The Contemporary Review, Volume 36, November 1879Various
Philosophy
The Contemporary Review, Volume 36, November 1879
Various
Arts -- Periodicals; Literature -- Periodicals; Political science -- Periodicals
That all of us, whether we speak English or German, or French or
Russian, are really speaking an ancient Oriental tongue, incredible as
it would have sounded a hundred years ago, is now admitted by everybody.
Though the various dialects now spoken in Europe have been separated
many thousands of years from the Sanskrit, the ancient classical
language of India, yet so unbroken is the bond that holds the West and
East together that in many cases an intelligent Englishman might still
guess the meaning of a Sanskrit word. How little difference is there
between Sanskrit _sûnu_ and English _son_, between Sanskrit _duhitar_
and English _daughter_, between Sanskrit _vid_, to know, and English _to
wit_, between Sanskrit _vaksh_, to grow, and English _to wax_! Think how
we value a Saxon urn, or a Roman coin, or a Celtic weapon! how we dig
for them, clean them, label them, and carefully deposit them in our
museums! Yet what is their antiquity compared with the antiquity of such
words as _son_ or _daughter_, _father_ and _mother_? There are no
monuments older than those collected in the handy volumes which we call
Dictionaries, and those who know how to interpret those English
antiquities--as you may see them interpreted, for instance, in Grimm's
Dictionary of the German, in Littré's Dictionary of the French, or in
Professor Skeats' Etymological Dictionary of the English Language--will
learn more of the real growth of the human mind than by studying many
volumes on logic and psychology.
And as by our language we belong to the Aryan stratum, we belong through
our letters to the Hamitic. We still write English in hieroglyphics; and
in spite of all the vicissitudes through which the ancient hieroglyphics
have passed in their journey from Egypt to Phœnicia, from Phœnicia to
Greece, from Greece to Italy, and from Italy to England, when we write a
capital F {script F}, when we draw the top line and the smaller line
through the middle of the letter, we really draw the two horns of the
cerastes, the horned serpent which the ancient Egyptians used for
representing the sound of f. They write the name of the king whom the
Greeks called _Cheops_, and they themselves _Chu-fu_, like this:[9]
{Illustration:
+---------+
| sieve | chu
| serpent | fu
| bird | u
+---------+ }
Here the first sign, the sieve, is to be pronounced _chu_; the second,
the horned serpent, _fu_, and the little bird, again, _u_. In the more
cursive or Hieratic writing the horned serpent appears as {symbol}; in
the later Demotic as {symbol} and {symbol}. The Phœnicians, who borrowed
their letters from the Hieratic Egyptian, wrote {symbol} and {symbol}.
The Greeks, who took their letters from the Phœnicians, wrote {symbol}.
When the Greeks, instead of writing like the Phœnicians from right to
left, began to write from left to right, they turned each letter, and as
{symbol} became K, our k, so {symbol}, vau, became F, the Greek
so-called Digamma, the Latin F.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account