Chapter II: Beginning of Nineteenth Century (1)

§ 1. Introduction. Sanskrit. § 2. Friedrich von Schlegel. § 3. Rasmus
Rask. § 4. Jacob Grimm. § 5. The Sound Shift. § 6. Franz Bopp. § 7.
Bopp continued. § 8. Wilhelm von Humboldt. § 9. Grimm once more.

II.--§ 1. Introduction. Sanskrit.

The nineteenth century witnessed an enormous growth and development of the science of language, which in some respects came to present features totally unknown to previous centuries. The horizon was widened; more and more languages were described, studied and examined, many of them for their own sake, as they had no important literature. Everywhere a deeper insight was gained into the structures even of such languages as had been for centuries objects of study; a more comprehensive and more incisive classification of languages was obtained with a deeper understanding of their mutual relationships, and at the same time linguistic forms were not only described and analysed, but also explained, their genesis being traced as far back as historical evidence allowed, if not sometimes further. Instead of contenting itself with stating when and where a form existed and how it looked and was employed, linguistic science now also began to ask why it had taken that definite shape, and thus passed from a purely descriptive to an explanatory science.

The chief innovation of the beginning of the nineteenth century was the historical point of view. On the whole, it must be said that it was reserved for that century to apply the notion of history to other things than wars and the vicissitudes of dynasties, and thus to discover the idea of development or evolution as pervading the whole universe. This brought about a vast change in the science of language, as in other sciences. Instead of looking at such a language as Latin as one fixed point, and instead of aiming at fixing another language, such as French, in one classical form, the new science viewed both as being in constant flux, as growing, as moving, as continually changing. It cried aloud like Heraclitus “Pánta reî,” and like Galileo “Eppur si muove.” And lo! the better this historical point of view was applied, the more secrets languages seemed to unveil, and the more light seemed also to be thrown on objects outside the proper sphere of language, such as ethnology and the early history of mankind at large and of particular countries.

It is often said that it was the discovery of Sanskrit that was the real turning-point in the history of linguistics, and there is some truth in this assertion, though we shall see on the one hand that Sanskrit was not in itself enough to give to those who studied it the true insight into the essence of language and linguistic science, and on the other hand that real genius enabled at least one man to grasp essential truths about the relationships and development of languages even without a knowledge of Sanskrit. Still, it must be said that the first acquaintance with this language gave a mighty impulse to linguistic studies and exerted a lasting influence on the way in which most European languages were viewed by scholars, and it will therefore be necessary here briefly to sketch the history of these studies. India was very little known in Europe till the mighty struggle between the French and the English for the mastery of its wealth excited a wide interest also in its ancient culture. It was but natural that on this intellectual domain, too, the French and the English should at first be rivals and that we should find both nations represented in the pioneers of Sanskrit scholarship. The French Jesuit missionary Cœurdoux as early as 1767 sent to the French Institut a memoir in which he called attention to the similarity of many Sanskrit words with Latin, and even compared the flexion of the present indicative and subjunctive of Sanskrit _asmi_, ‘I am,’ with the corresponding forms of Latin grammar. Unfortunately, however, his work was not printed till forty years later, when the same discovery had been announced independently by others. The next scholar to be mentioned in this connexion is Sir William Jones, who in 1796 uttered the following memorable words, which have often been quoted in books on the history of linguistics: “The Sanscrit language, whatever be its antiquity, is of a wonderful structure; more perfect than the Greek, more copious than the Latin and more exquisitely refined than either; yet bearing to both of them a stronger affinity, both in the roots of verbs and in the forms of grammar, than could possibly have been produced by accident; so strong, indeed, that no philologer could examine them all three without believing them to have sprung from some common source, which, perhaps, no longer exists. There is a similar reason, though not quite so forcible, for supposing that both the Gothic and the Celtic ... had the same origin with the Sanscrit; and the old Persian might be added to the same family.” Sir W. Jones, however, did nothing to carry out in detail the comparison thus inaugurated, and it was reserved for younger men to follow up the clue he had given.

II.--§ 2. Friedrich von Schlegel.

One of the books that exercised a great influence on the development of linguistic science in the beginning of the nineteenth century was Friedrich von Schlegel’s _Ueber die sprache und weisheit der Indier_ (1808). Schlegel had studied Sanskrit for some years in Paris, and in his romantic enthusiasm he hoped that the study of the old Indian books would bring about a revolution in European thought similar to that produced in the Renaissance through the revival of the study of Greek. We are here concerned exclusively with his linguistic theories, but to his mind they were inseparable from Indian religion and philosophy, or rather religious and philosophic poetry. He is struck by the similarity between Sanskrit and the best-known European languages, and gives quite a number of words from Sanskrit found with scarcely any change in German, Greek and Latin. He repudiates the idea that these similarities might be accidental or due to borrowings on the side of the Indians, saying expressly that the proof of original relationship between these languages, as well as of the greater age of Sanskrit, lies in the far-reaching correspondences in the whole grammatical structure of these as opposed to many other languages. In this connexion it is noticeable that he is the first to speak of ‘comparative grammar’ (p. 28), but, like Moses, he only looks into this promised land without entering it. Indeed, his method of comparison precludes him from being the founder of the new science, for he says himself (p. 6) that he will refrain from stating any rules for change or substitution of letters (sounds), and require complete identity of the words used as proofs of the descent of languages. He adds that in other cases, “where intermediate stages are historically demonstrable, we may derive _giorno_ from _dies_, and when Spanish so often has _h_ for Latin _f_, or Latin _p_ very often becomes _f_ in the German form of the same word, and _c_ not rarely becomes _h_ [by the way, an interesting foreshadowing of one part of the discovery of the Germanic sound-shifting], then this may be the foundation of analogical conclusions with regard to other less evident instances.” If he had followed up this idea by establishing similar ‘sound-laws,’ as we now say, between Sanskrit and other languages, he would have been many years ahead of his time; as it is, his comparisons are those of a dilettante, and he sometimes falls into the pitfalls of accidental similarities while overlooking the real correspondences. He is also led astray by the idea of a particularly close relationship between Persian and German, an idea which at that time was widely spread[2]--we find it in Jenisch and even in Bopp’s first book.

Schlegel is not afraid of surveying the whole world of human languages; he divides them into two classes, one comprising Sanskrit and its congeners, and the second all other languages. In the former he finds organic growth of the roots as shown by their capability of inner change or, as he terms it, ‘flexion,’ while in the latter class everything is effected by the addition of affixes (prefixes and suffixes). In Greek he admits that it would be possible to believe in the possibility of the grammatical endings (bildungssylben) having arisen from particles and auxiliary words amalgamated into the word itself, but in Sanskrit even the last semblance of this possibility disappears, and it becomes necessary to confess that the structure of the language is formed in a thoroughly organic way through flexion, i.e. inner changes and modifications of the radical sound, and not composed merely mechanically by the addition of words and particles. He admits, however, that affixes in some other languages have brought about something that resembles real flexion. On the whole he finds that the movement of grammatical art and perfection (der gang der bloss grammatischen kunst und ausbildung, p. 56) goes in opposite directions in the two species of languages. In the organic languages, which represent the highest state, the beauty and art of their structure is apt to be lost through indolence; and German as well as Romanic and modern Indian languages show this degeneracy when compared with the earlier forms of the same languages. In the affix languages, on the other hand, we see that the beginnings are completely artless, but the ‘art’ in them grows more and more perfect the more the affixes are fused with the main word.

As to the question of the ultimate origin of language, Schlegel thinks that the diversity of linguistic structure points to different beginnings. While some languages, such as Manchu, are so interwoven with onomatopœia that imitation of natural sounds must have played the greatest rôle in their formation, this is by no means the case in other languages, and the perfection of the oldest organic or flexional languages, such as Sanskrit, shows that they cannot be derived from merely animal sounds; indeed, they form an additional proof, if any such were needed, that men did not everywhere start from a brutish state, but that the clearest and intensest reason existed from the very first beginning. On all these points Schlegel’s ideas foreshadow views that are found in later works; and it is probable that his fame as a writer outside the philological field gave to his linguistic speculations a notoriety which his often loose and superficial reasonings would not otherwise have acquired for them.

Schlegel’s bipartition of the languages of the world carries in it the germ of a tripartition. On the lowest stage of his second class he places Chinese, in which, as he acknowledges, the particles denoting secondary sense modifications consist in monosyllables that are completely independent of the actual word. It is clear that from Schlegel’s own point of view we cannot here properly speak of ‘affixes,’ and thus Chinese really, though Schlegel himself does not say so, falls outside his affix languages and forms a class by itself. On the other hand, his arguments for reckoning Semitic languages among affix languages are very weak, and he seems also somewhat inclined to say that much in their structure resembles real flexion. If we introduce these two changes into his system, we arrive at the threefold division found in slightly different shapes in most subsequent works on general linguistics, the first to give it being perhaps Schlegel’s brother, A. W. Schlegel, who speaks of (1) les langues sans aucune structure grammaticale--under which misleading term he understands Chinese with its unchangeable monosyllabic words; (2) les langues qui emploient des affixes; (3) les langues à inflexions.

Like his brother, A. W. Schlegel places the flexional languages highest and thinks them alone ‘organic.’ On the other hand, he subdivides flexional languages into two classes, synthetic and analytic, the latter using personal pronouns and auxiliaries in the conjugation of verbs, prepositions to supply the want of cases, and adverbs to express the degrees of comparison. While the origin of the synthetic languages loses itself in the darkness of ages, the analytic languages have been created in modern times; all those that we know are due to the decomposition of synthetic languages. These remarks on the division of languages are found in the Introduction to the book _Observations sur la langue et la littérature provençale_ (1818) and are thus primarily meant to account for the contrast between synthetic Latin and analytic Romanic.

II.--§ 3. Rasmus Rask.

We now come to the three greatest names among the initiators of linguistic science in the beginning of the nineteenth century. If we give them in their alphabetical order, Bopp, Grimm and Rask, we also give them in the order of merit in which most subsequent historians have placed them. The works that constitute their first claims to the title of founder of the new science came in close succession, Bopp’s _Conjugationssystem_ in 1816, Rask’s _Undersøgelse_ in 1818, and the first volume of Grimm’s _Grammatik_ in 1819. While Bopp is entirely independent of the two others, we shall see that Grimm was deeply influenced by Rask, and as the latter’s contributions to our science began some years before his chief work just mentioned (which had also been finished in manuscript in 1814, thus two years before Bopp’s _Conjugationssystem_), the best order in which to deal with the three men will perhaps be to take Rask first, then to mention Grimm, who in some ways was his pupil, and finally to treat of Bopp: in this way we shall also be enabled to see Bopp in close relation with the subsequent development of Comparative Grammar, on which he, and not Rask, exerted the strongest influence.

Born in a peasant’s hut in the heart of Denmark in 1787, Rasmus Rask was a grammarian from his boyhood. When a copy of the _Heimskringla_ was given him as a school prize, he at once, without any grammar or dictionary, set about establishing paradigms, and so, before he left school, acquired proficiency in Icelandic, as well as in many other languages. At the University of Copenhagen he continued in the same course, constantly widened his linguistic horizon and penetrated into the grammatical structure of the most diverse languages. Icelandic (Old Norse), however, remained his favourite study, and it filled him with enthusiasm and national pride that “our ancestors had such an excellent language,” the excellency being measured chiefly by the full flexional system which Icelandic shared with the classical tongues, partly also by the pure, unmixed state of the Icelandic vocabulary. His first book (1811) was an Icelandic grammar, an admirable production when we consider the meagre work done previously in this field. With great lucidity he reduces the intricate forms of the language into a consistent system, and his penetrating insight into the essence of language is seen when he explains the vowel changes, which we now comprise under the name of mutation or umlaut, as due to the approximation of the vowel of the stem to that of the ending, at that time a totally new point of view. This we gather from Grimm’s review, in which Rask’s explanation is said to be “more astute than true” (“mehr scharfsinnig als wahr,” _Kleinere schriften_, 7. 515). Rask even sees the reason of the change in the plural _blöð_ as against the singular _blað_ in the former having once ended in _-u_, which has since disappeared. This is, so far as I know, the first inference ever drawn to a prehistoric state of language.

In 1814, during a prolonged stay in Iceland, Rask sent down to Copenhagen his most important work, the prize essay on the origin of the Old Norse language (_Undersøgelse om det gamle nordiske eller islandske sprogs oprindelse_) which for various reasons was not printed till 1818. If it had been published when it was finished, and especially if it had been printed in a language better known than Danish, Rask might well have been styled the founder of the modern science of language, for his work contains the best exposition of the true method of linguistic research written in the first half of the nineteenth century and applies this method to the solution of a long series of important questions. Only one part of it was ever translated into another language, and this was unfortunately buried in an appendix to Vater’s _Vergleichungstafeln_, 1822. Yet Rask’s work even now repays careful perusal, and I shall therefore give a brief résumé of its principal contents.

Language according to Rask is our principal means of finding out anything about the history of nations before the existence of written documents, for though everything may change in religion, customs, laws and institutions, language generally remains, if not unchanged, yet recognizable even after thousands of years. But in order to find out anything about the relationship of a language we must proceed methodically and examine its whole structure instead of comparing mere details; what is here of prime importance is the grammatical system, because words are very often taken over from one language to another, but very rarely grammatical forms. The capital error in most of what has been written on this subject is that this important point has been overlooked. That language which has the most complicated grammar is nearest to the source; however mixed a language may be, it belongs to the same family as another if it has the most essential, most material and indispensable words in common with it; pronouns and numerals are in this respect most decisive. If in such words there are so many points of agreement between two languages that it is possible to frame rules for the transitions of letters (in other passages Rask more correctly says sounds) from the one language to the other, there is a fundamental kinship between the two languages, more particularly if there are corresponding similarities in their structure and constitution. This is a most important thesis, and Rask supplements it by saying that transitions of sounds are naturally dependent on their organ and manner of production.

Next Rask proceeds to apply these principles to his task of finding out the origin of the Old Icelandic language. He describes its position in the ‘Gothic’ (Gothonic, Germanic) group and then looks round to find congeners elsewhere. He rapidly discards Greenlandic and Basque as being too remote in grammar and vocabulary; with regard to Keltic languages he hesitates, but finally decides in favour of denying relationship. (He was soon to see his error in this; see below.) Next he deals at some length with Finnic and Lapp, and comes to the conclusion that the similarities are due to loans rather than to original kinship. But when he comes to the Slavonic languages his utterances have a different ring, for he is here able to disclose so many similarities in fundamentals that he ranges these languages within the same great family as Icelandic. The same is true with regard to Lithuanian and Lettic, which are here for the first time correctly placed as an independent sub-family, though closely akin to Slavonic. The comparisons with Latin, and especially with Greek, are even more detailed; and Rask in these chapters really presents us with a succinct, but on the whole marvellously correct, comparative grammar of Gothonic, Slavonic, Lithuanian, Latin and Greek, besides examining numerous lexical correspondences. He does not yet know any of the related Asiatic languages, but throws out the hint that Persian and Indian may be the remote source of Icelandic through Greek. Greek he considers to be the ‘source’ or ‘root’ of the Gothonic languages, though he expresses himself with a degree of uncertainty which forestalls the correct notion that these languages have all of them sprung from the same extinct and unknown language. This view is very clearly expressed in a letter he wrote from St. Petersburg in the same year in which his _Undersøgelse_ was published; he here says: “I divide our family of languages in this way: the Indian (Dekanic, Hindostanic), Iranic (Persian, Armenian, Ossetic), Thracian (Greek and Latin), Sarmatian (Lettic and Slavonic), Gothic (Germanic and Skandinavian) and Keltic (Britannic and Gaelic) tribes” (SA 2. 281, dated June 11, 1818).

This is the fullest and clearest account of the relationships of our family of languages found for many years, and Rask showed true genius in the way in which he saw what languages belonged together and how they were related. About the same time he gave a classification of the Finno-Ugrian family of languages which is pronounced by such living authorities on these languages as Vilhelm Thomsen and Emil Setälä to be superior to most later attempts. When travelling in India he recognized the true position of Zend, about which previous scholars had held the most erroneous views, and his survey of the languages of India and Persia was thought valuable enough in 1863 to be printed from his manuscript, forty years after it was written. He was also the first to see that the Dravidian (by him called Malabaric) languages were totally different from Sanskrit. In his short essay on Zend (1826) he also incidentally gave the correct value of two letters in the first cuneiform writing, and thus made an important contribution towards the final deciphering of these inscriptions.

His long tour (1816-23) through Sweden, Finland, Russia, the Caucasus, Persia and India was spent in the most intense study of a great variety of languages, but unfortunately brought on the illness and disappointments which, together with economic anxieties, marred the rest of his short life.

When Rask died in 1832 he had written a great number of grammars of single languages, all of them remarkable for their accuracy in details and clear systematic treatment, more particularly of morphology, and some of them breaking new ground; besides his Icelandic grammar already mentioned, his Anglo-Saxon, Frisian and Lapp grammars should be specially named. Historical grammar in the strict sense is perhaps not his forte, though in a remarkable essay of the year 1815 he explains historically a great many features of Danish grammar, and in his Spanish and Italian grammars he in some respects forestalls Diez’s historical explanations. But in some points he stuck to erroneous views, a notable instance being his system of old Gothonic ‘long vowels,’ which was reared on the assumption that modern Icelandic pronunciation reflects the pronunciation of primitive times, while it is really a recent development, as Grimm saw from a comparison of all the old languages. With regard to consonants, however, Rask was the clearer-sighted of the two, and throughout he had this immense advantage over most of the comparative linguists of his age, that he had studied a great many languages at first hand with native speakers, while the others knew languages chiefly or exclusively through the medium of books and manuscripts. In no work of that period, or even of a much later time, are found so many first-hand observations of living speech as in Rask’s _Retskrivningslære_. Handicapped though he was in many ways, by poverty and illness and by the fact that he wrote in a language so little known as Danish, Rasmus Rask, through his wide outlook, his critical sagacity and aversion to all fanciful theorizing, stands out as one of the foremost leaders of linguistic science.[3]

II.--§ 4. Jacob Grimm.

Jacob Grimm’s career was totally different from Rask’s. Born in 1785 as the son of a lawyer, he himself studied law and came under the influence of Savigny, whose view of legal institutions as the outcome of gradual development in intimate connexion with popular tradition and the whole intellectual and moral life of the people appealed strongly to the young man’s imagination. But he was drawn even more to that study of old German popular poetry which then began to be the fashion, thanks to Tieck and other Romanticists; and when he was in Paris to assist Savigny with his historico-legal research, the old German manuscripts in the Bibliothèque nationale nourished his enthusiasm for the poetical treasures of the Middle Ages. He became a librarian and brought out his first book, _Ueber den altdeutschen meistergesang_ (1811). At the same time, with his brother Wilhelm as constant companion and fellow-worker, he began collecting popular traditions, of which he published a first instalment in his famous _Kinder- und hausmärchen_ (1812 ff.), a work whose learned notes and comparisons may be said to have laid the foundation of the science of folklore. Language at first had only a subordinate interest to him, and when he tried his hand at etymology, he indulged in the wildest guesses, according to the method (or want of method) of previous centuries. A. W. Schlegel’s criticism of his early attempts in this field, and still more Rask’s example, opened Grimm’s eyes to the necessity of a stricter method, and he soon threw himself with great energy into a painstaking and exact study of the oldest stages of the German language and its congeners. In his review (1812) of Rask’s Icelandic grammar he writes: “Each individuality, even in the world of languages, should be respected as sacred; it is desirable that even the smallest and most despised dialect should be left only to itself and to its own nature and in nowise subjected to violence, because it is sure to have some secret advantages over the greatest and most highly valued language.” Here we meet with that valuation of the hitherto overlooked popular dialects which sprang from the Romanticists’ interest in the ‘people’ and everything it had produced. Much valuable linguistic work was directly inspired by this feeling and by conscious opposition to the old philology, that occupied itself exclusively with the two classical languages and the upper-class literature embodied in them. As Scherer expresses it (_Jacob Grimm_, 2te ausg., Berlin, 1885, p. 152): “The brothers Grimm applied to the old national literature and to popular traditions the old philological virtue of exactitude, which had up to then been bestowed solely on Greek and Roman classics and on the Bible. They extended the field of strict philology, as they extended the field of recognized poetry. They discarded the aristocratic narrowmindedness with which philologists looked down on unwritten tradition, on popular ballads, legends, fairy tales, superstition, nursery rimes.... In the hands of the two Grimms philology became national and popular; and at the same time a pattern was created for the scientific study of all the peoples of the earth and for a comparative investigation of the entire mental life of mankind, of which written literature is nothing but a small epitome.”

But though Grimm thus broke loose from the traditions of classical philology, he still carried with him one relic of it, namely the standard by which the merits of different languages were measured. “In reading carefully the old Gothonic (altdeutschen) sources, I was every day discovering forms and perfections which we generally envy the Greeks and Romans when we consider the present condition of our language.”... “Six hundred years ago every rustic knew, that is to say practised daily, perfections and niceties in the German language of which the best grammarians nowadays do not even dream; in the poetry of Wolfram von Eschenbach and of Hartmann von Aue, who had never heard of declension and conjugation, nay who perhaps did not even know how to read and write, many differences in the flexion and use of nouns and verbs are still nicely and unerringly observed, which we have gradually to rediscover in learned guise, but dare not reintroduce, for language ever follows its inalterable course.”

Grimm then sets about writing his great historical and comparative _Deutsche Grammatik_, taking the term ‘deutsch’ in its widest and hardly justifiable sense of what is now ordinarily called Germanic and which is in this work called Gothonic. The first volume appeared in 1819, and in the preface we see that he was quite clear that he was breaking new ground and introducing a new method of looking at grammar. He speaks of previous German grammars and says expressly that he does not want his to be ranged with them. He charges them with unspeakable pedantry; they wanted to dogmatize magisterially, while to Grimm language, like everything natural and moral, is an unconscious and unnoticed secret which is implanted in us in youth. Every German therefore who speaks his language naturally, i.e. untaught, may call himself his own living grammar and leave all schoolmasters’ rules alone. Grimm accordingly has no wish to prescribe anything, but to observe what has grown naturally, and very appropriately he dedicates his work to Savigny, who has taught him how institutions grow in the life of a nation. In the new preface to the second edition there are also some noteworthy indications of the changed attitude. “I am hostile to general logical notions in grammar; they conduce apparently to strictness and solidity of definition, but hamper observation, which I take to be the soul of linguistic science.... As my starting-point was to trace the never-resting (unstillstehende) element of our language which changes with time and place, it became necessary for me to admit one dialect after the other, and I could not even forbear to glance at those foreign languages that are ultimately related with ours.”

Here we have the first clear programme of that historical school which has since then been the dominating one in linguistics. But as language according to this new point of view was constantly changing and developing, so also, during these years, were Grimm’s own ideas. And the man who then exercised the greatest influence on him was Rasmus Rask. When Grimm wrote the first edition of his _Grammatik_ (1819), he knew nothing of Rask but the Icelandic grammar, but just before finishing his own volume Rask’s prize essay reached him, and in the preface he at once speaks of it in the highest terms of praise, as he does also in several letters of this period; he is equally enthusiastic about Rask’s Anglo-Saxon grammar and the Swedish edition of his Icelandic grammar, neither of which reached him till after his own first volume had been printed off. The consequence was that instead of going on to the second volume, Grimm entirely recast the first volume and brought it out in a new shape in 1822. The chief innovation was the phonology or, as he calls it, “Erstes buch. Von den buchstaben,” which was entirely absent in 1819, but now ran to 595 pages.

II.--§ 5. The Sound Shift.

This first book in the 1822 volume contains much, perhaps most, of what constitutes Grimm’s fame as a grammarian, notably his exposition of the ‘sound shift’ (lautverschiebung), which it has been customary in England since Max Müller to term ‘Grimm’s Law.’ If any one man is to give his name to this law, a better name would be ‘Rask’s Law,’ for all these transitions, Lat. Gr. _p_ = _f_, _t_ = _þ_ (_th_), _k_ = _h_, etc., are enumerated in Rask’s _Undersøgelse_, p. 168, which Grimm knew before he wrote a single word about the sound shift.

Now, it is interesting to compare the two scholars’ treatment of these transitions. The sober-minded, matter-of-fact Rask contents himself with a bare statement of the facts, with just enough well-chosen examples to establish the correspondence; the way in which he arranges the sounds shows that he saw their parallelism clearly enough, though he did not attempt to bring everything under one single formula, any more than he tried to explain why these sounds had changed.[4] Grimm multiplies the examples and then systematizes the whole process in one formula so as to comprise also the ‘second shift’ found in High German alone--a shift well known to Rask, though treated by him in a different place (p. 68 f.). Grimm’s formula looks thus:

Greek p b f | t d th | k g ch
Gothic f p b | th t d | h k g
High G. b(v) f p | d z t | g ch k,

which may be expressed generally thus, that tenuis (T) becomes aspirate (A) and then media (M), etc., or, tabulated:

Greek T M A
Gothic A T M
High G. M A T.

For this Grimm would of course have deserved great credit, because a comprehensive formula is more scientific than a rough statement of facts--_if_ the formula had been correct; but unfortunately it is not so. In the first place, it breaks down in the very first instance, for there is no media in High German corresponding to Gr. _p_ and Gothic _f_ (cf. _poûs_, _fotus_, _fuss_, etc.); secondly, High German has _h_ just as Gothic has, corresponding to Greek _k_ (cf. _kardía_, _hairto_, _herz_, etc.), and where it has _g_, Gothic has also _g_ in accordance with rules unknown to Grimm and not explained till long afterwards (by Verner). But the worst thing is that the whole specious generalization produces the impression of regularity and uniformity only through the highly unscientific use of the word ‘aspirate,’ which is made to cover such phonetically disparate things as (1) combination of stop with following _h_, (2) combination of stop with following fricative, _pf_, _ts_ written _z_, (3) voiceless fricative, _f_, _s_ in G. _das_, (4) voiced fricative, _v_, _ð_ written _th_, and (5) _h_. Grimm rejoiced in his formula, giving as it does three chronological stages in each of the three subdivisions (tenuis, media, aspirate) of each of the three classes of consonants (labial, dental, ‘guttural’). This evidently took hold of his fancy through the mystic power of the number three, which he elsewhere (Gesch 1. 191, cf. 241) finds pervading language generally: three original vowels, _a_, _i_, _u_, three genders, three numbers (singular, dual, plural), three persons, three ‘voices’ (genera: active, middle, passive), three tenses (present, preterit, future), three declensions through _a_, _i_, _u_. As there is here an element of mysticism, so is there also in Grimm’s highflown explanation of the whole process from pretended popular psychology, which is full of the cloudiest romanticism. “When once the language had made the first step and had rid itself of the organic basis of its sounds, it was hardly possible for it to escape the second step and not to arrive at the third stage,[5] through which this development was perfected.... It is impossible not to admire the instinct by which the linguistic spirit (sprachgeist) carried this out to the end. A great many sounds got out of joint, but they always knew how to arrange themselves in a different place and to find the new application of the old law. I am not saying that the shift happened without any detriment, nay from one point of view the sound shift appears to me as a barbarous aberration, from which other more quiet nations abstained, but which is connected with the violent progress and craving for freedom which was found in Germany in the beginning of the Middle Ages and which initiated the transformation of Europe. The Germans pressed forward even in the matter of the innermost sounds of their language,” etc., with remarks on intellectual progress and on victorious and ruling races. Grimm further says that “die dritte stufe des verschobnen lauts den kreislauf abschliesse und nach ihr ein neuer ansatz zur abweichung wieder von vorn anheben müsse. Doch eben weil der sprachgeist seinen lauf vollbracht hat, scheint er nicht wieder neu beginnen zu wollen” (GDS 1. 292 f., 299). It would be difficult to attach any clear ideas to these words.

Grimm’s idea of a ‘kreislauf’ is caused by the notion that the two shifts, separated by several centuries, represent one continued movement, while the High German shift of the eighth century has really no more to do with the primitive Gothonic shift, which took place probably some time before Christ, than has, for instance, the Danish shift in words like _gribe_, _bide_, _bage_, from _gripæ_, _bitæ_, _bakæ_ (about 1400), or the still more recent transition in Danish through which stressed _t_ in _tid_, _tyve_, etc., sounds nearly like [ts], as in HG. _zeit_. There cannot possibly be any causal nexus between such transitions, separated chronologically by long periods, with just as little change in the pronunciation of these consonants as there has been in English.[6]

Grimm was anything but a phonetician, and sometimes says things which nowadays cannot but produce a smile, as when he says (Gr 1. 3) “in our word _schrift_, for instance, we express eight sounds through seven signs, for _f_ stands for _ph_”; thus he earnestly believes that _sch_ contains three sounds, _s_ and the ‘aspirate’ _ch_ = _c_ + _h_! Yet through the irony of fate it was on the history of sounds that Grimm exercised the strongest influence. As in other parts of his grammar, so also in the “theory of letters” he gave fuller word lists than people had been accustomed to, and this opened the eyes of scholars to the great regularity reigning in this department of linguistic development. Though in his own etymological practice he was far from the strict idea of ‘phonetic law’ that played such a prominent rôle in later times, he thus paved the way for it. He speaks of law at any rate in connexion with the consonant shift, and there recognizes that it serves to curb wild etymologies and becomes a test for them (Gesch 291). The consonant shift thus became _the_ law in linguistics, and because it affected a great many words known to everybody, and in a new and surprising way associated well-known Latin or Greek words with words of one’s own mother-tongue, it became popularly the keystone of a new wonderful science.

Grimm coined several of the terms now generally used in linguistics; thus _umlaut_ and _ablaut_, ‘strong’ and ‘weak’ declensions and conjugations. As to the first, we have seen that it was Rask who first understood and who taught Grimm the cause of this phenomenon, which in English has often been designated by the German term, while Sweet calls it ‘mutation’ and others better ‘infection.’ With regard to ‘ablaut’ (Sweet: gradation, best perhaps in English apophony), Rask termed it ‘omlyd,’ a word which he never applied to Grimm’s ‘umlaut,’ thus keeping the two kinds of vowel change as strictly apart as Grimm does. Apophony was first discovered in that class of verbs which Grimm called ‘strong’; he was fascinated by the commutation of the vowels in _springe_, _sprang_, _gesprungen_, and sees in it, as in _bimbambum_, something mystic and admirable, characteristic of the old German spirit. He was thus blind to the correspondences found in other languages, and his theory led him astray in the second volume, in which he constructed imaginary verbal roots to explain apophony wherever it was found outside the verbs.

Though Grimm, as we have seen, was by his principles and whole tendency averse to prescribing laws for a language, he is sometimes carried away by his love for mediæval German, as when he gives as the correct nominative form _der boge_, though everybody for centuries had said _der bogen_. In the same way many of his followers would apply the historical method to questions of correctness of speech, and would discard the forms evolved in later times in favour of previously existing forms which were looked upon as more ‘organic.’

It will not be necessary here to speak of the imposing work done by Grimm in the rest of his long life, chiefly spent as a professor in Berlin. But in contrast to the ordinary view I must say that what appears to me as most likely to endure is his work on syntax, contained in the fourth volume of his grammar and in monographs. Here his enormous learning, his close power of observation, and his historical method stand him in good stead, and there is much good sense and freedom from that kind of metaphysical systematism which was triumphant in contemporaneous work on classical syntax. His services in this field are the more interesting because he did not himself seem to set much store by these studies and even said that syntax was half outside the scope of grammar. This utterance belongs to a later period than that of the birth of historical and comparative linguistics, and we shall have to revert to it after sketching the work of the third great founder of this science, to whom we shall now turn.

II.--§ 6. Franz Bopp.

The third, by some accounted the greatest, among the founders of modern linguistic science was Franz Bopp. His life was uneventful. At the age of twenty-one (he was born in 1791) he went to Paris to study Oriental languages, and soon concentrated his attention on Sanskrit. His first book, from which it is customary in Germany to date the birth of Comparative Philology, appeared in 1816, while he was still in Paris, under the title _Ueber des conjugationssystem der sanskritsprache in vergleichung mit jenem der griechischen, lateinischen, persischen und germanischen sprache_, but the latter part of the small volume was taken up with translations from Sanskrit, and for a long time he was just as much a Sanskrit scholar, editing and translating Sanskrit texts, as a comparative grammarian. He showed himself in the latter character in several papers read before the Berlin Academy, after he had been made a professor there in 1822, and especially in his famous _Vergleichende grammatik des sanskrit, ṣend, armenischen, griechischen, lateinischen, litauischen, altslawischen, gotischen und deutschen_, the first edition of which was published between 1833 and 1849, the second in 1857, and the third in 1868. Bopp died in 1867.

Of Bopp’s _Conjugationssystem_ a revised, rearranged and greatly improved English translation came out in 1820 under the title _Analytical Comparison of the Sanskrit, Greek, Latin and Teutonic Languages_. This was reprinted with a good introduction by F. Techmer in his _Internationale zeitschrift für allgem. sprachwissenschaft IV_ (1888), and in the following remarks I shall quote this (abbreviated AC) instead of, or alongside of, the German original (abbreviated C).

Bopp’s chief aim (and in this he was characteristically different from Rask) was to find out the ultimate origin of grammatical forms. He follows his quest by the aid of Sanskrit forms, though he does not consider these as the ultimate forms themselves: “I do not believe that the Greek, Latin, and other European languages are to be considered as derived from the Sanskrit in the state in which we find it in Indian books; I feel rather inclined to consider them altogether as subsequent variations of one original tongue, which, however, the Sanskrit has preserved more perfect than its kindred dialects. But whilst therefore the language of the Brahmans more frequently enables us to conjecture the primitive form of the Greek and Latin languages than what we discover in the oldest authors and monuments, the latter on their side also may not unfrequently elucidate the Sanskrit grammar” (AC 3). Herein subsequent research has certainly borne out Bopp’s view.

After finding out by a comparison of the grammatical forms of Sanskrit, Greek, etc., which of these forms were identical and what were their oldest shapes, he tries to investigate the ultimate origin of these forms. This he takes to be a comparatively easy consequence of the first task, but he was here too much under the influence of the philosophical grammar then in vogue. Gottfried Hermann (_De emendanda ratione Græcæ grammaticæ_, 1801), on purely logical grounds, distinguishes three things as necessary elements of each sentence, the subject, the predicate, and the copula joining the first two elements together; as the power of the verb is to attribute the predicate to the subject, there is really only one verb, namely the verb _to be_. Bopp’s teacher in Paris, Silvestre de Sacy, says the same thing, and Bopp repeats: “A verb, in the most restricted meaning of the term, is that part of speech by which a subject is connected with its attribute. According to this definition it would appear that there can exist only one verb, namely, the substantive verb, in Latin _esse_; in English, _to be_.... Languages of a structure similar to that of the Greek, Latin, etc., can express by one verb of this kind a whole logical proposition, in which, however, that part of speech which expresses the connexion of the subject with its attribute, which is the characteristic function of the verb, is generally entirely omitted or understood. The Latin verb _dat_ expresses the proposition ‘he gives,’ or ‘he is giving’: the letter _t_, indicating the third person, is the subject, _da_ expresses the attribute of giving, and the grammatical _copula_ is understood. In the verb _potest_, the latter is expressed, and _potest_ unites in itself the three essential parts of speech, _t_ being the subject, _es_ the copula, and _pot_ the attribute.”

Starting from this logical conception of grammar, Bopp is inclined to find everywhere the ‘substantive verb’ _to be_ in its two Sanskrit forms _as_ and _bhu_ as an integral part of verbal forms. He is not the first to think that terminations, which are now inseparable parts of a verb, were originally independent words; thus Horne Tooke (in _Epea pteroenta_, 1786, ii. 429) expressly says that “All those common terminations in any language ... are themselves separate words with distinct meanings,” and explains, for instance, Latin _ibo_ from _i_, ‘_go_’ + _b_, ‘_will_,’ from Greek _boúl(omai)_ + _o_ ‘_I_,’ from _ego_. Bopp’s explanations are similar to this, though they do not imply such violent shortenings as that of _boúl(omai)_ to _b_. He finds the root Sanskrit _as_, ‘to be,’ in Latin perfects like _scrip-s-i_, in Greek aorists like _e-tup-s-a_ and in futures like _tup-s-o_. That the same addition thus indicates different tenses does not trouble Bopp greatly; he explains Lat. _fueram_ from _fu_ + _es_ + _am_, etc., and says that the root _fu_ “contains, properly, nothing to indicate past time, but the usage of language having supplied the want of an adequate inflexion, _fui_ received the sense of a perfect, and _fu-eram_, which would be nothing more than an imperfect, that of a pluperfect, and after the same manner _fu-ero_ signifies ‘I shall have been,’ instead of ‘I shall be’” (AC 57). All Latin verbal endings containing _r_ are thus explained as being ultimately formed with the substantive verb (_ama-rem_, etc.); thus among others the infinitives _fac-ere_, _ed-ere_, as well as _esse_, _posse_: “_E_ is properly, in Latin, the termination of a simple infinitive active; and the root _Es_ produced anciently _ese_, by adding _e_; the _s_ having afterwards been doubled, we have _esse_. This termination _e_ answers to the Greek infinitive in _ai_, _eînai_ ...” (AC 58).

If Bopp found a master-key to many of the verbal endings in the Sanskrit root _es_, he found a key to many others in the other root of the verb ‘to be,’ Sanskrit _bhu_. He finds it in the Latin imperfect _da-bam_, as well as in the future _da-bo_, the relation between which is the same as that between _er-am_ and _er-o_. “_Bo_, _bis_, _bit_ has a striking similarity with the Anglo-Saxon _beo_, _bys_, _byth_, the future tense of the verb substantive, a similarity which cannot be considered as merely accidental.” [Here neither the form nor the function of the Anglo-Saxon is stated quite correctly.] But the ending in Latin _ama-vi_ is also referred to the same root; for the change of the _b_ into _v_ we are referred to Italian _amava_, from Lat. _amabam_; thus also _fui_ is for _fuvi_ and _potui_ is for _pot-vi_: “languages manifest a constant effort to combine heterogeneous materials in such a manner as to offer to the ear or eye one perfect whole, like a statue executed by a skilful artist, that wears the appearance of a figure hewn out of one piece of marble” (AC 60).

The following may be taken as a fair specimen of the method followed in these first attempts to account for the origin of flexional forms: “The Latin passive forms _amat-ur_, _amant-ur_, would, in some measure, conform to this mode of joining the verb substantive, if the _r_ was also the result of a permutation of an original _s_; and this appears not quite incredible, if we compare the second person _ama-ris_ with the third _amat-ur_. Either in one or the other there must be a transposition of letters, to which the Latin language is particularly addicted. If _ama-ris_, which might have been produced from _ama-sis_, has preserved the original order of letters, then _ama-tur_ must be the transposition of _ama-rut_ or _ama-sut_, and _ama-ntur_ that of _ama-runt_ or _ama-sunt_. If this be the case, the origin of the Latin passive can be accounted for, and although differing from that of the Sanskrit, Greek, and Gothic languages, it is not produced by the invention of a new grammatical form. It becomes clear, also, why many verbs, with a passive form, have an active signification; because there is no reason why the addition of the verb substantive should necessarily produce a passive sense. There is another way of explaining _ama-ris_, if it really stands for _ama-sis_; the _s_ may be the radical consonant of the reflex pronoun _se_. The introduction of this pronoun would be particularly adapted to form the middle voice, which expresses the reflexion of the action upon the actor; but the Greek language exemplifies the facility with which the peculiar signification of the middle voice passes into that of the passive.” The reasoning in the beginning of this passage (the only one contained in C) carries us back to a pre-scientific atmosphere, of which there are few or no traces in Rask’s writings; the latter explanation (added in AC) was preferred by Bopp himself in later works, and was for many years accepted as the correct one, until scholars found a passive in _r_ in Keltic, where the transition from _s_ to _r_ is not found as it is in Latin; and as the closely corresponding forms in Keltic and Italic must obviously be explained in the same way, the hypothesis of a composition with _se_ was generally abandoned. Bopp’s partiality for the abstract verb is seen clearly when he explains the Icelandic passive in _-st_ from _s_ = _es_ (C 132); here Rask and Grimm saw the correct and obvious explanation.

Among the other explanations given first by Bopp must be mentioned the Latin second person of the passive voice _-mini_, as in _ama-mini_, which he takes to be the nominative masculine plural of a participle corresponding to Greek _-menos_ and found in a different form in Lat. _alumnus_ (AC 51). This explanation is still widely accepted, though not by everybody.

With regard to the preterit of what Grimm was later to term the ‘weak’ verbs, Bopp vacillates between different explanations. In C 118 he thinks the _t_ or _d_ is identical with the ending of the participle, in which the case endings were omitted and supplanted by personal endings; the syllable _ed_ after _d_ [in Gothic _sok-id-edum_; ‘Greek,’ p. 119, must be a misprint for Gothic] is nothing but an accidental addition. But on p. 151 he sees in _sokidedun_, _sokidedi_, a connexion of _sok_ with the preterit of the verb _Tun_, as if the Germans were to say _suchetaten_, _suchetäte_; he compares the English use of _did_ (_did seek_), and thinks the verb used is G. _tun_, Goth. _tanjan_. The theory of composition is here restricted to those forms that contain two _d’s_, i.e. the plural indicative and the subjunctive. In the English edition this twofold explanation is repeated with some additions: _d_ or _t_ as in Gothic _sok-i-da_ and _oh-ta_ originates from a participle found in Sanskr. _tyak-ta_, _likh-i-ta_, Lat. _-tus_, Gr. _-tós_; this suffix generally has a passive sense, but in neuter verbs an active sense, and therefore would naturally serve to form a preterit tense with an active signification. He finds a proof of the connexion between this preterit and the participle in the fact that only such verbs as have this ending in the participle form their preterit by means of a dental, while the others (the ‘strong’ verbs, as Grimm afterwards termed them) have a participle in _an_ and reduplication or a change of vowel in the preterit; and Bopp compares the Greek aorist passive _etúphth-ēn_, _edóth-ēn_, which he conceives may proceed from the participle _tuphth-eís_, _doth-eís_ (AC 37 ff.). This suggestion seems to have been commonly overlooked or abandoned, while the other explanation, from _dedi_ as in English _did seek_, which Bopp gives p. 49 for the subjunctive and the indicative plural, was accepted by Grimm as the explanation of all the forms, even of those containing only one dental; in later works Bopp agreed with Grimm and thus gave up the first part of his original explanation. The _did_ explanation had been given already by D. von Stade (d. 1718, see Collitz, _Das schwache präteritum_, p. 1); Rask (P 270, not mentioned by Collitz) says: “Whence this _d_ or _t_ has come is not easy to tell, as it is not found in Latin and Greek, but as it is evident from the Icelandic grammar that it is closely connected with the past participle and is also found in the preterit subjunctive, it seems clear that it must have been an old characteristic of the past tense in every mood, but was lost in Greek when the above-mentioned participles in _tos_ disappeared from the verbs” (cf. Ch. XIX § 12).