CHAPTER 4
Direct Questions, Irregular
Verbs, Compound Verbs
The singular imperative form
fer is paralleled by irregularities in the singular imperatives
of dico, duco and facio: dic, duc,
fac (which survives in the English words “facsimile” [= “fax”]
and “factotum”, literally “make a similar one” and “do everything”.
Unlike ferte, the corresponding plural imperatives of those other
verbs are regular: dicite, ducite, facite. dice,
duce and face, but not fere, are all attested in early
Latin; it is not clear why the irregularity arose.
Latin, like English and the
Romance languages, but unlike classical Greek or German, is not, in
general, a free-compounding language, employing nouns and adjectives
as well as prepositions and verbs to form complex words. (A remarkable
exception is suovetaurilia, the sacrifice of a pig [sus],
a sheep [ovis] and a bull [taurus].) The poet Horace was
scornful and suspicious about sesquipedalia verba “words a
foot and a half long”. The longest word in Latin till well after the
classical period is the comic coinage subductisupercilicarptor
“a person who criticizes, drawing his eyebrows from below”, a mere
24 letters. (In his Rudimenta Grammatices, the most widely used
Latin grammar in Italy and many other parts of Europe at the end of
the Quattrocento, Niccolò Perotti parades Dioclitianopolitanissimorum
[27 letters], a rather improbable superlative form of “the citizens
of Dioclitianopolis”, while both Dante and Shakespeare cite forms
of the honorificabilitudinitas, which had appeared in grammar
books as early as the Carolingian period. In its longest form, the dative/ablative
plural, this word can be anagrammatized into hi ludi F. Baconis nati
tuiti orbi “these plays, F. Bacon's offspring, are preserved for
the world”, a rather clumsy phrase lending putative support to the
theory that Francis Bacon wrote Shakespeare's plays. [The word also
has the curious distinction of being composed of alternating consonants
and vowels, none of which is an e, even though that is the most
frequent letter in Latin.] Dante also offers as an Italian word sovramagnificentissimamente
[27 letters].
German compounds such as
Saucissenkartoffelbreisauerkra
or
Oberammergaueralpenkräuterdeli
sound rather indigestible.
The longest word in Greek, which has much greater facility than Latin for compounding words, is an Aristophanic concoction, describing an extravagant gallimaufry of various types of food in 171 letters:
The 4th century BC comedian
Anaxandrides lists 100 delicacies in an impressively remorseless catalog
quoted at Athenaeus Wise Men at Dinner
131d. (It is often hard to detect an intellectual stratum in
Greek Comedy.) An anonymous six-line epigram quoted by Athenaeus at
162a, consists of a mere 14 words, all except two (both καί
[kai (‘and’)] being derogatory terms for philosophers; the
first means ‘sons of drawers up of eyebrows’ and is only 15 letters
long, not a match for subductisupercilicarptor, but the length
of the 12 compounds ranges from 14 to 20 letters, a sustained feat that
Latin never comes close to equalling.
The prize in English probably goes to James Joyce for his 100-letter “thunderwords” in Finnegans Wake, words such as
(with the not very apparent
meaning of “cough”), but the longest admitted to the second edition
of the OED is pneumonoultramicro-
Not only is Latin not a free-compounding
language, but the Romans’ attitude towards the creation of new words
was very conservative:
“Live your life according
to the customs of the old days, speak with up-to-date vocabulary, and
always remember and keep in your heart what Julius Caesar, a man of
outstanding intellect and judgment, wrote in the first book of his
On Analogy: ‘avoid an unusual word which you have not heard before,
just as you would steer clear of a reef in the sea’” (Aulus Gellius,
Attic Nights 1.10.4).
Although Latin is not a free-compounding
language, it managed to create compound words for the droppings of mice,
pigs and sheep (respectively muscerdae, sucerdae, and
ovicerdae [this last is of slightly doubtful manuscript authority]),
and perhaps other specific types that happen not to have been transmitted.
There are no generally applicable
principles for the changes made in assimilation; ab, ob
and sub, for example, produce three quite different variations
in abstuli, obtuli and sustuli. In making this
same point, that prepositions may change when forming compound words,
Quintilian cites abstulit, aufugit, amisit, all
using the one preposition, ab (Education of the Orator
1.6).
Sometimes assimilation was
not applied at all; whereas, for example, cum is always altered
in compounds, to co- or cog- or col- or com-
or con- or cor-, and the same writer might alternate inconsistently
between, for example, affero and the unassimilated adfero.
(It would usually be more accurate to say that the medieval scribes
to whom we largely owe our texts of classical writers concerned themselves
very little about these matters, and varied the forms with minimal thought
for consistency.) Since the assimilated forms require more attention,
they will be used in this course.
Here is a list of prefixes
used in compounding verbs, but not found separately. Ancient grammarians
refer to such prefixes by the rather charming term loquellares,
“little bits of speech”:
amb- “around” (e.g. ambire “go around”, ambitio, ambitionis fem. 3 “going around [canvassing for votes]”),
dis- “apart” (e.g. dispello, dispellere, dispuli, dispulsum 3 “drive apart”),
por- “forward” (e.g. porrigo, porrigere, porrexi, porrectum 3 “extend”),
re- “back”, “again” (e.g. redire “return”, where the d is added simply to aid pronunciation),
se- “apart”
(e.g. seduco, seducere, seduxi, seductum
3 “lead astray”, seditio, seditionis fem. 3 “going
apart” [= “revolution”]).
perire is very rarely
used in its literal sense. Why “go through” should mean “die”
is unclear; it presumably alludes to the notion of passing from life
to death. Similarly, the standard word for “kill” is interficere,
a compound of inter “between” and facere, but the
implication of the preposition is again unclear.
interficere is not used
in the Romance languages. Some of the standard Romance words for “kill”
are also obscure. The Span./Port. matar [cf. matador]
may be derived from the Latin mactare “slaughter”, but it
has been suggested that it is related to the Persian shah mat
“the king is dead” [i.e. checkmate], reflecting the long occupation
of the Iberian peninsula by the Arabs. The French tuer seems
to be a grim euphemism, derived from tutari
[for this form of the present infinitive, see Chapter 15] “take care
of”.
Since the Italian uccidere
comes from occidere (a compound of ob and cadere),
that term also must have been current in spoken Latin. St. Augustine
(Heptateuch Questions 7.56) interestingly notes that Christians
preferred the gentler terms occurrere “run into” and compendiare
“abridge” (with which he compares the military slang allevare,
literally “lighten”).
Good English style resists
the placing of prepositions at the end of a clause (as in e.g. “This
is the sort of word-order I will not put up with”, to say nothing
of “It was snowing hard, but not hard enough to come back in out of
from”). Latin does not separate prepositions from verbs in this way.
Latin does not generally favor
the compounding of a verb with more than one prefix: “The wolf goes
from the house to the cave” is best translated as lupus ad speluncam
a casa abit or adit. (
would look bizarre to a Roman.) Other than with re-, which significantly
is one of the few verbal prefixes which are not prepositions (see above),
there are only occasional exceptions. abadit
For example, recolligo
(re + cum + lego) “gather together again”,
recompono (re + cum + pono) “place together
again” [“decompose” does not go back to classical Latin], reconduco
(re + cum + duco) “lead together again”,
repercutio (re + per +cutio), literally “strike
back thoroughly”.
Such double compounds occur
mostly in poetry, and many are very striking. Vergil twice uses transadigere,
compounded of trans “across” + ad “to” + ago,
agere, egi, actum 3 “drive”. At Aeneid
12.270ff., hasta .../... iuvenem .../transadigit costas (“the
spear pierced the young man in the ribs”), the weapon (sc. hasta
“spear”) is the subject and the prepositions govern two accusatives,
iuvenem and costas. At lines 505ff. of the same book,
Aeneas ...//transadigit costas ... ensem “Aeneas drove his sword
(at and) through his ribs”, the construction and sense are different,
the weapon (sc. ensem “sword”) being the direct object
of the verb, leaving only costas to be governed by the prepositions.
Only direct questions (e.g.
“Do you like pigs?”, “Where are the pigs?”) will be considered
in this chapter. Indirect questions (e.g. “The farmer asked the pirate
whether he liked pigs”, “I know where the pigs are”) will be introduced
in Chapter 25.
The Romans themselves did not
have a universally accepted system of punctuation in the classical period.
The question-mark is thought to be derived from qo,
an abbreviation for quaestio, “question”, written occasionally
by scribes at the end of interrogative sentences. The decision to punctuate
as a question or not is one which a modern editor of a classical text
routinely makes with little or no guidance from the manuscripts. The
problem is particularly acute in the dialogues of Roman drama. It would
make sense to inform readers at the start of a sentence that what they
are reading is not a statement, but a question, would it not? ¿Why
is Spanish the only language in the world to have introduced the logical
refinement of indicating questions and exclamations at the beginning
of such sentences?
It may seem a bizarre fact
that Latin has no simple equivalent to “Yes”. A periphrasis, such
as ita vero “so indeed” or minime “(not) in the
least”, may be used, or the verb may be repeated from the question,
as e.g. audisne, agricola, piratam? audio. Likewise, there is
no word for “No”. A negative response to audisne, agricola, piratam?
might be non audio. Much the same principles of affirmation and
negation are used in many other languages; e.g. classical Greek, Chinese,
Irish and other Celtic languages.
The phonetic variations between
the two main branches of medieval French were characterized by their
different ways of saying “yes”: the langue d’oïl (derived
from the Latin hoc ille, literally “that man (does/says) this
(thing)”, and the origin of the modern oui) was spoken north
of the Loire, and developed into standard modern French; the langue
d’oc (simply hoc “this”) developed into Occitan, still
spoken by more than two million people in the Languedoc and other parts
of southern France.
The use of si in Italian,
la lingua del si, and other Romance languages to mean “yes”
is derived from sic “thus”. French uses si specifically
to contradict a negative statement, as in “Vergil is not a good poet.
Yes, he is”. German uses doch for this purpose, but modern
English lacks such a refinement: in Old and Middle English, simple affirmation
was expressed by “yea”, whereas “yes” was the equivalent to
French si and German doch.
The standard French negation
ne ... pas, as in Je ne sais pas “I do not know”, is
derived, by fine semantic bleaching, from non “not”
and passus, a 4th decl. Latin noun meaning “step”, i.e. as
if it were “I have made no progress towards knowing”.
Although nonne is by
far the most regular way to mark a question expecting a positive response,
some writers preferred to introduce such questions as if they were open
questions (i.e. with or without the marker -ne), and then insert
non later in the sentence: agricola(ne) nautam
non videt?
It is also possible to use
markers other than nonne or num in asking leading questions;
for example, when he wished to save a defendant from the ghastly punishment
for parricide, Augustus is said to have asked him certe
patrem tuum non occidisti? “Of course, you didn’t kill your
father?” (Suetonius, Life of Augustus 33).
“The traditional punishment
for parricide is as follows: the condemned person is beaten with blood-colored
sticks, then sewn up in a sack with a dog, a rooster, a viper and a
monkey, and thrown into the deep sea, if the sea is nearby; otherwise,
in accordance with the law passed by the deified Hadrian, he is thrown
to wild beasts” (Justinian’s Digest 48.9.9). Monkeys are
not indigenous to Italy; their use in punishing parricides is not mentioned
till the end of the 1st century AD. In 100 BC, Publicius Malleus, who
had murdered his mother, was the first to be sewn in a sack and thrown
into the sea (Livy, History of Rome Summary of Book 68). Seneca
claims that this punishment was inflicted more frequently by Claudius
in a five-year period than throughout all earlier time (On Mercy
1.23).
The double question “Do you
love the sailor or the farmer?” can be asked in four different ways:
utrum nautam an agricolam amas?
utrum nautam anne agricolam amas?
nautam an agricolam amas?
nautam anne agricolam
amas?
Such sentences are formulated,
however, much more frequently with an than with anne.
For questions introduced by
interrogative pronouns and pronominal adjectives (i.e. “Who … ?”,
“Which sailor … ?” etc.), see Chapter 18.
Latin has very few irregular
verbs. Apart from sum, possum, eo, and fero,
the only other ones you will meet in this course are the closely related
volo, nolo, and malo (all in Chapter 10), and fio
(Chapter 15). One or more of the tenses of these verbs, usually only
the present, must be learned individually.
These verbs are conventionally
called “irregular”, even though it might be more accurate to describe
them as “unpredictable”. The form sum, for example, although
it seems so remote from equivalent verb-forms in -o, is quite
explicable as a development of a regular IndoEuropean form. It is, however,
neither helpful nor reassuring to the beginner to know that sum,
es and est follow the same “regular” IndoEuropean system
as do am, are and is; we have to regard them as
irregular forms. As an example of what might be called the “hidden
regularity” of esse and posse, the use of -se
rather than -re in the present infinitive active appears also
in other “irregular” verbs: ferre (= ferse), velle
and its compounds nolle and malle (= velse,
nolse, malse).
Spanish has two verbs meaning
“to be”, ser (derived from esse) and estar
(derived from stare “stand”), which distinguish between permanent
and temporary conditions: soy espagñol “I am Spanish”, but
estoy cansado “I am tired”; Latin does not make such a distinction.
In the sentence Acquí está la llave (“Here is the key”),
está (“is”) is a form of estar, and is used in denoting
the location of the key. In the sentence ’A key’ es una llave
(“’A key’ is una llave”), es (“is”) is a form
of the verb ser, derived from the Latin esse (“be”),
and states that llave is now and always is the word for “key”.
Latin has only the one verb, esse, for both such functions.
A cap(p)ella
singing has nothing to do with goats (capellae). It is music
“in the manner of the chapel” [an abbreviation of Ital. alla
cap(p)ella]. On the other hand, one the most favored
suggestions for the origin of the term “tragedy” is τράγου ᾠδή
(tragou ode “goat-song”), a goat (τράγος [tragos)
being given as a prize for the best song (ᾠδή [ode]) in honor of Dionysus,
the god of drama; goats were an appropriate sacrifice to Dionysus because
they damaged his sacred vines.
The constellation and astrological
sign Capricorn is often associated with Amalthea, the she-goat which
suckled the infant Jupiter on Crete; according to that version of the
legend, Capellaecornu would be a more accurate name. (For
caper, capri masc. 2 “he-goat”, see Chapter 5). The Romans
often seem, however, to take no account of grammatical gender: despite
the obvious fact that only the cock-bird has a magnificent tail, at
Amores 2.6.55 explicat ipsa suas ales Iunonia pinnas “The
bird of Juno [i.e. the peacock] spreads out its wings of its own accord”,
Ovid uses the third declension feminine noun ales, alitis
“bird”, its gender being reinforced by the feminine form of the
adjective Iunonia.