Lectures on The Science of Language 36

Lectures on The Science of Language 36

But these personal terminations are not the same in the imperfect as in

the present.

 

PRESENT. IMPERFECT.

Sever-im, I love, sever-di-m, I loved.

Sever-sen, sever-di-ñ.

Sever, sever-di.

Sever-iz, sever-di-k (miz).

Sever-siz, sever-di-ñiz.

Sever-ler, sever-di-ler.

 

We need not inquire as yet into the origin of the _di_, added to form the

imperfect; but it should be stated that in the first person plural of the

imperfect a various reading occurs in other Tataric dialects, and that

_miz_ is used there instead of _k_. Now, looking at these terminations

_m_, _ñ_, _i_, _miz_, _ñiz_, and _ler_, we find that they are exactly the

same as the possessive pronouns used after nouns. As the Italian says

_fratelmo_, my brother, and as in Hebrew we say, _El-i_, God (of) I,

_i.e._ my God, the Tataric languages form the phrases “my house, thy

house, his house,” by possessive pronouns appended to substantives. A Turk

says,—

 

Bâbâ, father, bâbâ-m, my father.

Aghâ, lord, aghâ-ñ, thy lord.

El, hand, el-i, his hand.

Oghlu, son, oghlu-muz, our son.

Anâ, mother, anâ-ñiz, your mother.

Kitâb, book, kitâb-leri, their book.

 

We may hence infer that in the imperfect these pronominal terminations

were originally taken in a possessive sense, and that, therefore, what

remains after the personal terminations are removed, _sever-di_, was never

an adjective or a participle, but must have been originally a substantive

capable of receiving terminal possessive pronouns; that is, the idea

originally expressed by the imperfect could not have been “loving-I,” but

“love of me.”

 

How then, could this convey the idea of a past tense as contrasted with

the present? Let us look to our own language. If desirous to express the

perfect, we say, I have loved, _j’ai aimé_. This “I have,” meant

originally, I possess, and in Latin “amicus quem amatum habeo,” signified

in fact a friend whom I hold dear,—not as yet, whom I _have_ loved. In the

course of time, however, these phrases, “I have said, I have loved,” took

the sense of the perfect, and of time past—and not unnaturally, inasmuch

as what I _hold_, or _have_ done, _is_ done;—done, as we say, and past. In

place of an auxiliary possessive verb, the Turkish language uses an

auxiliary possessive pronoun to the same effect. “Paying belonging to me,”

equals “I have paid;” in either case a phrase originally possessive, took

a temporal signification, and became a past or perfect tense. This,

however, is the very anatomy of grammar, and when a Turk says “severdim”

he is, of course, as unconscious of its literal force, “loving belonging

to me,” as of the circulation of his blood.

 

The most ingenious part of Turkish is undoubtedly the verb. Like Greek and

Sanskrit, it exhibits a variety of moods and tenses, sufficient to express

the nicest shades of doubt, of surmise, of hope, and supposition. In all

these forms the root remains intact, and sounds like a key-note through

all the various modulations produced by the changes of person, number,

mood, and time. But there is one feature so peculiar to the Turkish verb,

that no analogy can be found in any of the Aryan languages—the power of

producing new verbal bases by the mere addition of certain letters, which

give to every verb a negative, or causative, or reflexive, or reciprocal

meaning.

 

_Sev-mek_, for instance, as a simple root, means to love. By adding _in_,

we obtain a reflexive verb, _sev-in-mek_, which means to love oneself, or

rather, to rejoice, to be happy. This may now be conjugated through all

moods and tenses, _sevin_ being in every respect equal to a new root. By

adding _ish_ we form a reciprocal verb, _sev-ish-mek_, to love one

another.

 

To each of these three forms a causative sense may be imparted by the

addition of the syllable _dir_. Thus,

 

 

I. _sev-mek_, to love, becomes IV. _sev-dir-mek_, to cause to

love.

 

II. _sev-in-mek_, to rejoice, becomes V. _sev-in-dir-mek_, to

cause to rejoice.

 

III. _sev-ish-mek_, to love one another, becomes VI.

_sev-ish-dir-mek_, to cause one to love one another.

 

 

Each of these six forms may again be turned into a passive by the addition

of _il_. Thus,

 

 

I. _sev-mek_, to love, becomes VII. _sev-il-mek_, to be loved.

 

II. _sev-in-mek_, to rejoice, becomes VIII. _sev-in-il-mek_, to be

rejoiced at.

 

III. _sev-ish-mek_, to love one another, becomes IX.

_sev-ish-il-mek_, not translatable.

 

IV. _sev-dir-mek_, to cause one to love, becomes X.

_sev-dir-il-mek_, to be brought to love.

 

V. _sev-in-dir-mek_, to cause to rejoice, becomes XI.

_sev-in-dir-il-mek_, to be made to rejoice.

 

VI. _sev-ish-dir-mek_, to cause them to love one another, becomes

XII. _sev-ish-dir-il-mek_, to be brought to love one another.

 

 

This, however, is by no means the whole verbal contingent at the command

of a Turkish grammarian. Every one of these twelve secondary or tertiary

roots may again be turned into a negative by the mere addition of _me_.

Thus, _sev-mek_, to love, becomes _sev-me-mek_, not to love. And if it is

necessary to express the impossibility of loving, the Turk has a new root

at hand to convey even that idea. Thus while _sev-me-mek_ denies only the

fact of loving, _sev-eme-mek_, denies its possibility, and means not to be

able to love. By the addition of these two modificatory syllables, the

numbers of derivative roots is at once raised to thirty-six. Thus,

 

 

I. _sev-mek_, to love, becomes XIII. _sev-me-mek_, not to love.

 

II. _sev-in-mek_, to rejoice, becomes XIV. _sev-in-me-mek_, not to

rejoice.

 

III. _sev-ish-mek_, to love one another, becomes XV.

_sev-ish-me-mek_, not to love one another.

 

IV. _sev-dir-mek_, to cause to love, becomes XVI.

_sev-dir-me-mek_, not to cause one to love.

 

V. _sev-in-dir-mek_, to cause to rejoice, becomes XVII.

_sev-in-dir-me-mek_, not to cause one to rejoice.

 

VI. _sev-ish-dir-mek_, to cause them to love one another, becomes

XVIII. _sev-ish-dir-me-mek_, not to cause them to love one

another.

 

VII. _sev-il-mek_, to be loved, becomes XIX. _sev-il-me-mek_, not

to be loved.

 

VIII. _sev-in-il-mek_, to be rejoiced at, becomes XX.

_sev-in-il-me-mek_, not to be the object of rejoicing.

 

IX. _sev-ish-il-mek_, if it was used, would become XXI.

_sev-ish-il-me-mek_; neither form being translatable.

 

X. _sev-dir-il-mek_, to be brought to love, becomes XXII.

_sev-dir-il-me-mek_, not to be brought to love.

 

XI. _sev-in-dir-il-mek_, to be made to rejoice, becomes XXIII.

_sev-in-dir-il-me-mek_, not to be made to rejoice.

 

XII. _sev-ish-dir-il-mek_, to be brought to love one another,

becomes XXIV. _sev-ish-dir-il-me-mek_, not to be brought to love

one another.

 

 

Some of these forms are of course of rare occurrence, and with many verbs

these derivative roots, though possible grammatically, would be logically

impossible. Even a verb like “to love,” perhaps the most pliant of all,

resists some of the modifications to which a Turkish grammarian is fain to

subject it. It is clear, however, that wherever a negation can be formed,

the idea of impossibility also can be superadded, so that by substituting

_eme_ for _me_, we should raise the number of derivative roots to

thirty-six. The very last of these, XXXVI. _sev-ish-dir-il-eme-mek_ would

be perfectly intelligible, and might be used, for instance, if, in

speaking of the Sultan and the Czar, we wished to say, that it was

impossible that they should be brought to love one another.

 

_Finnic Class._

 

It is generally supposed that the original seat of the Finnic tribes was

in the Ural mountains, and their languages have been therefore called

_Uralic_. From this centre they spread east and west; and southward in

ancient times, even to the Black Sea, where Finnic tribes, together with

Mongolic and Turkic, were probably known to the Greeks under the

comprehensive and convenient name of Scythians. As we possess no literary

documents of any of these nomadic nations, it is impossible to say, even

where Greek writers have preserved their barbarous names, to what branch

of the vast Turanian family they belonged. Their habits were probably

identical before the Christian era, during the Middle Ages, and at the

present day. One tribe takes possession of a tract and retains it perhaps

for several generations, and gives its name to the meadows where it tends

its flocks, and to the rivers where the horses are watered. If the country

be fertile, it will attract the eye of other tribes; wars begin, and if