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thought it more urgent to establish vast treasuries of languages as actually spoken than to follow the development of any one language from century to century. Thus we see that the great philosopher Leibniz, who took much interest in linguistic pursuits and to whom we owe many judicious utterances on the possibility of a universal language, instigated Peter the Great to have vocabularies and specimens collected of all the various languages of his vast empire. To this initiative taken by Leibniz, and to the great personal interest that the Empress Catherine II took in these studies, we owe, directly or indirectly, the great repertories of all languages then known, first Pallas’s Linguarum totius orbis vocabularia comparativa (1786–87), then Hervas’s Catálogo de las lenguas de las naziones conocidas (1800–5), and finally Adelung’s Mithridates oder allgemeine Sprachenkunde (1806–17). In spite of their inevitable shortcomings, their uncritical and unequal treatment of many languages, the preponderance of lexical over grammatical information, and the use of biblical texts as their sole connected illustrations, these great works exercised a mighty influence on the linguistic thought and research of the time, and contributed very much to the birth of the linguistic science of the nineteenth century. It should not be forgotten, moreover, that Hervas was one of the first to recognize the superior importance of grammar to vocabulary for deciding questions of relationship between languages.

      It will be well here to consider the manner in which languages and the teaching of languages were generally viewed during the centuries preceding the rise of Comparative Linguistics. The chief language taught was Latin; the first and in many cases the only grammar with which scholars came into contact was Latin grammar. No wonder therefore that grammar and Latin grammar came in the minds of most people to be synonyms. Latin grammar played an enormous rôle in the schools, to the exclusion of many subjects (the pupil’s own native language, science, history, etc.) which we are now beginning to think more essential for the education of the young. The traditional term for ‘secondary school’ was in England ‘grammar school’ and in Denmark ‘latinskole,’ and the reason for both expressions was obviously the same. Here, however, we are concerned with this privileged position of Latin grammar only in so far as it influenced the treatment of languages in general. It did so in more ways than one.

      Latin was a language with a wealth of flexional forms, and in describing other languages the same categories as were found in Latin were applied as a matter of course, even where there was nothing in these other languages which really corresponded to what was found in Latin. In English and Danish grammars paradigms of noun declension were given with such cases as accusative, dative and ablative, in spite of the fact that no separate forms for these cases had existed for centuries. All languages were indiscriminately saddled with the elaborate Latin system of tenses and moods in the verbs, and by means of such Procrustean methods the actual facts of many languages were distorted and misrepresented. Discriminations which had no foundation in reality were nevertheless insisted on, while discriminations which happened to be non-existent in Latin were apt to be overlooked. The mischief consequent on this unfortunate method of measuring all grammar after the pattern of Latin grammar has not even yet completely disappeared, and it is even now difficult to find a single grammar of any language that is not here and there influenced by the Latin bias.

      Latin was chiefly taught as a written language (witness the totally different manner in which Latin was pronounced in the different countries, the consequence being that as early as the sixteenth century French and English scholars were unable to understand each other’s spoken Latin). This led to the almost exclusive occupation with letters instead of sounds. The fact that all language is primarily spoken and only secondarily written down, that the real life of language is in the mouth and ear and not in the pen and eye, was overlooked, to the detriment of a real understanding of the essence of language and linguistic development; and very often where the spoken form of a language was accessible scholars contented themselves with a reading knowledge. In spite of many efforts, some of which go back to the sixteenth century, but which did not become really powerful till the rise of modern phonetics in the nineteenth century, the fundamental significance of spoken as opposed to written language has not yet been fully appreciated by all linguists. There are still too many writers on philological questions who have evidently never tried to think in sounds instead of thinking in letters and symbols, and who would probably be sorely puzzled if they were to pronounce all the forms that come so glibly to their pens. What Sweet wrote in 1877 in the preface to his Handbook of Phonetics is perhaps less true now than it was then, but it still contains some elements of truth. “Many instances,” he said, “might be quoted of the way in which important philological facts and laws have been passed over or misrepresented through the observer’s want of phonetic training. Schleicher’s failing to observe the Lithuanian accents, or even to comprehend them when pointed out by Kurschat, is a striking instance.” But there can be no doubt that the way in which Latin has been for centuries made the basis of all linguistic instruction is largely responsible for the preponderance of eye-philology to ear-philology in the history of our science.

      We next come to a point which to my mind is very important, because it concerns something which has had, and has justly had, enduring effects on the manner in which language, and especially grammar, is viewed and taught to this day. What was the object of teaching Latin in the Middle Ages and later? Certainly not the purely scientific one of imparting knowledge for knowledge’s own sake, apart from any practical use or advantage, simply in order to widen the spiritual horizon and to obtain the joy of pure intellectual understanding. For such a purpose some people with scientific leanings may here and there take up the study of some out-of-the-way African or American idiom. But the reasons for teaching and learning Latin were not so idealistic. Latin was not even taught and learnt solely with the purpose of opening the doors to the old classical or to the more recent religious literature in that language, but chiefly, and in the first instance, because Latin was a practical and highly important means of communication between educated people. One had to learn not only to read Latin, but also to write Latin, if one wanted to maintain no matter how humble a position in the republic of learning or in the hierarchy of the Church. Consequently, grammar was not (even primarily) the science of how words were inflected and how forms were used by the old Romans, but chiefly and essentially the art of inflecting words and of using the forms yourself, if you wanted to write correct Latin. This you must say, and these faults you must avoid—such were the lessons imparted in the schools. Grammar was not a set of facts observed but of rules to be observed, and of paradigms, i.e. of patterns, to be followed. Sometimes this character of grammatical instruction is expressly indicated in the form of the precepts given, as in such memorial verses as this: “Tolle -me, -mi, -mu, -mis, Si declinare domus vis!” In other words, grammar was prescriptive rather than descriptive.

      The current definition of grammar, therefore, was “ars bene dicendi et bene scribendi,” “l’art de bien dire et de bien écrire,” the art of speaking and writing correctly. J. C. Scaliger said, “Grammatici unus finis est recte loqui.” To attain to correct diction (‘good grammar’) and to avoid faulty diction (‘bad grammar’), such were the two objects of grammatical teaching. Now, the same point of view, in which the two elements of ‘art’ and of ‘correctness’ entered so largely, was applied not only to Latin, but to other languages as well, when the various vernaculars came to be treated grammatically.

      The vocabulary, too, was treated from the same point of view. This is especially evident in the case of the dictionaries issued by the French and Italian Academies. They differ from dictionaries as now usually compiled in being not collections of all and any words their authors could get hold of within the limits of the language concerned, but in being selections of words deserving the recommendations of the best arbiters of taste and therefore fit to be used in the highest literature by even the most elegant or fastidious writers. Dictionaries thus understood were less descriptions of actual usage than prescriptions for the best usage of words.

      The normative way of viewing language is fraught with some great dangers which can only be avoided through a comprehensive knowledge of the historic development of languages and of the general conditions of linguistic psychology. Otherwise, the tendency everywhere is to draw too narrow limits for what is allowable or correct. In many cases one form, or one construction, only is recognized, even where two or more are found in actual speech; the question which is to be

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