Chapter III · THE BEHAVIOR OF WORDS

The Words for Colors.

Any subdivision of the vocabulary could with profit be set aside for particular study. Let us concentrate on the names for the colors, and learn from them what they have to teach of the development of man and his speech. The chief Sanskrit name for the abstract idea color is varna, derived from var, to cover. Color, therefore, was conceived originally as the result of the act of covering or smearing or painting. Our word, from the Lat. color, is connected with oc-cultare, to hide; also with Gr. chroma, color, from Gr. chros, skin. Another Sanskrit root for painting is ang, from which comes Lat. unguere, to besmear, to anoint, and Sanskrit ak-tu, ointment, dark tinge, night, and likewise light tinge or ray of light, from which Gr. aktis. Here we have the first indication that the original conception of colors did not distinguish clearly between them.

As Bucke’s “Cosmic Consciousness” indicates, the primitive Aryans, perhaps 15,000 years ago, perceived or were conscious of only one color. Primitive man of this time saw no difference of tint between blue sky, green leaves, brown or gray earth, and the golden or purple clouds of sunrise and sunset. Pictet finds no color word whatever in primitive Indo-European speech; Max Muller finds no Sanskrit root with reference to any definite color. At a later period, but before the oldest literary compositions that have come down to us, the color sense developed into an appreciation of two colors, black and red. The most ancient games, such as chess and checkers, have black and red pieces. About the time that the Rig Veda was composed, yellow was perceived as a separate third color. Later came white, and then green. But throughout the Rig Veda, the Zend Avesta, and the Bible the color of the sky is not once mentioned, and was not recognized. The 10,000 lines of the Rig-Veda are largely concerned with a description of the sky; the Bible mentions the sky and heaven more than 430 times; neither mentions the color of the sky. The 48 long books of the Odyssey and Iliad make no reference to it, despite the crystal clarity of blue Mediterranean skies. 4,000, perhaps 3,000 years ago, blue was unrecognized; the subsequent names for blue were all merged in the names for black. Xenophanes knew of only three colors of the rainbow—purple, red, and yellow; Aristotle spoke of the tri-colored rainbow; Democritus knew only four colors, black, red, white, and yellow.

Let us trace down the words for color, and find how these abstract conceptions were first phrased. Starting with the word black, we trace it through M. E. bleke, A. S. blaec (confused with a related word meaning shining, white, etc., whence bleak), O. H. G. blah, black; Icel. blakkr, dark, dusky; Sw. black, grayish; Dan. blak, dark; and so on back to a verb appearing in Dan. blaken, burn, scorch; M. L. G. blaken, burn with much smoke; L. G. verblekken, scorch, as the sun scorches grain. This in turn is akin to Lat. flagrare, Gr. phlegein, to burn; flagrant, flame, phlegm, anti-phlogiston are from this root. From the bleak form of the ancestry, going back to Sanskrit bhraj, as did the black meaning, akin to Gr. phlegein, burn, Lat. fulgere, shine, we get the Eng. blank, blink, blanch, bleach, bright. The Lat. niger, black, whence negro, etc., is remotely kin to the Sanskrit nic, night. Thus the original meaning of the root of black is primarily to burn, to scorch—a physical fact.

Red, the second color to be distinguished, goes back through Teutonic equivalents to A. S. reodan, make red, kill; akin to Lat. ruber (for ruthr-), Gr. eruthros, red; Lat. rufus, red; rubidus, dark red (whence ruby), russus and rutilus, reddish. The Ir. Gael, has ruadh, Welsh rhudd, red; Bulg., Bohem., Russ., and other languages use similar terms. Sanskrit has rudhira, red, blood. Thus blood was the original meaning. In M. Eng., it was pronounced like reed; thus the proper names Read, Reade, Reed, Reid, as well as Redd, are forms of it; although at times these names came from other stems. The synonym scarlet has already been traced through Turkish and Persian sources to Lat. sigillatus, from signum, a mark. Vermilion, vermeil, come from Lat. vermiculus, a little worm, used for the cochineal-insect which gave crimson and carmine. These two words in turn both come from kermes, the cochineal-insect, Sanskrit krimija, produced by an insect, from krimi, worm. Our worm is from the same source. Carnation is from the Lat. root meaning flesh, more originally a part, something divided (as food). Gules is akin to gullet; lake from Sanskrit laksha, the lac-insect. Lobster-red is from the Lat. locusta, shell-insect. Maroon meant a chestnut—chestnut-colored; pink, M. E. pinken, to prick, was a nasalized form of pick; the color use came from the flower, named for its jagged edges. Peach we have traced back to “Persian apple”; rose comes from an ancient root meaning the flower, whence the color name. Flush came from flash, akin to Scandinavian words meaning blaze or passion; florid meant flowery; blush, another Scandinavian word meaning blaze, torch, etc. Thus red and its synonyms have the physical origins of (1) blood, (2) a mark, (3) a little worm, (4) flesh or a part, (5) gullet or throat, (6) an insect, (7) a shell insect, (8) the chestnut, (9) to prick, (10) Persian apple, (11) the rose, (12) blaze, (13) flowery, (14) torch. From the stem (3) alone we get vermilion, vermeil, crimson, carmine, worm, vermin, and many others. When man wanted a name for the abstract color akin to blood, the cochineal insect, etc., he used the words already applied to these things.

Yellow, the third color, from M. E. yelow, yelwe, zelwe, yolwe, zelu, etc., A. S. geolu, goes back to Lat. helvus, light yellow; akin to Gr. chloa, verdure, chloros, yellowish-green; Lithuanian zalias, green; Sanskrit hari, yellow. It traces back thus to the light green of verdure. Gold received its name from the same stem. Ochre meant originally pale; aureate, golden, came from the Sanskrit ushas, dawn from ush, burn. Other words from this Sanskrit root are Auster, the South wind; helios, the sun; East. It thus meant “the burning thing.” Saffron, a product of dried crocus, was named for its color. Fallow meant pallid; flavous is part of the flame, flagrant stem meaning burning, as is fulvid. Lurid comes from the same stem as yellow; topaz was named for its brightness, from Sanskrit tapas, heat. Thus the words meaning yellow split off from the light green of growing things, or from the stems meaning to burn.

White, the fourth color, M. E. hwit, D. wit, Icel. hvitr, traces back to Sanskrit cveta, white, from cvit, be white, or shine. From the same stem comes wheat, whittle, etc. The bleak stem we have already traced, in its kinship through Gr. phlegein to the word meaning black. Blanch, to make white, comes from the same stem, as does bleach; argent meant originally silvery; blond, originally yellow, has a lost origin.

Green, the fifth color, is comparatively simple in origin. To give its full kinships, we have M. E. grene, A. S. grene, O. North, groene, groeni, O. S. groni, O. Fries., grene, Dan. groen, M. L. G. grone, L. G. gron, O. H. G. gruoni, M. H. G. gruene, Ger. grun, Icel. graenn, Sw. Dan. gron; from the A. S. growan, to grow, with the formative -ni. To the same root belong grow, grass, perhaps, gorse.

Blue goes back through the Teutonic speeches to M. Lat. blavus, blavius, Dan. blaa, blue, livid; perhaps from Lat. flavvus, yellow—color names being inevitably variable in their early application. Indigo gets its name by a simple transference from the East Indian plant, and meant literally Indian.

Of the other colors, brown goes back to Gr. phruros, brown, from phruros, a toad; compare Lat. rubeta, a toad, ruber, reddish. It is Sanskrit bhru, reddish-brown, plus the formative -ni. Gray is a Teutonic word meaning gray; its origin is obscure, and is not connected with gray (with age) from greis, an old man, whence grizzle, nor from the Gr. graios, old. Orange, formed to resemble Lat. aurum. gold, had originally an initial n-, and came from Persian naranj, an orange; compare Pers. nar, a pomegranate. Purple is from Lat. purpura, the purple fish; Gr. porphura, same; apparently originally from Gr. phurein, to mix or mingle. Violet is named from the flower, coming as a diminutive from the Latin; puce, from the Fr. word meaning a flea; plum (as also prune) from the Greek word meaning a plum; lilac, properly the indigo plant originally, came with alternation of initial consonant, from the Sanskrit nila, dark blue, indigo. Lavender was that used in washing; compare lave, lavatory. Amethyst, Gr. amethustos, from a combination meaning a remedy for drunkenness. Our mead, strong drink, comes from the same Gr. stem methu, strong drink.

This, then, is a brief survey of the way our names for colors came into the language. Comparative philology is able to ascertain with some accuracy the order and the comparative periods at which colors were first distinguished by man; and the results of this study are paralleled, as Bucke points out, in a physical study of the nature of color waves, and by a psychological study of color, color-blindness, and the rare occurrence of color in dreams, when measured against a similar study of human ability to recognize and differentiate other sensory impressions. This has, too, a practical value. It is an interesting fact that an untinted photograph to most people resembles the original more than a tinted one. When we look at an uncolored picture, or an uncolored moving picture, we are looking through the eyes of our ancestors of some fifteen thousand years ago; the process is accordingly restful. If certain colors are added, say the red for fire scenes in the movies, this too is restful; for red was the first color split off from the uniform gray-blackness of the original. In most dreams we are entirely unaware of color, and yet find the dream-world entirely natural. The practical lesson may be applied, among other things, to the proposition for colored movies. It is quite possible that these will never be as restful or satisfying as the uncolored ones.

Generalization and Specialization.

Language grows in an unbelievably haphazard manner. First, of course, came specific names; much later from these were chosen terms to describe collective and then abstract things. Many languages today show a queer absence of collective and abstract terms, such as we regard as indispensable. The aboriginal Tasmanians, as Jespersen points out, had no terms whatever for abstract things. They had names for each species of gum-tree, wattle-tree, etc., but no class name for tree. They had no names for general conceptions, such as hard, soft, warm, cold, long, short, etc. The Society Islanders, in like manner, can talk of a dog’s tail, sheep’s tail, etc., but have no general name for tail.

To the contrary, modern cultured languages pass through a period where they glory in a great number of general terms of slightly different meaning, many of which later on die a natural death. Thus the English language speaks of a flock of birds or sheep, a drove of cattle or swine, a herd of cattle, a bevy of quail, a covey of partridges, a swarm of bees, a school of fish, and (in slang) a bunch of men. A similar lack of proper generalization appears in cow-byre, horse-stable, dog-kennel, pig-sty, dove-cote, falcon-mews, rabbit-hutch. The wealth of terms such as horse, mare, filly, stallion, foal, colt; cow, calf, heifer, bull, steer, ox; calf, colt, lamb, puppy, fawn, kid, cub, shoat, farrow, cygnet, duckling, parr, smolt, for offspring, and cow, mare, ewe, doe, bitch, heifer, sow, hen, goose, duck, for females points to the time when animals, for breeding and hunting, had much greater importance in man’s eyes than today. We have rooster, cock, cockerel, chantecleer, hen, pullet, chicken, chick, but no class name for the family; we have no class name for the group led by Mr. Bull and Mrs. Cow. Sea-life has given rise to a large number of unrelated words descriptive of boats, such as ship, boat, brig, sloop, schooner, wherry, shallop, dinghy, punt.

Scene was originally a Greek theatrical term meaning tent; it grew into booth (on a stage), stage, and at last into the more universal meaning today. Person was originally from Lat. persona, an actor in a play, named from his mask with large mouth for the sound to pass through, from per-sonare, to sound through. The impersonal thing traces back to a Teutonic stem meaning assembly or council. Many of our simplest word-elements have been generalized a long way from their original meaning. The earliest prepositions cannot be traced with certainty; but, among later ones, around gets its second element through Fr. from Lat. rotundus, derived from rota, wheel, whence rotate; while among goes back to O. E. ongemang, in the crowd; the second element being derived from the verb gemengan, to mingle.

The most obvious way to specialize the meaning of a word is to add a qualifying word. For example, by the addition of Indian to the word corn, which meant grain in general, the name Indian corn stood for the American grain whose native name was maize. Similarly, engine, mechanical device, was used to form steam engine for a specific device. During the last century the associated words became unnecessary; so that corn and engine, in America today, mean maize and the steam-engine. Similarly pipe has come to mean tobacco pipe; poise, mental poise; conceit, self conceit; execute, execute a capital sentence; corpse, dead corpse.

The auxiliary verbs in English are colorless survivals of once specific action-verbs. The conjugation of to be includes three distinct stems: the am, is, are element probably with an original meaning to breathe; the was and were originally meaning to dwell; the be, being, been originally meaning to grow. Do meant originally to put or place; compare don, to put on (garments), and its opposite doff, to take off. Shall goes back to the earlier meaning of owe; will, to wish or intend.

Euphemism and Hyperbole.

It was once a common belief that there was a definite connection between a thing and its name. A savage will not give his name to a stranger, lest he thereby place himself in the stranger’s power. The name of a god must not be mentioned, or his power will pass to the hearer; thus we do not have the original name of the Hebrew deity derived from the Kenites who is now the Christian god, but only a late representation of it in the sacred tetragrammaton, or four-letter-word, J-H-V-H, usually misread Jehovah, but more closely rendered as Jahweh, pronounced Yahweh (compare pronunciation of last syllable of hallelu-jah). Open sesame was the Arabic phrase that opened the cave to Ali Baba. The word charm, Lat. carmen, a song, indicated the belief in the magic properties of words when sung; enchantment (Lat. cantus, song) points to the same thing.

In illustration, the dreaded bear has no name in the Balto-Slavic or Teutonic tongue. Direct naming of the evil animal was avoided by phrases like the eater of honey, the noise maker, the brown, or the licker. Similarly the Lapps, Finns, and Esthonians avoided direct reference through such substitute names as the glory of the forest, the old one, the hairy one, proud honey foot, big foot. The Irish even today never refer to the fairies, or shee (compare banshee); they are the gentry, the good people, the little people. The devil is the Old Gentleman, the Old Boy, etc. Deities today are preferably referred to as the Almighty, the Creator, the Lord, the Savior, the Redeemer, Our Lady, Madonna, etc. The Greeks timidly spoke of the Furies as the Eumenides, the gracious goddesses. Rulers are still addressed indirectly as your Majesty, your excellency, your highness. A servant is addressed by his first name—he is already in the power of the master; but the ancient savage taboo operates to prevent a servant’s calling his master by the first name. Many European countries similarly distinguish even the pronouns used in addressing servants.

Kin to this primitive superstition is the squeamishness about naming certain parts of the body. Leg is slowly replacing limb, as Victorianism weakens; but abdomen, viscera, expectorate, perspiration, illness, still replace the stouter English equivalents. Thus fresh and soiled have taken the place of clean and dirty in the language of the laundry. Stevenson’s reference to a pediculous malady successfully hides lousy disease; couch beetle recently gentilified the bedbug. The derogatory infidel and atheist are softened to freethinker. Another example of euphemism, or “speaking well” of a thing, is the prevailing taste for the grandiloquent. Thus the English public-house was rechristened saloon in America, through the word’s aristocratic associations; compare a ship’s saloon, and salon. The barber uses tonsorial art and hair-dressing parlor; tonsorial emporium is one step further on.

Hyperbole, or exaggerated speech, is responsible for many of our linguistic eccentricities. The young lady from Nevada who said in an interview that within the week she had “simply died from the heat,” was “tickled to death by the movie comedians,” was “driven crazy by telephone pests,” and was “frozen just stiff” while auto riding, is merely typical of a general human trait. Thus we have phrases like volcanic applause, a roar of laughter, and expanded words like daredevil, skinflint, numskull, lickspittle, bleacher, skyscraper. The original exaggeration in bleacher is overlooked by most minds; in astonish and stun, literally thunder-stricken, it has gone entirely.

Words of dignity fade in meaning, through excessive use. Dame and madame, from Lat. domina, mistress of slaves; Mister and Miss and Mrs., from Lat. magister, master; Sir, sire, from Lat. senior, elder, were all once associated with high honor. Gentleman meant a man of good family (Lat. gens, race.) The native English title of honor, lady, has degenerated into uses like lady friend, ladies and gents, chorus lady, wash lady. There was the colored woman who inquired, “Who is the colored lady working for the woman across the street?” Yes and no have lost much of their exaggerated force: yes from A. S. gea swa, yes indeed; not from ne-a-wiht, literally not ever a bit.

Running counter to exaggeration is the spirit of understatement. Thus the ocean is referred to as the pond, the big drink, the puddle. Money becomes dough or jack or brass. Skirt and frail and jane show similar dispraise of the skirted sex.

Degeneration and Elevation.

The constant usage of words cheapens their meaning, as a rule. Vulgar, once meaning belonging to the crowd (Lat. vulgus, crowd) means today low, debased. The word-fixing aristocratic classes have as a rule cheapened all words referring to the uneducated masses. Heathen, pagan, once meant merely dwellers on the heath and on the field (Gr. pagos, field). Common and ordinary, taken to replace vulgar, are started on the same downward trail. Peasant, boor, rustic, once meaning merely countryman, suggest rudeness (compare Boer from same stem as boor). Villain, perhaps through association with the unrelated vile, has left its meaning of countryman, villa-inhabitant, far behind. By a contrary understatement, a cottage or “little place in the country,” may possess 140 rooms, with two baths to each. Wench was originally a reputable name for a girl or child; maid in poetry still has nobility, in ordinary speech meaning a servant. Knave (O. E. cnafa, boy) has sunk lower. Hick, hayseed, rube, point further to the lack of dignity of farm labor in city eyes.

Naughty, terribly wicked in Shakespeare’s time, “a thing of naught,” means merely slightly bad. Homely, once almost a word of praise, means downright ugly now; plain is following the same course. Mean has dropped from its original meaning of middle (Lat. medianus) to its present meaning. Soon, anon, presently, by and by, successively meant immediately; immediately, instantly, and right away will probably take the same course—mute evidences of man’s innate inertia and procrastinativeness. Sanctimonious, once meaning holy, has suffered the disrepute in which the pharasaical are held. Charity, once meaning love, suggests today a patronizing attitude. Prude, kin to proud and prowess, once meant high human excellence; it has ironically altered itself wholly. Minion, once favorite, is much less today; scurrilous, Lat. scurra, fine gentleman, grew after the Latin word had been altered to mean jester, buffoon. Dapper, once brave or sprightly (Germ. tapfer, brave) is today an adjective of contempt. The weakness of old age has depressed the meaning of senile and senility; senator, from the same stem, has not yet been lorimered and otherwise lowered wholly. History itself is responsible for the contrasting fates of frank and slave (from the races Frank and Slav). Sullen is a variant of solemn. It was once proper to speak of the enormity of the Mammoth Cave; today only enormousness could be so used, as enormity means very wicked. Very, from Lat. veritas, truth, is weakening daily. Asylum, from Gr. asulos, inviolable, through association with orphan and insane, means a place of confinement rather than a refuge.

At the same time earlier words, through association with the more aristocratic things of life, have risen in connotation. Court goes back to Lat. cohors, inclosure or poultry-yard; knight, once O. E. cniht, boy, has gone the other road from knave. Marshal was once horse-servant (O. E. mearh, horse, scealc, servant). Steward was originally sty-ward (O. E. stigweard), or guardian of a sty, before sty had degenerated to its present meaning. Civil, civilize, (Lat. civis, citizen) and urbane (Lat. urbs, city) have gained dignity; although urban is rather colorless. Quaker, Methodist, Yankee, Whig, Tory, applied first in ridicule, today are accepted without offense.