bookIch06

CHAPTER SIX

BY SPEAKERS, as well as writers, there are certain rules to be observed. Language is based on reason, antiquity, authority, and custom. It is analogy, and sometimes etymology, that affords the chief support to reason. A certain majesty, and, if
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I may so express myself, religion, graces the antique. Authority is commonly sought in orators or historians. As to the poets, the obligation of the meter excuses their phraseology, except in those cases when the measure of the feet offers no impediment to the choice of either of two expressions, but they fancifully prefer one to the other, as in the following phrases: imo de stirpe recisum, aeeriae quo congessere palum-bos, silice in nuda,1 and the like. Since the judgment of men eminent in eloquence stands in place of reason, then even
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error is without dishonor in following illustrious guides. Custom, however, is the surest preceptor in speaking: we must use phraseology, like money, which has the public stamp.

But all these particulars require great judgment, especially analogy, which, translating it closely from Greek into Latin,
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people have called proportion. It requires that a writer or speaker compare whatever is at all doubtful with something similar concerning which there is no doubt, so as to prove the uncertain by the certain. This is done in two ways: by a comparison of similar words, in respect chiefly to their last syllables (for which reason the words that have but one syllable are said not to be accountable to analogy), and by looking
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to diminutives. Comparison in nouns shows either their gender or their declension; their gender, as, when it is inquired whether funis be masculine or feminine, panis may be an object of comparison with it; their declension, as, if it should be a subject of doubt whether we should say hac domu or hac domo, and domuum or domorum, then domus, anus,
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manus may be compared with each other. The formation of diminutives shows only the gender of words, as (that I may take the same word for an example) funiculus proves that
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funis is masculine. There is also similar reason for comparison in verbs; as if any one, following the old writers, should pronounce fervere with the middle syllable short, he would be convicted of speaking incorrectly, since all verbs which end with the letters e and o in the indicative mood, when they have assumed the letter e in the middle syllables in the infinitive, have it necessarily long, as prandeo, pendeo, spondeo, prandēre,
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pendēre, spondēre. But those which have o only in the indicative, when they end with the same letter e in the infinitive, shorten it, as lego, dico, curro, legěre, dicěre, currěre; although there occurs in Lucilius,

Fervit aqua et fervet; fervit nunc, fervet ad annum

“The water boils and will boil; it boils now, and will boil
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for a year.”2 But with all respect to a man of such eminent learning, if he thinks fervit similar to currit and legit, fervo will be a word like curro and lego, a word which has never been heard by me. But this is not a just comparison; for servit is like fervit, and he that follows this analogy must say
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fervire as well as servire. The present indicative also is sometimes discovered from the other moods and tenses; for I remember that some people who had blamed me for using the word pepigi, were convinced by me of their error; they had allowed, indeed, that the best authors had used pepigi, but denied that analogy permitted its use, since the present indicative paciscor, as it had the form of a passive verb, made in
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the perfect tense pactus sum. But I, besides adducing the authority of orators and historians, maintained that pepigi was also supported by analogy; for, as we read in the Twelve Tables, ni ita pagunt,³ I found cadunt similar to pagunt, whence the present indicative, though it had fallen into disuse through time, was evidently pago, like cado; and it was
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therefore certain that we say pepigi like cecidi. But we must remember that the course of analogy cannot be traced through all the parts of speech, as it is in many cases at variance with itself. Learned men, indeed, endeavor to justify some departures from it, as, when it is remarked how much lepus and lupus, though of similar terminations in the nominative, differ in their cases and numbers, they reply that they are not of the same sort, since lepus is epicene, and lupus masculine; although Varro, in the book in which he relates the origin of the city of Rome, uses lupus as feminine, following Ennius
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and Fabius Pictor. But those same grammarians, when they are asked why aper makes apri, and pater, patris, assert that the first is declined absolutely, and the second with reference to something; and, besides, as both are derived from the Greek, they recur to the rule that κατρóς gives patris, and
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κάπρoυ apri. But how will they escape from the fact that nouns, which end with the letters u and s in the nominative singular, never, even though feminine, end with the syllable -ris in the genitive, yet that Venus makes Veneris; and that, though nouns ending in -es have various endings in the genitive, yet their genitive never ends in that same syllable -ris, when,
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nevertheless, Ceres obliges us to say Cereris? And what shall I say of those parts of speech, which, though all of similar commencement, proceed with different inflections, as Alba makes Albani and Albenses, volo, volui and volavi? For analogy itself admits that verbs, which end with the letter o in the first person singular, are variously formed in the perfect, as cado makes cecidi; spondeo, spopondi; pingo, pinxi; lego, legi; pono, posui; frango, fregi; laudo, laudavi.

Analogy was not sent down from heaven when men were first made to give them rules for speaking, but was discovered after men had begun to speak, and after it was observed how each word in speaking terminated. It is not therefore founded on reason, but on example; nor is it a law for speaking, but the mere result of observation, so that nothing but custom has been
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the origin of analogy. Yet some people adhere to it with a most unpleasantly perverse attachment to exactness; so that they will say audaciter in preference to audacter, though all orators adopt the latter, and emicavit instead of emicuit, or con-ire instead of coire. Such persons we may allow to say audi-visse, and scivisse, tribunale, and faciliter; let them also have their frugalis, instead of frugi, for how else can frugalitas be
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formed? Let them also prove that centum millia nummum and fidem deum are two solecisms, since they err in both case and number; for we were ignorant of this, and were not merely complying with custom and convenience, as in most cases, of which Cicero treats nobly, as of everything else, in
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his De oratore.4 Augustus, too, in his letters written to Caius Caesar, corrects him for preferring to say calidum rather than caldum, not because calidum is not Latin, but because it is unpleasing, and, as he has himself expressed it by a Greek word, πєρίєργoν.

All this, indeed, they consider as mere ὀρθoέπєιαν, “orthoepy,” which I by no means set aside, for what is so necessary as correctness of speech? I think that we ought to adhere to it as far as possible, and to make persevering resistance against innovators—but to retain words that are obsolete and disused is a species of impertinence, and of puerile ostentation in
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little things. Let the extremely learned man, who has saluted you without an aspirate, and with the second syllable length-ened (for the verb, he will say, is avere), say also calefacere and conservavisse rather than what we say; and with these let
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him join face, dice, and the like. His way is the right way; who will deny it? But a smoother and more beaten road is close by the side of it. There is nothing, however, with which I am more offended, than that these men, led away by oblique cases, permit themselves, I do not say not to find, but even to alter nominative cases, as when ebur and robur, so spoken and written by the greatest authors, are made to change the vowel of the second syllable into o, because their genitives are roboris and eboris, and because sulpur and guttur preserve the vowel u in the genitive. For which reason also jecur and femur
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have raised disputes. This change of theirs is not less auda-cious than if they were to substitute the letter o for u in the genitive case of sulpur and guttur, because eboris and roboris are formed with o. Note the example of Antonius Gnipho, who acknowledges that robur and ebur are proper words, and even marmur, but would have the plurals of them to be robura,
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ebura, marmura. But if they had paid attention to the affinity of letters, they would have understood that roboris is as fairly formed from robur as militis, limitis, from miles, limes, or judicis, vindicis, from judex, vindex, and would have
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observed some other forms to which I have adverted above. Do not similar nominative cases, as I remarked, diverge into very dissimilar forms in the oblique cases, as Virgo, Juno; fusus, lusus; cuspis, puppis; and a thousand others? It happens, too, that some nouns are not used in the plural, others not in the singular; some are indeclinable; some depart altogether from
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the form of their nominatives, as Jupiter. The same peculiarity happens in verbs, as fero, tuli, of which the perfect is found, and nothing more. Nor is it of much importance, whether those unused parts are actually not in existence, or whether they are too harsh to be used; for what, for example, will progenies make in the genitive singular, or what will spes make in the genitive plural? Or how will quire and ruere, form themselves in the perfect passive, or in the passive participles?
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It is needless to advert to other words, when it is even uncertain whether senatus makes senatus senatui or senati senato. It appears to me, therefore, to have been not unhappily remarked that it is one thing to speak Latin, and another to speak grammar. Of analogy I have now said enough, and more than enough.

Etymology, which inquires into the origin of words, is called by Cicero notation, because its designation in Aristotle is σύμβoλoν, that is, nota5; for to a literal rendering of “word for word,” which would be veriloquium, Cicero himself, who formed that word, is averse. There are some, who, looking
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rather to the meaning of the word, call it “origination.” This part of grammar is sometimes of the utmost use; as often, indeed, as the matter, concerning which there is any dispute, stands in need of interpretation; as when Marcus Caelius would prove that he was a homo frugi, “a frugal man,” not because he was temperate (for on that point he could not speak falsely), but because he was profitable to many, that is fructuosus, from whence, he said, was derived frugality. A
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place is accordingly assigned to etymology in definitions. Sometimes, also, it endeavors to distinguish barbarous from polite words; as when a question arises whether Sicily should be called Triquetra or Triquedra, and whether we should say meridies or medidies; and similar questions concerning other
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words which yield to custom. But it carries with it much learning, whether we employ it in treating of words sprung from the Greek, which are very numerous (especially those inflected according to the Aeolic dialect to which our language has most similitude), or in inquiring from our knowledge of ancient history, into the names of men, places, nations, cities. Whence come the names of the Bruti, Publicolae, Pici; why do we say Latium, Italia, Beneventum; what is our reason for using the terms Capitol, Quirinal hill, and Argiletum?

I would now allude also to those minuter points on which the greatest lovers of etymology weary themselves: men who bring back to their true derivation, by various and manifold arts, words that have become a little distorted, by shortening or lengthening, adding, taking away, or interchanging letters or syllables. In this pursuit, through weakness of judgment, they run into the most contemptible absurdities. Let consul be (I make no objection) from “consulting” or from “judging,” for the ancients called consulere “judicare,” whence still remains the phrase rogat boni consulas, that is, bonum judices.
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Let it be old age that has given a name to the senate, for the senators are fathers; let rex, rector, and abundance of other words, be indisputably from rego; nor would I dispute the ordinary derivation of tegula, regula, and other words similar to them; let classis, also, be from calare, “to call together,” and
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let lepus be for levipes, and vulpes for volipes. But shall we also allow words to be derived from contraries, as lucus, “a grove,” from luceo, “to shine,” because, being thick with shade, parum lucet, it does not shine? As ludus, “a school,” from ludo, “to play,” because it is as far as possible from play? As Ditis, “Pluto,” from dives, “rich,” because he is by no means rich? Or shall we allow homo, “man,” to be from hu-mus, “the ground,” because he was sprung from the ground, as if all animals had not the same origin, or as if the first men had given a name to the ground before they gave one to themselves?
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Shall we allow verba, “words,” to be from aer verberatus, “beaten air”? Let us go on, and we shall get so far that stella, “a star,” will be believed to be luminis stilla, “a drop of light,” the author of which derivation, an eminent man in literature, it would be ungenerous for me to name in regard
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to a point on which he is censured by me. But those who have recorded such etymologies in books have themselves set their names to them; and Caius Granius thought himself extremely clever for saying that caelibes, “bachelors,” was the same as caelites, “inhabitants of heaven,” because they are alike free from a most heavy burden, resting his derivation, too, on an argument from the Greek, for he affirmed that ἠιθέoυς was used in the same sense. Nor does Modestus yield to him in imagination, for he says that because Saturn cut off the gen-italia of Caelus, men who have no wives are, therefore, called caelibes. Lucius Aelius declares that pituita, “phlegm,” is so
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called quia petat vitam, because “it aims at life.” But who may not be pardoned after Varro,6 who wished to persuade Cicero (for it was to him that he wrote this), that ager, “a field,” is so called because in eo agatur aliquid, “something is done in it,” and that graculos, “jackdaws,” are so named because they fly gregatim, “in flocks,” though it is evident that the one is derived from the Greek, and the other from the cries of the
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birds themselves? But of such importance was it to Varro to make derivations that merula, “a blackbird,” he declared, was so named because it flies alone, as if mera volans. Some have not hesitated to apply to etymology for the origin of every name or word; deducing Longus and Rufus, as I remarked, from personal peculiarities; strepere and murmurare from particular sounds; with which they join, also, certain derivatives, as velox, “swift,” deduced from velocitas, “swiftness,” and the greater number of compounds (as being similar to them), which, doubtless, have their origin from something, but demand no exercise of ingenuity, for which indeed except on doubtful points there is no opportunity in these investigations.

Words derived from antiquity have not only illustrious patrons, but also confer on style a certain majesty, not unattended with pleasure; for they have the authority of age, and, as they have been disused for a time, bring with them a charm
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similar to that of novelty. But there is need of moderation in the use of them, in order that they may not occur too frequently, nor show themselves too manifestly, since nothing is more detestable than affectation; nor should they be taken from a remote and already forgotten age, as are topper, “quickly,” antegerio, “very much,” exanclare, “to draw out,” prosapia, “a race,” and the verses of the Salii, which are
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scarcely understood by the priests themselves. Those verses, however, religion forbids to be changed, and we must use what has been consecrated; but how faulty is speech, of which the greatest virtue is perspicuity, if it needs an interpreter! Consequently, as the oldest of new words will be the best, so the newest of old words will be the best.

There remains, therefore, custom, for it would be almost ridiculous to prefer the language which men have spoken rather than that which they now speak. What else, indeed, is old language, but the old manner of speaking? But even for following custom, judgment is necessary; we must settle, in the
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first place, what that is which we call custom; for if custom be merely termed that which the greater number do, it will furnish a most dangerous rule, not only for language, but, what is of greater importance, for life. For where is there so much virtue that what is right can please the majority? Therefore, to pluck out hairs, to cut the hair of the head in a succession of rings, and to drink to excess in the bath–whatever country those practices may have invaded–will not become the proper custom, because no one of them is undeserving of censure. So just as we do bathe and clip our hair, and take our meals together according to custom, so, in speaking, it is not whatever has become a vicious practice with many that is to be received
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as a rule of language. For, not to mention how the ignorant commonly speak, we know that whole theatres, and all the crowd of the circus, have frequently uttered barbarous exclamations. Custom in speaking, therefore, I shall call the agreement of the educated, just as I call custom in living the agreement of the good.

1 Aeneid XII. 208; Eclogues III. 69; Eclogues I. 15.

² Lucilius, IX. 5, 357.

³ The Halm text has ni ita pacunt.

⁴ De oratore XLVI. 155. Quintilian’s sarcasm in these passages is directed against those who cling blindly to rigid rules of analogy, regardless of usage.

⁵ Topics VIII. 35.

⁶ De lingua latina V. 34 and 76.