pâṇini in some of his rules states that +Sampradâna+ takes the place of +tum+, the so called infinitive, we can hardly doubt that he had perceived the similarity in the functions of what we call dative and infinitive. Thus he says that instead of phalâny âhartum yâti, he goes to take the fruits, we may use the dative and say phalebhyo yâti, he goes for the fruits; instead of yashṭum yâti, he goes to sacrifice, yâgâya yâti, he goes to the act of sacrificing (II. 3, 14-15).

But whether Pâṇini recognized this fact or not, certain it is that we have only to look at the forms which in the Veda take the place of +tum+, in order to convince ourselves that most of them are datives of verbal nouns. As far as Sanskrit grammar is concerned, we may safely cancel the name of infinitive altogether, and speak instead boldly of datives and other cases of verbal nouns. Whether these verbal nouns admit of the dative case only, and whether some of those datival terminations have become obsolete, are questions which do not concern the grammarian, and nothing would be more unphilosophical than to make such points the specific characteristic of a new grammatical category, the infinitive. The very idea that every noun must possess a complete set of cases, is contrary to all the lessons of the history of language; and though the fact that some of these forms belong to an antiquated phase of language has undoubtedly contributed towards their being used more readily for certain syntactical purposes, the fact remains that in their origin and their original intention they were datives and nothing else. Neither could the fact that these datives of verbal nouns may govern the same case which is governed by the verb, be used as a specific mark, because it is well known that, in Sanskrit more particularly, many nouns retain the power of governing the accusative. We shall now examine some of these so-called infinitives in Sanskrit.

DATIVES IN _E_.

The simplest dative is that in _e_, after verbal bases ending in consonants or _â_, e.g., +dṛśé+, for the sake of seeing, to see; +vid-é+, to know, +paribhveê+,[33] to overcome; +śraddhé kám+, to believe.

DATIVES IN _AI_.

After some verbs ending in _â_, the dative is irregularly (Grammar, §§ 239, 240) formed in _ai_; Rv. VII. 19, 7, +parâdái+, to surrender. III. 60, 4, +pratimái+, to compare, and the important form +vayodhái+, of which more by and by.

ACCUSATIVES IN _AM_. GENITIVES AND ABLATIVES IN _AS_. LOCATIVES IN _I_.

By the side of these datives we have analogous accusatives in _am_, genitives and ablatives in _as_, locatives in _i_.

Accusative: I. 73, 10, śakéma yámam, May we be able to get. I. 94, 3, śakéma tvâ samídhan, May we be able to light thee. This may be the Oscan and Umbrian infinitive in _um_, _om_ (_u_, _o_), if we take +yama+ as a base in _a_, and _m_ as the sign of the accusative. In Sanskrit it is impossible to determine this question, for that bases in _a_ also are used for similar purposes is clearly seen in datives like +dábhâya+; _e.g._, Rv. V. 44, 2, ná dábhâya, not to conquer; VIII. 96, 1, nṛ́bhyâḥ tárâya síndhavaḥ su-pârấḥ, the rivers easy to cross for men. Whether the Vedic imperatives in +âya+ (+śâyac+) admit of a similar explanation is doubtful on account of the accent.

Genitive: +vilikhaḥ+, in îśvaro vilikhaḥ, cognizant of drawing; and possibly X. 108, 2, atiskádaḥ bhiyásâ, from fear of crossing.

Ablative: Rv. VIII. 1, 12, purâ âtṛ́daḥ, before striking.

Locative: Rv. V. 52, 12, dṛśí tvishé, to shine in glancing(?)

DATIVES IN _S-E_.

The same termination of the dative is added to verbal bases which have taken the increment of the aorist, the s. Thus from +ji+, to conquer, we have +ji-sh+, and +je-sh+, and from both datival forms with infinitival function. I. 111, 4, té naḥ hinvantu sâtáye dhiyé jishé, May they bring us to wealth, wisdom, victory!

I. 100, 11, apấm tokásya tánayasya jeshé, May Indra help us for getting water, children, and descendants. Cf. VI. 44, 18.

Or, after bases ending in consonants, +upaprakshé+; V. 47, 6, upa-prakshé vṛ́shaṇaḥ - - - vadhvấḥ yanti áccha, the men go towards their wives to embrace.

These forms correspond to Greek infinitives like λῦσαι and τύψαι, possibly to Latin infinitives like _ferre_, for _fer-se_, _velle_ for _vel-se_, and _voluis-se_; for _se_, following immediately on a consonant, can never represent the Sanskrit +ase+. With regard to infinitives like _fac-se_, _dic-se_, I do not venture to decide whether they are primitive forms, or contracted, though _fac-se_ could hardly be called a contraction of _fecisse_. The 2d pers. sing. of the imperative of the 1st aorist middle, λῦσαι, is identical with the infinitive in form, and the transition of meaning from the infinitive to the imperative is well known in Greek and other languages. (Παῖδα δ’ ἐμοὶ λῦσαί τε φίλην τά τ’ ἄποινα δέχεσθαι, Deliver up my dear child and accept the ransom). Several of these aoristic forms are sometimes very perplexing in Sanskrit. If we find, for instance, +stushé+, we cannot always tell whether it is the infinitive (λῦσαι); or the 1st pers. sing. of the aor. Âtmanep. in the subjunctive (for +stushai+), Let me praise (λύσωμαι); or lastly, the 2d pers. sing. Âtmanep. in the indicative (λύῃ). If +stushe+ has no accent, we know, of course, that it cannot be the infinitive, as in X. 93, 9; but when it has the accent on the last, it may, in certain constructions, be either infinitive, or 1st pers. sing. aor. Âtm. subj. Here we want far more careful grammatical studies on the language of the Veda, before we can venture to translate with certainty. In places, for instance, where as in I. 122, 7 we have a nominative with +stushé+, it is clear that it must be taken as an infinitive, stushé sâ vâm - - - râtíḥ, your gift, Varuṇa and Mitra, is to be praised; but in other places, such as VIII. 5, 4, the choice is difficult. In VIII. 65, 5, índra griṇîshé u stushé, I should propose to translate, Indra, thou longest for praising, thou desirest to be praised, cf. VIII. 71, 15; while in II. 20, 4, tám u stushe índram tám gṛṇîshe, I translate, Let me praise Indra, let me laud him, admitting here, the irregular retention of Vikaraṇa in the aorist, which can be defended by analogous forms such as gṛ́-ṇî-sh-áṇi, stṛ́-ṇî-sh-áṇi, of which more hereafter. However, all these translations, as every real scholar knows, are, and can be tentative only. Nothing but a complete Vedic grammar, such as we may soon expect from Professor Benfey, will give us safe ground to stand on.

DATIVES IN _ÂYAI_.

Feminine bases in _â_ form their dative in +âyai+, and thus we find +carâyai+ used in the Veda, VII. 77, 1, as what we should call an infinitive, in the sense of to go. No other cases of +carâ+ have as yet been met with. A similar form is +jârâyai+, to praise, I. 38, 13.

DATIVES IN _AYE_.

We have next to consider bases in _i_, forming their dative in +áye+. Here, whenever we are acquainted with the word in other cases, we naturally take _aye_ as a simple dative of a noun. Thus in I. 31, 8, we should translate +sanáye dhánânâm+, for the acquisition of treasures, because we are accustomed to other cases, such as I. 100, 13, +sanáyas+, acquisitions, V. 27, 3, +saním+, wealth. But if we find, V. 80, 5, +dṛśáye naḥ asthât+, she stood to be seen by us, lit., for our seeing, then we prefer, though wrongly, to look upon such datives as infinitives, simply because we have not met with other cases of +dṛśi-s+.

DATIVES IN _TAYE_.

What applies to datives of nouns in _i_, applies with still greater force to datives of nouns in _ti_. There is no reason why in IX. 96, 4 we should call +áhataye+, to be without hurt, an infinitive, simply because no other case of +áhati-s+ occurs in the Rig-Veda; while +ájîtaye+, not to fail, in the same line, is called a dative of +ájîti-s+, because it occurs again in the accusative +ájîti-m+.

DATIVES IN _TYAI_.

In +ityái+, to go, I. 113, 6; 124, 1, we have a dative of +iti-s+, the act of going, of which the instrumental +ityâ+ occurs likewise, I. 167, 5. This +tyâ+, shortened to +tya+, became afterwards the regular termination of the gerund of compound verbs in +tya+ (Grammar § 446), while +ya+ (§ 445) points to an original +ya+ or +yai+.

DATIVES IN _AS-E_.

Next follow datives from bases in +as+, partly with accent on the first syllable, like neuter nouns in +as+, partly with the accent on +as+; partly with Guṇa, partly without. With regard to them it becomes still clearer how impossible it would be to distinguish between datives of abstract nouns, and other grammatical forms, to be called infinitives. Thus Rv. I. 7, 3 we read +dîrghâya cákshase+, Indra made the sun rise for long glancing, _i.e._, that it might glance far and wide. It is quite true that no other cases of +cákshas+, seeing, occur, on which ground modern grammarians would probably class it as an infinitive; but the qualifying dative +dîrghâya+, clearly shows that the poet felt +cákshase+ as the dative of a noun, and did not trouble himself, whether that noun was defective in other cases or not.

These datives of verbal nouns in +as+, correspond exactly to Latin infinitives in _ĕre_, like _vivere_ (+jîváse+), and explain likewise infinitives in _âre_, _êre_, and _îre_, forms which cannot be separated. It has been thought that the nearest approach to an infinitive is to be found in such forms as +jîváse+, +bhiyáse+, to fear (V. 29, 4), because in such cases the ordinary nominal form would be +bháyas-e+. There is, however, the instrumental +bhiyása+, X. 108, 2.

DATIVES IN _MANE_.

Next follow datives from nouns in +man+, +van+, and +an+. The suffix +man+ is very common in Sanskrit, for forming verbal nouns, such as +kar-man+, doing, deed, from +kar+. +Van+ is almost restricted to forming _nomina agentis_, such as +druh-van+, hating; but we find also substantives like +pat-van+, still used in the sense of flying. +An+ also is generally used like +van+, but we can see traces of its employment to form _nomina actionis_ in Greek ἀγών, Lat. _turbo_, etc.

Datives of nouns in +man+, used with infinitival functions, are very common in the Veda; _e.g._ I. 164, 6, pṛccâmi vidmane, I ask to know; VIII. 93, 8, dâmane kṛtáḥ, made to give. We find also the instrumental case +vidmánâ+, _e.g._, VI. 14, 5, vidmánâ urushyáti, he protects by his knowledge. These correspond to Homeric infinitives, like ἴδμεναι, δόμεναι, etc., old datives and not locatives, as Schleicher and Curtius supposed; while forms like δόμεν are to be explained either as abbreviated, or as obsolete accusatives.

DATIVES IN _VANE_.

Of datives in +váne+ I only know +dāvâne+, a most valuable grammatical relic, by which Professor Benfey was enabled to explain the Greek δοῦναι, i.e., δοϝέναι.[34]

DATIVES IN _ANE_.

Of datives in +áne+ I pointed out (l.c.) +dhûrv-ane+ and +vibhv-áne+, VI. 61, 13, taking the latter as synonymous with +vibhvế+, and translating, +Sarasvatî+, the great, made to conquer, like a chariot. Professor Roth, _s.v._ +vibhván+, takes the dative for an instrumental, and translates “made by an artificer.” It is, however, not the chariot that is spoken of, but +Sarasvatî+, and of her it could hardly be said that she was made either by or for an artificer.

LOCATIVES IN _SANI_.

As we saw before that aoristic bases in _s_ take the datival _e_, so that we had +prák-sh-e+ by the side of +pṛ́c-e+, we shall have to consider here aoristic bases in _s_, taking the suffix +an+, not however with the termination of the dative, but with that of the locative _i_. Thus we read X. 126, 3, náyishṭhâḥ u naḥ nesháṇi párshishṭhâḥ u naḥ parsháṇi áti dvíshaḥ, they who are the best leaders to lead us, the best helpers to help us to overcome our enemies, lit. in leading us, in helping us. In VIII. 12, 19, +gṛṇîsháni+, i.e. +gṛ-ṇî-sháṇ-i+ stands parallel with +turv-án-e+, thus showing how both cases can answer nearly the same purpose. If these forms existed in Greek, they would, after consonantal bases, be identical with the infinitives of the future.

CASES OF VERBAL NOUNS IN _TU_.

We next come to a large number of datives, ablatives, or genitives, and accusatives of verbal nouns in +tu+. This +tu+ occurs in Sanskrit in abstract nouns such as +gâtú+, going, way, etc., in Latin in _adven-tus_, etc. As these forms have been often treated, and as some of them occur frequently in later Sanskrit also, it will suffice to give one example of each:--

Dative in +tave+: +gántave+, to go, I. 46, 7.

Old form in +ai+: +gántavái+, X. 95, 14.

Genitive in +toḥ+: +dâtoḥ+, governed by +îśe+, VII. 4, 6.

Ablative in +toḥ+: +gántoḥ+, I. 89, 9.

Accusative in +tum+: +gántum+. This is the supine in _tum_ in Latin.

CASES OF VERBAL NOUNS IN _TVA_.

Next follow cases of verbal nouns in +tvá+, the accent being on the suffix.

Datives in +tvấya+: +hatvấya+, X. 84, 2.

Instrumental in +tvấ+: +hatvấ+, I. 100, 18.

Older form in +tvî́+: +hatvî́+, II. 17, 6; +gatvî́+, IV. 41, 5.

DATIVES IN _DHAI_ AND _DHYAI_.

I have left to the end datives in +dhai+ and +dhyai+, which properly belong to the datives in +ai+, treated before, but differ from them as being datives of compound nouns. As from +máyaḥ+, delight, we have +mayaskará+, delight-making, +mayobhú+, delight-causing, and constructions like +máyo dádhe+, so from +váyas+, life, vigor, we have +váyaskṛ́t+, life-giving, and constructions like +váyo dhât+. From +dhâ+ we can frame two substantival frame, +dhâ+ and +dhi-s+, _e.g._ +puro-dhâ+, and +puro-dhis+, like +vi-dhi-s+. As an ordinary substantive, +purodhâ+ takes the feminine termination _â_, and is declined like +śivâ+. But if the verbal base remains at the end of a compound without the feminine suffix, a compound like vayodhâ would form its dative vayodhe (Grammar, § 239); and as in analogous cases we found old datives in ai, instead of _e_, e.g. +parâdai+, nothing can be said against +vayodhai+, as a Vedic dative of +vayodhâ+. The dative of +purodhi+ would be +purodhaye+, but here again, as, besides forms like dṛśaye, we met with datives, such as +ityai+, +rohishyai+, there is no difficulty in admitting an analogous dative of +purodhi+, viz., +purodhyai+.

The old dative +dhai+ has been preserved to us in one form only, which for that reason is all the more valuable and important, offering the key to the mysterious Greek infinitives in θαι, I mean +vayodhái+, which occurs twice in the Rig-Veda, X. 55, 1, and X. 67, 11. The importance of this relic would have been perceived long ago, if there had not been some uncertainty as to whether such a form really existed in the Veda. By some accident or other, Professor Aufrecht had printed in both passages +vayodhaiḥ+, instead of +vayodhai+. But for this, no one, I believe, would have doubted that in this form +vayodhai+ we have not only the most valuable prototype of the Greek infinitives in (σ)θαι, but at the same time their full explanation. +Vayodhai+ stands for +vayas-dhai+, in which composition the first part +vayas+ is a neuter base in +as+, the second a dative of the auxiliary verb +dhâ+, used as a substantive. If, therefore, we find corresponding to +vayodhai+ a Greek infinitive βέεσθαι, we must divide it into βέεσ-θαι, as we divide ψεύδεσθαι into ψεύδεσ-θαι, and translate it literally by “to do lying.”

It has been common to identify Greek infinitives in σθαι with corresponding Sanskrit forms ending in +dhyai+. No doubt these forms in +dhyai+ are much more frequent than forms in +dhai+, but as we can only take them as old datives of substantives in +dhi+, it would be difficult to identify the two. The Sanskrit +dhy+ appears, no doubt, in Greek, as σσ, +dh+ being represented by the surd θ, and then assibilated by _y_; but we could hardly attempt to explain σθ = θy, because σδ = ζ = δy. Therefore, unless we are prepared to see with Bopp in the σ before θ, in this and similar forms, a remnant of the reflexive pronoun, nothing remains but to accept the explanation offered by the Vedic +vayodhai+, and to separate ψεύδεσθαι into ψεύδεσ-θαι lying to do. That this grammatical compound, if once found successful, should have been repeated in other tenses, giving us not only γράφεσ-θαι, but γράψεσ-θαι, γράψασ-θαι, and even γραφθήσεσ-θαι, is no more than what we may see again and again in the grammatical development of ancient and modern languages. Some scholars have objected on the same ground to Bopp’s explanation of _ama-mini_, as the nom. plur. of a participle, because they think it impossible to look upon _amemini_, _amabâmini_, amaremini, _amabimini_ as participial formations. But if a mould is once made in language, it is used again and again, and little account is taken of its original intention. If we object to γράψεσ-θαι, why not to κελευ-σέ-μεναι or τεθνά-μεναι or μιχθή-μεναι? In Sanskrit, too, we should hesitate to form a compound of a modified verbal base, such as +pṛṇa+, with +dhi+, doing; yet as the Sanskrit ear was accustomed to +yajadhyai+ from +yaja+, +gamadhyai+ from +gama+, it did not protest against +pṛṇadhyai+, +vâvṛdhadhyai+, etc.

HISTORICAL IMPORTANCE OF THESE GRAMMATICAL FORMS.

And while these ancient grammatical forms which supply the foundation of what in Greek, Latin, and other languages we are accustomed to call infinitives are of the highest interest to the grammarian and the logician, their importance is hardly less in the eyes of the historian. Every honest student of antiquity, whether his special field be India, Persia, Assyria, or Egypt, knows how often he is filled with fear and trembling when he meets with thoughts and expressions which, as he is apt to say, cannot be ancient. I have frequently confessed to that feeling with regard to some of the hymns of the Rig-Veda, and I well remember the time when I felt inclined to throw up the whole work as modern and unworthy of the time and labor bestowed upon it. At that time I was always comforted by these so-called infinitives and other relics of ancient language. They could not have been fabricated in India. They are unknown in ordinary Sanskrit, they are unintelligible as far as their origin is concerned in Greek and Latin, and yet in the Vedic language we find these forms, not only identical with Greek and Latin forms, but furnishing the key to their formation in Greece and Italy. The Vedic +vayas-dhái+ compared with Greek βεεσ-θαι, the Vedic +stushe+ compared with λυσαι are to my mind evidence in support of the antiquity and genuineness of the Veda that cannot be shaken by any arguments.

THE INFINITIVE IN ENGLISH.