The Sinitic Languages: A Contribution to Sinological Linguistics (Collectanea Serica. New Series) [1 ed.] 0367186209, 9780367186203

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Abbreviations
Editor’s Foreword
About the Author
Introduction to the English Version
Introduction
A Note about Transcriptions
Chapter 1: Typology, Kinship, and Areal Features
Chapter 2: Writing and Language
Chapter 3: The Oldest Phase of the Chinese Language
Chapter 4: The Archaic Chinese Language
Chapter 5: The Post-Archaic Period
Chapter 6: From the Han Dynasty to the Tang Dynasty
Chapter 7: The Middle Chinese or Ancient Chinese
Chapter 8: Transitory Times
Chapter 9: The Modern Period
Chapter 10: The Contemporary Pan-National Language
Chapter 11: The Chinese Tower of Babel
Chapter 12: Mandarin Languages
Chapter 13: Southern Chinese Languages
Addendum
Bibliography
Index with Glossary

Citation preview

C OLLECTANEA S ERICA • N EW S ERIES 1 Editor: ZBIGNIEW WESOàOWSKI, S.V.D Sankt Augustin Mieczysđaw Jerzy Künstler

The Sinitic Languages A Contribution to Sinological Linguistics Translated by Mieczysđaw Jerzy Künstler and Alfred Franciszek Majewicz

Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler (Jin Side 金思德, 1933–2007)

C OLLECTANEA S ERICA • N EW S ERIES 1

Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler

The Sinitic Languages A Contribution to Sinological Linguistics

Translated by Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler and Alfred Franciszek Majewicz

Monumenta Serica Institute • Sankt Augustin

Sumptibus Societatis Verbi Divini (S.V.D.) Front Cover: Affinity of Sinitic Languages (according to Zhou Zhenhe and You Rujie 1988, p. 10; introduced from Künstler 2000b, p. 254) Back Cover: Old Chinese Graphs: “Offering to the mountains ... to the clouds. – Invitation to the dragon to make the clouds burst and rain pour down” (Dr L. Wieger, S.J., Chinese Characters, [transl. L. Davrout, S.J.]), Hsien-hsien: Catholic Mission Press 1927, p. 374. Original title: Języki chińskie First published by Wydawnictwo Akademickie DIALOG, Warsaw 2000 Copy editors: BARBARA HOSTER, DIRK KUHLMANN, ELKE SPIELMANNS-ROME, ZBIGNIEW WESOŁOWSKI Academic Advisors: MARIA KURPASKA, EWA ZAJDLER English Language Editing: ANNA CLART, CHRISTOPHER WHYATT Cover and layout: JOZEF BIŠTUŤ Arnold-Janssen-Str. 20 53757 Sankt Augustin, Germany Fax: +49-2241-237486 E-mail: [email protected] www.monumenta-serica.de First published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2019 Monumenta Serica Institute The right of Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested. ISBN: 978-0-367-18620-3 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-19723-9 (eBook) Typeset by Monumenta Serica Institute

TABLE OF CONTENTS / INHALTSVERZEICHNIS

VII IX XI

1 7 11 13 31 49 65 101 129 143 161 169 183 207 225 241 271 277 291

Abbreviations Editor’s Foreword About the Author Introduction to the English Version Introduction A Note about Transcriptions Chapter 1: Typology, Kinship, and Areal Features Chapter 2: Writing and Language Chapter 3: The Oldest Phase of the Chinese Language Chapter 4: The Archaic Chinese Language Chapter 5: The Post-Archaic Period Chapter 6: From the Han Dynasty to the Tang Dynasty Chapter 7: The Middle Chinese or Ancient Chinese Chapter 8: Transitory Times Chapter 9: The Modern Period Chapter 10: The Contemporary Pan-National Language Chapter 11: The Chinese Tower of Babel Chapter 12: Mandarin Languages Chapter 13: Southern Chinese Languages Addendum Bibliography Index with Glossary

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Chart 1: Dialects of Archaic Chinese (according to Zhou – You 1988, p. 266; introduced from Künstler 2000b, p. 117)

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Chart 2: Varieties of Chinese (introduced from Künstler 2000b, p. 251)

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Chart 3: An Evolutionary Classification of Sinitic Languages (according to Zhou – You 1988, p. 52; introduced from Künstler 2000b, p. 253)

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Chart 4: Affinity of Sinitic Languages (according to Zhou – You 1988, p. 10; introduced from Künstler 2000b, p. 254)

Abbreviations AC AD A.M. AO BC BMFEA borr. BSOAS Burm. Cant. CSC EAC EHC etym. HJAS HSC IPA JAOS Jap. LAC LHC lit. MAC Mal. MC M.K. MSC Nank. Pek. RO SSC SOP SOV SPO SVO ST TB TSC Tai. Tib.

Archaic Chinese ([Karlgren], nowadays: Old Chinese) Anno Domini Alfred Franciszek Majewicz Archiv orientální (Oriental Archive) before Christ Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities borrowing Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies Burman Cantonese Continental Standard Chinese Early Archaic Chinese Early Han Chinese etymologic Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies Hong Kong Standard Chinese International Phonetic Alphabet Journal of the American Oriental Society Japanese Late Archaic Chinese Late Han Chinese literally Middle Archaic Chinese Malayan Middle Chinese (also: Ancient Chinese [Karlgren]) Maria Kurpaska Modern Standard Chinese Nankinese Pekinese Rocznik Orientalistyczny (Orientalist Annually) Singapore Standard Chinese Subject-Object-Predicate Subject-Object-Verb Subject-Predicate-Object Subject-Verb-Object Sino-Tibetan Tibeto-Burman Taiwan Standard Chinese Taiwanese Tibetan

EDITOR’S FOREWORD Professor Künstler died in the afternoon of December 27th, 2007, while working on the English version of his Polish book Języki chińskie (The Sinitic Languages, 2000) – a testament to the importance he attached to this work. Almost eleven years after his death, we are now ready and happy to publish his much longed-for English version. A few words may be said here about the long publication history. Before his death, Professor Künstler completed translations of the first eight chapters of his book. We have marked the place where his own translation ends in the present edition. Alfred Franciszek Majewicz (Professor at Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznań and Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń, abbreviated A.M. in the editorial footnotes) carried on the translation work, which proved to be no mean task. Künstler had not translated his book word by word, but had rather adapted his linguistic knowledge about Chinese languages for the English reader. Professor Majewicz’s translation from the end of chapter eight onward remained more faithful to the Polish original. The next step towards the publication of the English version was the initial proofreading of the entire translation by a native speaker, which was done by Christopher Whyatt, visiting senior lecturer at the Centre for English Language Teaching at the Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznań. The English version was submitted to the Monumenta Serica Institute (MSI) for publication – unfortunately just around the time the editor-in-chief, Fr. Roman Malek SVD, suffered a severe stroke. As a consequence, the necessary change of the editor-in-chief delayed the publication of the present work considerably. Further difficulties had to be resolved when the proper editorial process began in the MSI, namely: 1. Professor Künstler had intentionally excluded Chinese characters from his book in order to stress the difference between language and writing (see “A Note about Transcriptions,” p. 11-12). While we have respected this viewpoint and method, we have added a general index-cum-glossary to the English version, including Chinese characters for all relevant terms, phrases, personal names, place names, and book titles. By providing Chinese characters in the index-cum-glossary, we were able to correct some mistakes in the Hanyu pinyin transcription and facilitate the understanding. As editor, I would especially like to thank Professor Ren Dayuan from Beijing, who as an advisor to the journal Monumenta Serica kindly lent his assistance to this task. 2. Professor Künstler’s work The Sinitic Languages should be regarded as a kind of consummation of his diachronic and synchronic investigation of Chinese languages within Polish Sinology, so to say his “last will and testament” with which we should not “tamper” too much. For this reason and in following the advice of a colleague – Dr. Elke Spielmanns-Rome – I have decided to understand this book as a contemporary document, i.e., the quintessence of Professor Künstler’s overall research on Sinitic languages from the 1970s up

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to the year 2000, which simultaneously serves as a document of the history of Polish Sinology within which this book marks the apogee of linguistic research. We all know that with time our knowledge, including linguistic knowledge on Sinitic languages, grows enormously – a fact that is related to the philosophical question of the historicity and temporality of all knowledge and cognition. Eighteen years have elapsed between the publication of Professor Künstler’s Polish original in 2000 to the publication of its English version in 2018. During this time, the field of Sinological linguistics has changed considerably. In order to integrate some of the more recent research angles, Dr Maria Kurpaska (Adam Mickiewicz University, Poznań, abbreviated M.K. in the editorial footnotes) kindly agreed to supplement the bibliography of Künstler’s work with seminal works of present-day linguistic research on Chinese languages and add further information in the footnotes. With her help, we hope to make up for the present study’s lack of up-to-dateness. Professor Ewa Zajdler (Jagiellonian University, Kraków) was also ready to become academic advisors of the present book of Professor Künstler. I am very much indebted to both of them for their collaboration on the present edition. 3. This book was a result of Professor Künstler’s lectures, entitled “Selected Problems of Sinological Linguistics” and held at the Chair of Sinology at Warsaw University in the early 1990s. The oral style read far more smoothly in the Polish book than in the English version, which had to be polished further. For a thorough and meticulous language editing which rendered this English version into a highly readable text close to the Polish original, we are indebted to Anna Clart, Berlin. Regrettably, this oral style sometimes weakened the strength of argumentation, which occasionally lacked further proof or references to linguistic research. With the above-mentioned assistance, we also hope to make up for this imperfection. As editor, I am thrilled that the English version of Professor Künstler’s book, The Sinitic Languages, which he so longed for, can now finally be presented to a larger readership. Both amateurs and experts interested in the Sinitic languages are invited to delve into the thoughts of Künstler’s “Sinological linguistics,” as he used to call his research. Zbigniew Wesołowski S.V.D.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR1 Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler (Chinese name: Jin Side, 1933–2007) was a Polish Sinologist and linguist, an erudite, and the author of many academic and popularized articles and books on China, her culture, and her languages. He was born in Słupca (a town in Greater Poland Voivodeship, Poland) on March 26, 1933. He began to study Sinology at the University of Warsaw in 1951, where he obtained his Master’s degree in Sinological linguistics in 1956. From 1956 to 1958, he studied at the Peking University, where his research into Zheng Xuan’s (127– 200) commentary on the Shijing was crowned with his first Chinese article and published in Yuyanxue luncong (1958/2; cf. Bibliography). He earned his Ph.D. title in 1962 with a thesis entitled “Les formations adverbiales à quasi-suffixe en Chinois archaïque et dans la langue de l’époque des Han” at the University of Warsaw. His post-doctoral degree (in German known as a “Habilitation,” the prerequisite for a professorship particularly at German, Austrian, Swiss, Russian, and Polish universities) was a monograph on the Eastern Han commentator Ma Rong (79–166): Ma Jong – vie et oeuvre (1969). During his Sinological studies, Künstler was the student of Professor Witold Jabłoński (1901–1957) and Professor Janusz Chmielewski (1916–1998), both renowned Polish Sinologists. Künstler’s doctoral and post-doctoral theses were reviewed by Professor Paul Demiéville (1894–1979, at that time at the Collège de France, Paris), Professor Alexis Rygaloff (Aleksej Nikolaevič Rygalov [b. 1922], formerly at the École pratique des hautes études, Paris), and Professor Olgierd Wojtasiewicz (1916– 1995, at that time at the University of Warsaw), Professor Paul Demiéville, Professor Lionello Lanciotti (1925–2015; formerly at the University of Rome), and Professor Janusz Chmielewski. The French school of Sinology – which is traditionally known for stressing philology, linguistics, and translation, with such distinguished scholars as Demiéville, Jacques Gernet (1921–2018), and Rygaloff – had a decisive impact on Künstler’s Sinological interest. In the field of linguistics, we have to mention his teacher André Martinet (1908–1999), whose work on structural linguistics is well-known in the scholarly world. Künstler’s interest primarily lay in linguistic investigations of the history of Chinese/Sinitic languages and their cognates. His many contributions to this field are listed in the bibliography of the present book. Owing to his vivid interest in the connection of Sinology and linguistics during the years 1951–1998 at the

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In writing this biographical note, the editor consulted the following contributions on Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler’s life and work: 1. Lidia Kasarełło, “Profesor Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler (1933–2007). Wybitny Sinolog i Erudyta,” Azja-Pacyfik 2008/11, pp. 219-222; 2. Ewa Zajdler, “Profesor Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler (1933–2007): In memoriam,” Chiny dzisiaj: Religie – Chrześcijaństwo – Kościół 2008/3, pp. 16-19, and 3. Ewa Zajdler, “Profesor Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler (1933–2007),” Rocznik orientalistyczny 61 (2008) 1, pp. 5-6, and 4. Raoul David Findeisen, “Zur Erinnerung an Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler (26. März 1933 – 27. Dezember 2007),” Bochumer Jahrbuch zur Ostasienforschung 31 (2007), pp. 277-279.

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University of Warsaw, i.e., from the beginning of his Sinological studies to his retirement, the field of Sinological linguistics became a focus of academic research there. The consummation of his research in this field can be seen in his Polish book Języki chińskie (2000) which is now presented in an English version as Sinitic Languages (2018). The second area of Künstler’s Sinological interest was much broader: the history of Chinese culture and civilization with its various historical, religious, and philosophical aspects. This even comprised the field of Chinese arts. In this field, he authored the following books: Pierwsze wieki cesarstwa chińskiego (The first Centuries of the Chinese Empire, 1972), Mitologia chińska (Chinese Mythology, 1981), Sprawa Konfucjusza (The Case of Confucius, 1983), Sztuka Chin (The Arts of China, 1991), Dzieje kultury chińskiej (History of Chinese Culture, 1994). These works all belong to the present-day canon of Sinological reading matters in Poland. The above-mentioned books do not exhaust Künstler’s list of publications, which consist of over 200 titles, including many articles and more than 30 books of three sorts: strictly academic, popularizing knowledge of Chinese culture, and translations. His translations include important works from Chinese classical literature, e.g., Lunyu (Dialogi Konfucjańskie, 1976) together with CzyżewskaMadajewicz and Z. Tłumski), some fragments from Shiji (Syn Smoka Sy ma Ts’ien [Son of the Dragon – Sima Qian], 2000), and Aforyzmy chińskie (Chinese Aphorisms, 1977), a collection of translated Chinese wisdom literature originally expressed in terse sayings, conveying everyday truths or astute observations, which are written in a laconic Classical Chinese style and in memorable form. Another translation of his worth mentioning is Zapiski z krajów buddyjskich (Notes from Buddhist Countries: Translations from Chinese, with the original text attached, 1997) together with G. Zduń, which presents parts of the works by the Buddhist monk Faxian (337 – ca. 422), who travelled by foot from China to India between 399 and 412 and recorded his travels in his Faxian zhuan (An Account by the Chinese Monk Faxian; also known as Foguo ji 佛國記: A Record of Buddhist Kingdoms). Besides Chinese, Professor Künstler was capable of translating from four other languages – French, German, English, and Russian. He thus translated Sinological works of Jacques Gernet, Marcel Granet, Caroline Blunden, Mark Elvin, and Fedor Stepanovich Bykov into Polish. As Lidia Kasarełło stresses, these translations made an important contribution to the consolidation of Polish Sinological terminology.2 The above summary of Prof. Künstler’s academic achievements gives us an idea of how much time, work, and diligence he spent on his career as a Sinologist, linguist, and translator. His academic work sublimely connects his natural talents with the discipline of academic work. Professor Künstler was also a passionate lecturer from the very beginning to his last years at the University of Warsaw, giving various undergraduate, graduate, and doctoral seminars and lec-

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Kasarełło 2008, p. 221.

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tures, especially on Sinological linguistics and the history of Chinese culture. He was known as a severe and demanding professor, and saw himself as such as well. For decades, he formed new generations of Polish Sinologists. Professor Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler spent some years studying abroad in China (Beijing 1956–1958 and 1984–1985) and France (Paris 1960 and 1966– 1967), and made many scholarly visits to Taiwan in the 1970s and 1980s. Through these studies and research stays in different countries, he acquired new knowledge and established and extended a cooperative network with known experts. Professor Künstler was also a member of many Polish and international scholarly societies: 1. Polskie Towarzystwo Orientalistyczne (Polish Oriental Society, since 1955), 2. Polskie Towarzystwo Językoznawcze (Polish Linguistics Society, since 1958), 3. Société de Linguistique de Paris (since 1960), 4. European Association of Chinese Studies, 5. International Society for Chinese Language Teaching, and 6. Towarzystwo Naukowe Warszawskie (Warsaw Scientific Society). His publications and many contacts brought him increasing international renown and he frequently contributed to international conferences and symposia, e.g., in Vietnam, Taiwan, Hongkong, Macao, Graz, Innsbruck, Vienna, Mainz, Kassel, Bonn, Paris, Barcelona, Zurich, Bern, and Thessaloniki. Through his enormous diligence, work, and achievements, Professor Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler became one of the most noted Polish Sinologists. He was thus part of a scholarly tradition that goes back to so-called missionary Sinology in 17th century Poland, when research was primarily conducted by three Polish Jesuits in China: Michał Boym (1612–1659), Jan Mikołaj Smogulecki (1610– 1656), and Andrzej Rudomina (also known as the first Lithuanian missionary to China, 1596–1631). The second developmental stage was Sinological research during the Second Republic of Poland (1918–1939), during which period the prominent figures were Jan Godzimir Jaworski (Chinese Buddhism) and Witold Andrzej Jabłoński (Chinese history, classics). French Sinology was then already exerting a dominant influence upon Polish Sinological studies. The third stage, in which Professor Künstler emerged, was Sinological research during the rule of socialism in Poland (1945–1990), especially featuring the prominent figure of Künstler’s teacher Janusz Chmielewski (Chinese logic and language). This period was characterized by a cordial relationship with the People’s Republic of China, which came to fruition in the form of exchanges of language teachers and the acquisition of various Sinological materials. Many Polish diplomats to China who later made careers in Sinological studies also emerged. Thus, Poland is now entering her fourth developmental stage of Sinological research, which began in the Third Republic of Poland (since January 16, 1990). Sinology in Poland is flourishing in centers such as Warszawa (the Warsaw University), Poznań (especially the Adam Mickiewicz University), and Kraków (the Jagiellonian University), where one of Professor’s Künstler students, Professor Ewa Zajdler, carries on his academic heritage, namely research on Sinological linguistics. Zbigniew Wesołowski S.V.D. Editor-in-Chief

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH VERSION The origin of this book goes back to my lectures entitled “Selected Problems of Sinologic Linguistics” held at the Chair of Sinology at Warsaw University in the early 1990s. Little by little, the loose sheets of my notes grew into a pile, and that pile now constitutes the basis of this book. Speaking to students who represented various levels of linguistic abilities I was obliged to explain the terminology used in my lecture. These kinds of remarks were not eliminated from the final version of the book, because I believe they may be useful for students independently of their actual linguistic knowledge. Wydawnictwo Akademickie DIALOG (the Dialogue Publishing House) in Warsaw first published the Polish text entitled “Języki Chińskie” (“The Chinese Languages”) in 2000. The title of the present English version was changed by replacing the word “Chinese” with “Sinitic.” My intention is not only to bring it into accord with the newest tendencies in linguistics, but also to underline the difference between the two versions. The present English text is not, in fact, an exact translation of the Polish version, for which there exists a rather simple explanation. When an author prepares a translation of his own book several years after its publication, the natural tendency is to rewrite many sections. Such labour can result either in a quite new version of his previous work or in a text full of amendments and footnotes. I have chosen the first method, for good reason. During the last few years (after writing the Polish version of the book) my research work was concentrated on Modern Sinitic Languages, especially on the analysis of linguistic material contained in the forty-two volumes of Xiandai Hanyu fangyan da cidian (Great Dictionary of Modern Chinese Dialects, 2002) as well as on other dialect dictionaries (cf. Bibliography). I was interested chiefly in comparing some chosen morphological and lexical features. The most interesting for me were all kinds of linguistic innovations occurring in Modern Sinitic languages, but evidently absent in earlier phases. All levels of linguistic analysis threw up elements of Modern Sinitic languages that were absent in Archaic Chinese (hereafter: AC; often synonymous with Old Chinese), but appeared later as a result of independent evolution. It seems quite obvious that all that which was absent in Archaic Chinese could not be inherited by languages which are direct descendants of the older phases of Chinese. Let me provide some simple examples to explain what I mean. It is well known that Archaic Chinese had only personal pronouns of the first two persons. Moreover, each of the two persons was characterized by more than one personal pronoun (cognate or not). In some cases it is possible to suppose that these different forms reflect dialectal differences. Today, Bernhard Karlgren’s (1889–1978) attempt to interpret these various forms as reserved for subject and object positions appears very unconvincing.

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It is important that one of several personal pronouns of the first person was inherited by most Modern Sinitic languages. There are only a few languages that have other forms of first-person pronouns (e.g., Ningbo, Suzhou, Xuzhou, and Pingxiang). Most Modern Sinitic languages also inherited one of the archaic personal pronouns of the second person; others have different forms, some of which are not easy to etymologize. On the other hand, we do know that Archaic Chinese had no personal pronoun of the third person, which is now present in all Modern Sinitic languages. This evidently could not be inherited by Modern Sinitic languages. In some languages the modern form is etymologically clear – such as the Mandarin ta coming from the AC word meaning “other.” In other cases the etymology remains unknown or may only be supposed. AC had neither attributive/possessive forms of personal pronouns nor special forms of plurals. All Modern Sinitic languages have such forms, which of course are not inherited from the remote past. The same may be said of inclusive /exclusive plural forms of pronouns as well as of the courtesy forms that appeared later in some modern Sinitic languages. Studying modern Chinese personal pronouns I could observe that Modern Chinese languages contain features that clearly overstep the linguistic borders suggested by genetic links. This made me inclined to undertake a more detailed study of so-called areal features. The analysis of various areal features of Modern Chinese languages is the chief innovation of this book’s new version. It is, undoubtedly, very difficult to present information about the evolution of genetically cognate languages and at the same time to point out the areal links uniting them. The phonetic evolution of Modern Sinitic languages testifies beyond any doubt the kinship of all of these languages. Modern Sinitic languages all descend from one stem. Evidently, this does not mean that some of these languages were not also subject to other influences. For example, many scholars have indicated the influences of non-Chinese substrata on various Chinese languages. It goes without saying that such influences are also areal and not genetic. This may evidently be proved not only in phonetic evolution, but also on other levels of linguistic analysis (e.g., morphologic, lexical, syntagmatic as well as syntactic). The final result of rethinking all problems in this manner was that I have changed my interpretation of some important linguistic facts concerning not only Modern Sinitic Languages, but also their history and relations to other languages of the region – an interpretation deviating significantly from the original Polish version. It seems quite evident that all of these changes could not be omitted in the recently prepared English version of the book. The road to my present interpretation of the Far-Eastern linguistic situation was rather long. Like other linguists I started many years ago believing that there exists a Sino-Tibetan linguistic family in a very large sense of this term. With the passage of time, however, I saw more and more clearly that it is hard to accept

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many arguments in favour of Tibeto-Burman and Chinese kinship. I am now actually inclined to think that we do not have enough paradigmatic correspondences to speak of genetic links between these two linguistic families. In this respect I have followed the path traced by Paul K. Benedict (1912–1997). Moreover, I am now certain that even within the Sinitic linguistic family not all linguistic facts can be reasonably explained as being inherited from the common past. Therefore, I searched for other ways to explain some linguistic innovations that evidently could not be inherited from the common past and could not be interpreted as borrowings. One very important moment influenced my thinking about these problems. One day, I heard an extremely interesting lecture on African languages held by Professor Andrzej Zaborski (1942–2014) from Cracow. 1 In a meeting of the Committee of Oriental Sciences of the Polish Academy of Sciences held in the Spring of 2002, Professor Zaborski presented the linguistic situation in Ethiopia interpreted in the terms of a league of languages. His main thesis was that the languages of this area are not genetically linked; nevertheless, they have many common features extending over certain areas, embracing languages that are not akin. There, specialists of the languages of this region speak of a league of languages, which are not genetically linked, and not of a linguistic family. I find it rather astonishing that till now specialists of FarEastern languages have not taken into consideration the areal analysis of some linguistic facts, which are difficult to interpret on the basis of an evolution from a common mother language. I would like to stress strongly that the mentioned lecture of Professor Zaborski inspired me to think in the same way about Chinese languages and perhaps also about the so-called Sino-Tibetan languages and other languages of the region. I am now convinced that adopting this method can make many problems both clearer and more understandable. I am, however, aware that the linguistic situation in the Far-East as well as in South-East Asia is not the same as in Africa. As far as the Sinitic languages are concerned, the major difference is that – in contrast to African languages – all Modern Sinitic languages are doubtlessly genetically linked and that they constitute a linguistic family, which derives from one common mother tongue. It is, however, quite clear to me that within this linguistic family some important features cross the genetic borders and therefore should be treated as areal ones. I am sure that any description of the present state of Sinitic languages must take into consideration not only the fact that these languages are akin, but also that some of their important features are to be treated in terms of areal linguistics. It is quite clear that in this case genetic and areal analyses are not contradictory. The application of both methods may lead us to a better understanding of the linguistic situation in this region. Examples of such a situation will be given below.

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[Editor: cf. “Professor Andrzej Zaborowski (1997–2014).” Rocznik Orientalistyczny 67 (2014) 2, pp. 123-124.]

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It must be here underlined that there are in the Far-East languages that belong to various linguistic families. These languages also share certain common points, which should be interpreted as areal ones. Thus, we must also take into consideration the fact that some linguistic features are typical to languages that are not akin. Some simple examples of this will also be given below. After realizing all of this, it was evidently impossible for me to omit these insights in the English version of this book. This makes the differences between the Polish and the English versions of this book rather serious, because they concern not only the presented linguistic facts, but also their interpretation, at least as far as Modern Sinitic languages are concerned. I would now like to pass on to some simple examples that – I think – should be given in this introduction in order to show the differences between the Polish and the English versions. In the Polish version of this book, I said that as far as male and/or female animal names are concerned, the territory of Modern Chinese languages is clearly divided into two: One is the area covering the Mandarin and Wu languages, which uses prefixes (or prefix-like formations) for this purpose; the second is the area covering all other Southern Chinese languages, which uses suffixes (or suffix-like formations). In all Sinitic languages prefixed male and female animal names appeared relatively late, much later than the separation of Mandarin and Wu. Thus, it seems clear that this type of prefixation cannot be interpreted as inherited from the common past. The same may be said about other South Sinitic languages: The suffixed male and female animal names appeared much later than the splitting of Southern languages into distinct branches. Thus, it is quite clear that the suffixation is also a typical areal feature. In the Polish book I tried to stress that the same (as in Mandarin) type of prefixed male and female animal names proves that the Wu languages are not typically Southern Chinese languages, but that they are transitory between the two great areas. This is to be understood as an interpretation within the frames of the theory of genetic links between the Chinese languages. Now, I would like to see in this particular feature common to Mandarin and Wu languages a typical areal linguistic feature, which extends on a certain area independently from genetic analysis. This is my present interpretation of the parallel South China linguistic situation as far as the male and female animal names are concerned. Of course, Modern Chinese languages also all possess other examples of areal features, e.g., in the field of phonetics. In the Polish version such examples were noted, but were not interpreted as in the present version. Therefore, let me add here some examples from this field. The area of the preserved final voiceless occlusive -p, -t, -k extends over the territory of the Hakka, Southern Min, and Yue linguistic groups, which are quite different offshoots of common Archaic Chinese (Southern Min goes back to the 2nd century AD Late Archaic Chinese, Yue probably has its roots in the Tang times, and Hakka split from the common stem a thousand years later than the Min languages).

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5

The final glottal stop is an important stage in the process of eliminating the final voiceless occlusive. Nowadays, the final glottal stop occurs in Wu languages, in the so-called Northern Min (e.g., Fuzhou) and Gan languages. I am at present therefore inclined to admit that from the point of view of the evolution of the final occlusive the territory of Modern Chinese Languages may be divided into three areas: 1. the area without final occlusive consonants (Mandarin); 2. the area with a final glottal stop, and 3. the area with preserved final occlusive consonants. To the above characteristics, I must add that in the isolated position final occlusive consonants are often realized only as implosives – i.e., without a final explosion – (e.g., in Yue), and that this is evidently the first stage to the transition to the stage of the final glottal stop. The problem of the final occlusive was not discussed in such a way in the Polish version of the book. It is thus an example of the new problems found in the English version. New interpretations and new problems (previously omitted) are equally important in this volume. I hope that we will gradually enter a new stage of the linguistic description of Chinese linguistic territory. This new stage will be characterized by taking into consideration not only the genetic links, but also the areal ones. Both types of features should not only be described, but also presented on a series of maps. It is possible that such maps will show quite a new image of the linguistic situation in China, and perhaps they will also indicate a new division of Modern Sinitic languages based on the analysis of areal bundles of isoglosses. It is, however, clear that “the harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few” (Luke 10:2). Thus, we will certainly wait a very long time before a new image will emerge. To finish this introduction, let me say that areas of linguistic features may occur in regions occupied by languages that are genetically quite different. That was the major idea of inventing areal linguistics as something distinct from the genetic one. Such examples may also be found in the Far East. The simplest is that of the area occupied by two-register (higher and lower) tone systems. Of the Sinitic languages, only the Yue languages have tones disposed in two registers. The same phenomenon is also known in Vietnamese, a language not genetically linked with Chinese, but for many centuries contiguous to it. I am, however, certain that these kinds of comparisons should be postponed until a later point. Finally, I feel obliged to stress strongly that in studying the languages of this region, we must never forget that we are always dealing with languages in contact, as linguists call it. Warsaw, 2007

INTRODUCTION Among all areas of the liberal arts, linguistics is rightly believed to be an exact science. It does not, however, mean that it is an exact science in the same sense as mathematics, physics, or chemistry. These are formulating laws, which are universal and exceptionless. The laws established by linguists never have such a character, because linguistic laws are always in some way limited – temporally and spatially – and almost always have exceptions. Rather, linguistic laws indicate tendencies, sometimes dominating in a language or in a group of languages and thus near to what the liberal arts used to call a law. In some other cases they indicate only marginal features that are important, e.g., from the point of view of future evolution. Moreover, linguists often have difficulty determining the mentioned time and space, especially when past times are concerned, because there are very few linguistic facts that may be satisfactorily dated and because the territory in which a given fact occurred is in most cases also difficult to indicate. An example may be useful to explain what I mean. In the Polish version of this book – written for Polish students – this example was taken from the history of the Polish language with the hope that it would be easily understandable for native speakers. I do not see any reason to change this example in the English version. Linguists say that in Polish (but of course not only in Polish) initial consonant groups sr- and zr- were dissimilated, resulting in str- and zdr- (and thus we have strumień [stream] and zdrada [treason]). This means, however, that such dissimilation occurred only in a definite period of the history of this language and therefore words that appeared later (i.e., after this period of dissimilation) were not dissimilated. Thus, Polish contains words like zrobić (to make) without dissimilation. Moreover, it must be said here that in this last word z- is rather a prefix of the perfect aspect. Secondly, even in the period of dissimilation there were words that for some reasons were not dissimilated. Thus, Polish contains an obscene word beginning with sr- (meaning “shit”) that was not dissimilated. This shows that the law of dissimilation was not exceptionless and that it was limited in time and in space. This specific character of linguistic laws must be underlined strongly here, because in this book we will have to do with many general statements used to characterize the presented languages and problems. In many cases a strict apprehension of the term “linguistic law” may lead to misunderstandings. Therefore, it is good to always remember that “linguistic laws” are always limited in time and in space and that they are not exceptionless. While one might say that it is not necessary to speak of such things in a book destined above all for those who are acquainted with linguistics, I think that it can only be beneficial. This may be shown in the polemics of the well-known Chinese linguistics professor Lu Zhiwei (1894–1970) and with Professor Janusz Chmielewski’s (1916– 1998) theory of the evolution of the Chinese language. The polemic reaction of

8

INTRODUCTION

Lu Zhiwei (see below) shows that even outstanding specialists may misunderstand something rather important. I am certain that additional information is needed here, which I will now attempt to express as briefly as possible. The reconstructions of AC pronunciation (we will speak in detail about this further) show a rather well-developed system of phonetic changes occurring within the syllabic units of the language. These changes were used to create new lexical forms (word formation) as well as the forms of these units (morphology). Below, in chapter four that is focused on the AC language, we will find examples of such changes. Here, it suffices to say that such processes played an important role in the archaic period and – probably – also in the precedent linguistic phase. While such processes do not play a great role in Modern Chinese, they do appear occasionally. It is, however, evident that many Modern Chinese words (Chmielewski is speaking only of their standard versions) consist of two syllables united by syntactic links (e.g., xiansheng [master, teacher] coming from an old determinative syntactic group with the meaning “the earlier born,” etc.). In Modern Chinese monosyllabic morphemes united by syntactic links serve to create new words as well as derived forms. Thus, it may be said that in Archaic Chinese phonemes were the basic (or – perhaps better – the smallest) units serving to create words, i.e., were basic units of morphology and word formation, while in Modern Chinese this role is mainly played by syllables. In 1949, Chmielewski published his well-known “The Typological Evolution of the Chinese Language” in which the evolution of the Chinese language from the Archaic phase down to the Modern phase was characterized as a transition from archaic morphology based on changes inside syllabic units to Modern syllabic morphology, i.e., from the stage of phonemic morphology to the stage of syllabic morphology. This caused a transformation of ancient syntactic groups into words, with elements united by a syntactic type of links. While Chmielewski’s theory was formulated according to a methodology that may currently evoke some objections (some of the terms he uses – like “functional passivity and activity” – are difficult to accept today), it is undeniable that this theory is still valuable and that Chmielewski’s work belongs to the fundamental achievements of Sinologic linguistics. Developing his theory, Chmielewski tried to describe and classify syntactic relations in Chinese – cf. his “Syntactic Relations and Word-formation in Chinese,” 1963. This last study provoked a polemic reaction from Lu Zhiwei, to which Chmielewski responded by publishing his new work titled “Syntax and Word-formation in Chinese” a year later. I do not intend to present here in detail all arguments and counterarguments of the two Sinologists. From our point of view, it is important to stress that the evolution of the Chinese language presented by Chmielewski is concentrated on a description of the main tendencies and not on an analysis of exceptions, the existence of which cannot be denied. It is quite clear that his theory cannot be interpreted as presenting exceptionless laws. Nevertheless, Lu Zhiwei, one of the most outstanding Chinese scholars, interpreted Chmielewski’s description of tendencies as linguistic laws admitting no

INTRODUCTION

9

exceptions, and from this point of view he criticized his adversary by pointing out many exceptions that in his opinion invalidated the Polish scholar’s theory. To end these introductory remarks, I would like to draw the reader’s attention to the fact that while this book aims at a presentation of the entire history of the Chinese language as well as the present state of many Sinitic languages, it cannot be complete in the sense that it presents some problems better than others. Any completeness is evidently impossible. It is enough to realize that the history of the written Chinese language extends over more than three thousand years, that Chinese civilization produced a great quantity of written documents, and that some fifty (or many more) different Chinese languages exist today. Not only is it impossible for one person to possess expertise in all of this, it is also infeasible to present such a great multitude of problems in a single book, which cannot be endless. The choice of the presented facts and problems is thus also limited by the author’s possibility and capacity. However, this does not mean that the author of this book is attempting to escape responsibility for the text below. I am doubtless the sole person responsible for all I have written, correctly or incorrectly. Furthermore, I must here express my thanks to Professor Nina Pawlak, who was so kind as to read the first version of this book and give me so much precious advice. I would also like to thank Professor Bożenna Bojar and Professor Stanisław Godziński for giving me their opinions on this work.

A NOTE ABOUT TRANSCRIPTIONS I decided not to use Chinese characters in this book – not out of some strange editorial economy, but in order to show that language and writing are really two different things, that writing is only a code used to record a language, but is – so to say – external to the language itself. The links between language and writing are often overestimated, as proven by the popular question well known to every Sinologist: “Is it possible to write the Chinese language with Latin letters?” The only possible answer is: “Yes, because all languages may be written with all kinds of writing.” To overestimate writing is certainly bad for a description of linguistic processes. It is quite clear to me that my decision not to use Chinese writing deprived me of an easy notation tool with no relation to phonetics. Chinese writing is panchronic and pantopic (if I may use such a word in the sense of “all places”). The sequence of two Chinese characters meaning “great” and “to learn, a school” from the very beginning signified “great school” and is today used to mean “a university” or “a college.” Both characters used to write these two monosyllabic units do not indicate the pronunciation, and never have. They are read in the way the word is pronounced in a language using Chinese writing in older or present times and not only in the Chinese language, but also in languages belonging to other linguistic families using Chinese writing, like Korean, Vietnamese, or Japanese. Rejecting Chinese writing in this work is also an important part of my fight against a very popular and widespread misunderstanding that the Chinese languages and dialects differ only in the pronunciation of Chinese characters, that it suffices to pronounce the same sequence of Chinese characters differently in order to speak a “dialect.” This belief is so deep-seated among Chinese that no dictionary gives the pronunciation of the quoted dialectal words. There is no doubt that from a linguistic point of view such a prejudice is false. In this respect, we have to do with a fundamental difference between Chinese and Western linguistics: For Chinese linguists a word is a unity of sense and its written form, whereas for Western linguists (at least from the time of Ferdinand de Saussure) a word is a unity of sense and its phonetic shape. It thus follows that for a Chinese speaker the written form is inseparable from the sense, while for us the phonetic shape is inseparable from the sense. Moreover, it is evident that, on the one hand, many specific dialectal characters exist that have no Modern Standard Chinese (hereafter: MSC) pronunciation and that, on the other hand, many dialectal words cannot be written with Chinese writing, because the respective local characters do not exist. For instance, it is very easy to give examples of Cantonese phrases, which cannot be read (and of course cannot be understood) by someone who does not know Cantonese pronunciation and writing. It is even possible to give examples of phrases written only with Cantonese characters and thus completely incomprehensible to foreigners. The same situation occurs in the case of other Chinese languages and dialects. It

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A NOTE ABOUT TRANSCRIPTIONS

is also quite natural that it is easier to understand languages that are more related to one’s own native language. It follows from the above that it is impossible to use one transcription in a book like this. It is, of course, theoretically feasible. One could use the International Phonetic Alphabet (hereafter: IPA) exclusively, but arguments in favour of rejecting such a method are multiple. First of all, accommodating to the phonetic reconstructions of Archaic Chinese could prove very difficult. Besides, I see no reason to give, for instance, Karlgren’s reconstructions in IPA. The same may be said about other reconstruction systems that differ strongly from Karlgren’s notation. Moreover, IPA has a rather complicated system to note tones. In modern languages, symbols for tones must refer to the real phonetic value, but as far as the reconstructed tones are concerned these symbols must only indicate “differences” (in other words, they indicate only “tone classes”), because the real phonetic value of tones is (and will remain forever) unknown. As far as the notation of reconstructed tones is concerned, the situation is even more complicated. They are noted by symbols with no reference to any phonetic value and authors are using various devices for this purpose. For instance, some are adding letters at the end as follows: 1st tone – no letter added, 2nd tone – x at the end, 3rd tone – y at the end, 4th tone – z at the end; or they adding symbols at the end, such as a point, colon, or semicolon. Some systems also note tones in a more complicated manner. As far as Modern Chinese languages are concerned, the most current tone notations were created only for the standard version of Chinese and thus cannot be used for other languages. The best way to note Modern tones is Zhao Yuanren’s (Yuen Ren Chao, 1892–1982) system, with numbers referring to initial and final points of a tone on a five-step scale and in the case of so-called broken tones also giving the turning point on the scale. I am sure that a discussion on transcription could be very long and that any decision in this field would be arbitrary. To tell the truth, one may easily imagine a separate branch of linguistics called “transcriptology” that might function as totally independent from language. I even have the impression that we are not far from such a branch in some cases, especially when some authors concentrate only on comparing transcriptions and creating tables. Therefore, I prefer to briefly state what method was chosen to indicate the approximate pronunciation of the words quoted below. The dominant transcription in this book is pinyin, used here in most cases without indicating tones. This transcription was created for a notation of Modern Standard Chinese. For all other Modern Chinese languages and dialects, I use as a rule the transcription applied in the mentioned great series of dialect dictionaries. This transcription has been simplified in some cases. Older pronunciation (reconstruction) is given as it appears in the books referred to. Thus, I am using Karlgren’s transcription when quoting Karlgren’s notation for his Ancient and/or Archaic Chinese, Serruys’ transcription when using his reconstructions, etc. All non-Chinese words are given in their respective transcriptions.

CHAPTER I Typology, Kinship, and Areal Features Languages defined as monosyllabic, tonal, and positional occupy the immense territory of Central, East, and South-East Asia. Most of these languages belong to Tibetan, Burman, Chinese, and Tai groups, but there are among them also languages that do not belong to the mentioned groups, such as Vietnamese. The Far East and South-East Asia also contain languages that are not monosyllabic, tonal, and positional (e.g., Mongolian, Manchurian, etc.). All of these languages lie outside of our scope of interest. The total numbers of languages that are monosyllabic, tonal, and positional cannot be defined, first of all, because the great part of these languages has never been duly described until now. The complete lack of grammar and vocabulary in some cases and the low standard of publications in others make a linguist’s work very hard, if not (in some cases) impossible. In addition, the fact that modern linguistics has not elaborated a generally accepted definition of a language makes our study rather difficult. This is very important as far as the Chinese (or Sinitic) group is concerned, because the Chinese themselves treat everything that is not standard literary Chinese as a dialect. They are also simplifying beyond any possible justification when stating that Chinese dialects differ only in pronunciation.1 All this makes studying the mutual relations between the mentioned languages rather difficult, and we will therefore often return to such problems, in particular when discussing questions of kinship. Moreover, the three fundamental notions – i.e., monosyllabic, tonal, and positional – characterizing the languages of the region are often misunderstood even by linguists and cause serious misapprehensions. Therefore, it is good to explain these notions at the very beginning. 1. Monosyllabic

The mechanic division of speech into syllables is one easily made even by children. In most languages such a division has nothing to do with the analysis of the speech into basic linguistic units. Some very simple examples will suffice. The English word “starting” is composed of the following two syllables: star- and – ting, but morphologically it is composed of the following units: “start”- and – “ing”; the French word “finir” has two syllables: “fi”- and -“nir,” but morphologically it consists of “fin”- and -“ir.” It is, of course, true that the two divisions may accidentally coincide, but in most languages of the world they do not, as a rule.

                                                             1

[M.K.: Chinese linguists admit that the dialects also differ in vocabulary and grammar. However, the problem is that these issues are much less researched than differences in pronunciation. Nevertheless, a lot of research has already been done in this field; cf. You Rujie 2004, pp. 25-26; Huang Borong 1996, pp. 1-2; Huang et al. 2001, pp. 1-8.]

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Yet these two divisions almost always coincide in all modern Far East and South-East Asian languages. This is due to the fact that in all of these languages syllables are usually basic morphological units – or, put differently, almost all morphemes (semantemes as well as formal morphemes) are monosyllabic. The mentioned works of Chmielewski pointed this out. This is why linguists speak of the monosyllabic languages of this region. This does not mean that all words in these languages are monosyllabic or that these languages have no morphemes smaller than a syllable. Neither does it mean that these languages contain no morphemes larger than a syllable. It merely means that in speaking of monosyllabicity we are pointing out a characteristic or a dominating feature of these languages. This prevailing morphological monosyllabicity is an important typological feature of languages of this region. Therefore, it must be stated that common typological features – even when numerous – do not forejudge the kinship of languages, but at the same time it is also true that typological common features do not exclude such kinship (and may in some cases support such a theory). Problems connected with the interpretation of typological features will be often raised in the book. Let us remember that in principle typology and kinship are two different things. Common typological features may prove the kinship of languages, but they may also have only areal character. When discussing such questions, the following analogy may be helpful: In a group of bald men, baldness is the most characteristic typological feature. But even if we find that the entire community is bald, this says nothing about the kinship of its members. It also does not exclude such kinship and in some cases may support the kinship theory, but nothing more. It is also possible that the members of this community are not related at all and that their baldness is a common areal feature, caused for example by some climatic conditions. To close these remarks, let me stress that the monosyllabicity of this region’s modern languages is not an unchangeable feature inherited from a remote past. As mentioned earlier, Archaic Chinese, as Chmielewski’s theory of its typological evolution says, was certainly not a language of monosyllabic morphemes in the archaic period. Rather, the basic vocabulary of this language was monosyllabic. Thus, we must remember that monosyllabicity was certainly not a characteristic feature of Archaic Chinese morphology in the sense explained above. It is a result of the evolution of Chinese languages, and probably also of other typologically identical languages of this area. 2. Tonal

Segmental units of speech, called segmental phonemes, are the smallest sections into which the speech may be divided. These segments do not occupy the same sections of time, i.e., they do not have the same duration. Some sections are longer, others shorter, and this may be important for the analysis of the speech. In other words, the duration of segmental units may be distinctive or not (relevant

TYPOLOGY, KINSHIP, AND AREAL FEATURES

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or irrelevant, as many linguists say). Therefore, it is good to remember that in some languages duration is an important element of phonological oppositions. Even if phonologically irrelevant, the duration is not always the same. The duration of a segment occupied by a consonant is – generally speaking – shorter than the duration of a segment occupied by a vowel. Moreover, there are also other factors that may influence the duration, especially the duration of a vowel. The segment of a stressed vowel is longer than that of the unstressed one. A stressed vowel pronounced with interrogative intonation is generally longer than a stressed vowel deprived of interrogative meaning, etc. And en passant we used two other important linguistic concepts above: stress and intonation. Both stress and intonation do not have their own time segments. It may be said that stress and intonation float above the time segments of consonants and/or vowels, and therefore they are called suprasegmental elements of speech. It is vital to stress from the start that suprasegmental elements – like stress and intonation – exert an influence on the realization of segmental elements. It is also important to point out that stress and intonation do not belong to the same level of suprasegmental elements: Figuratively, it may be said that intonation belongs to a higher level than stress. A specific hierarchy of influence indicates such an image: The intonation exerts an influence on the realization of stress, or, put differently, stress is susceptible to the influence of intonation, but the inverse is not the case. Stress in turn influences the realization of stressed segmental units. The suprasegmental elements – like other segmental elements – may of course be phonologically relevant or irrelevant. This is dependent on the structure of a given language and this structure may be different even if two languages are otherwise similar. For instance, stress is phonologically irrelevant in Polish, but it is relevant in Russian in at least some cases. While cases of relevant stress are relatively rare in Modern Standard Chinese, they do exist. The most frequently given example is xingli (luggage) and xing’li (to salute). It may be interesting to remark that the MSC examples quoted above are structurally parallel to the Russian opposition of ‘muka ( pain) and mu’ka (flour). 2 The distinctive function of intonation is known in many languages, but it occurs mostly in spoken language, while appearing less often in written. Let us remember that in many languages the same phrase may be changed structurally – e.g., from affirmative into interrogative – only by means of an intonation change. The suprasegmental structure composed of two levels – stress and intonation – occurs in many, if not most, languages. In tonal languages, however, the suprasegmental structure is more complicated. In these languages the first level of suprasegmental elements (i.e., that which is nearer to segmental units) is occupied by tones. That means that each syllable is composed of a set of segmental units (of a single unit at least) and of one suprasegmental element, which is a tone. A syllable without a tone has no meaning, although under definite conditions the basic tone may be modified by the influ                                                             2

[M.K.: For an English example cf. the noun “permit” (stress on first syllable) versus the verb “permit” (stress on second syllable).]

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ence of stress and/or intonation as well as by other factors. These other factors are various neutralizations and sandhi variants of tones. Irrespective of all such variations in tonal languages, tones are always distinctive. Two other sets of suprasegmental elements – stress and intonation – occupy higher levels of the structure. Stress is distinctive in some cases and so is intonation. As can be seen from what was stated above, confusing tone and intonation is evidence of a serious misunderstanding. However, this may be found in many linguistic works dealing chiefly with languages that do not have tones. When speaking of Far-Eastern tonal languages, such an error must be condemned with the utmost severity. Tonal systems differ strongly and in many respects, but these problems must here remain beyond the main course of our deliberation, For the moment it suffices to say that tones (or – better – tonemes, which is a term parallel to phonemes) may be treated in the same way as segmental phonemes and this means that first of all the distinctive features of tonemes should be analyzed. The fact that a language is tonal is evidently its typological – and not genetic – feature, meaning that tones do not determine the kinship of languages. Neither, of course, do they exclude kinship. Moreover, we must always remember that tones are the result of phonetic evolution. In fact, tones are a kind of compensation, and compensatory phenomena are well known from many languages. This may be briefly explained in the following way: When in the course of phonetic evolution something (a phonologic opposition for instance) disappears, it often does not do so completely, but leaves some trace of a previous structure, which is called “compensation.” Thus, when for instance the opposition between initial voiced and voiceless occlusives disappears, it often happens that the units with ancient voiced initials are pronounced higher than those with ancient voiceless initials. In such a way, higher and lower tones may appear as compensation for previous oppositions. In reality the process is much more complicated. One thing, however, is quite evident: Tones are rather an areal feature and are not unchangeable. 3. Positional

The definition of the languages of this region as “positional” does not evoke many problems. This term refers to a very important syntactic feature of these languages, namely that the position of an element in a phrase (and not its form) determines its syntactic function. All these languages have a very poor morphology and consequently are also extremely scarce in the formal markers of syntactic function. This scarcity is the main cause of the syntactic importance of the position. Such a situation is not unknown to the languages of other regions. It is enough to compare two English words. “Schoolmaster” and “master school” are both composed according to the same rule: “The preceding element determines the following one without any formal determination marker” in order to know this game of position and its influence on the meaning.

TYPOLOGY, KINSHIP, AND AREAL FEATURES

17

To say that a language is positional evidently does not mean that it has no formal syntactic markers. It merely means that the main role in syntax is played not by formal markers, but by the position of linguistic units. For all languages, we are here interested in the position as the most important element of syntax, but – as in other cases – it is also a typological feature, which does not determine the genetic links between the languages, e.g., both Sinitic and Vietnamese are positional, but not cognate. It must, however, be said that in some cases specialists themselves mistook this typological feature for a genetic feature. Obviously there are only two possible positions when two elements are taken into consideration: One element is prepositional and the other postpositional. Thus, for example the determinative syntactic group may be either prepositional or postpositional, and that means that either the determining unit precedes the determined one (A>B) or it follows it (AS)-(D>O)-(D>P) 2. Prepositional determination and postpositional object: (D>S)-(D>P)-(D>O) 3. Postpositional determination and postpositional object: (S “love.” 3. Abstract pictographs – symbols of notions like “one stroke” > “one,” “two strokes” > “two,” etc. 4. Borrowed characters – characters of whichever category used (on the basis of phonetic resemblance) to represent a notion that is difficult to draw, such as AC leg – a drawing of millet used to note leg (to go). 5. Semantic-phonetic characters – composed of two elements, one indicating the semantic field of the noted notion, the other the pronunciation, such as bai (also pronouced bo; cypress) written with a character composed of the element “tree” and bai (white). 6. An unclear category of very rare characters (only seven are classified into this category in the dictionary). As it may be seen from this enumeration, phonetics plays a certain role in two of the above-mentioned categories, namely in the cases of the borrowed characters and the semantic-phonetic characters. The borrowed characters give very little information: They indicate only that two words were homophones in the epoch when one character was borrowed to note another notion. More information may be drawn from the characters belonging to the category combined of two elements, i.e., semantic and phonetic. In this case, homophony was not obligatory. The phonetic part of these kinds of characters indicated that the pronunciation was near to the sound of its phonetics. In some cases, it was identical with the phonetic part of the character, but this was not a rule. Nevertheless, Karlgren used these kinds of phonetic indications to reconstruct his Archaic Chinese. We are, however, speaking here of the internal evolution of Chinese writing. It is obvious that the characters combined from two elements, semantic and phonetic, could lead Chinese writing to the beginnings of phonetic notation. The next step on this path could be an effort to introduce some order into the phonetic parts of characters. Nevertheless, the Chinese never systematized this kind of phonetic notation, so the same pronunciation continued to be indicated by various elements. In some cases, the pronunciation was indicated only approximately, even if another, more exact indication would have been possible. In this way, Chinese writing never evolved towards phonetic notation. No explanation why this failed to happen is known – we may only remark that there were times when some conditions would have favored such an evolution. At least from the beginning of the 2nd century AD, China was quickly conquered by Buddhism (which was probably known much earlier), and this means

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that many texts had to be translated into Chinese. Thousands of names and terms had to be rendered into Chinese, most of them in phonetic versions. This could have stimulated Chinese writing to evolve towards phonetic notation. However, no such thing happened. The Chinese were and remained insensible to the phonetic aspects of the spoken language. This in spite of the fact that – perhaps under the influence of foreign Buddhist monks – the system of indicating the pronunciation of characters by means of fanqie was fairly elaborated and in use. Some Buddhist texts were also phonetically rendered into Chinese characters. The Japanese syllabic writings known as hiragana and katakana appeared much later, under the same conditions. The fact that the Chinese elaborated a system of phonetic notation of their language in modern times must be attributed to the influence of the West. The phonetic notation called zhuyin zimu was created under the influence of ancient Chinese tables of rhymes and the old system of indicating the pronunciation of the characters by dividing it into initial and final (or rhyme) called fanqie. Today, this Chinese phonetic notation system is used only in Taiwan. It has been practically forgotten in Mainland China, because the most generally used Chinese transcription into the Latin alphabet, called pinyin, was officially accepted. This transcription is today used even in Taiwan, although it was ignored there for many years. At the beginning (around the end of the 1950s), pinyin or Hanyu pinyin was intended to replace traditional Chinese writing. From the linguistic point of view, this was definitely feasible, although many unknowledgeable people often ask: Is it possible to note the Chinese language with Latin letters? Therefore, let me repeat once more: The writing is only a code more or less adjusted to the notation of a language. This means, of course, that each language may be noted with any kind of writing. Therefore, it is clear that if Latin writing was finally rejected for writing the Chinese language, the reasons must reside in politics, not linguistics. While China has more than one language, when all linguistic differences remain hidden behind the unified Chinese characters, they all give the impression of one and the same language. As soon as one begins to use phonetic writing (in the Latin alphabet for instance), the myth of Chinese linguistic unity is definitively destroyed.5 This knowledge immediately raises the big question: How to rule without this fundamental unity (true or not)? I am certain that the rulers of China (whoever they may be) would certainly seek to avoid the collapse of this myth. Accepting the linguistic diversity in China as real might be the political beginning of the end of Chinese unity. Thus, the labors toward alphabetization were quietly stopped and the great work of reforming Chinese writing concentrated on replacing complicated characters with simplified forms. It was then argued that this simplification would be the best tool to fight analphabetism, an idea that gained great popularity in China. Nobody paid attention to the obvious fact that the reform would complicate the system and make the learning of it more difficult. Beginning from a certain level, one must learn both                                                              5

[Editor: Cf. John DeFrancis 1984 (German version: 2011).]

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the simplified characters and the non-simplified old forms. The result is that students must learn more, not fewer, characters. Another serious problem is that of arranging the dictionaries. Around 100 AD, Xu Shen arranged all characters of his dictionary Shuowen jiezi according to 540 radicals, which are arbitrarily chosen graphic elements used in many characters. These radicals were arranged according to the number of strokes. Within these 540 radical groups, the characters were arranged according to the number of strokes beyond the radical. The system was simplified over time. In 1615, Mei Yingzuo’s important dictionary Zihui was edited, with all characters arranged according to 214 radicals. Afterwards, this system was accepted in China and across the Far East. The simplified characters from the 1950s could not be arranged according to the old system. A new system for arranging the simplified characters was then urgently needed. Peking is home to the Committee for the Reform of the Chinese Written Language in the Chinese Academy of Sciences which is supposed to work on such problems, but this Committee has not proposed a new system in the past fifty years.6 As a result, the field is now in the utmost disorder. In older times, it was possible to learn by heart the numbers of 214 radicals, at least the numbers of the most frequent ones. That made searching for Chinese characters in dictionaries relatively easy. For instance, everyone knew that the radical mu (tree) was numbered 75, that shui (water) was 85, and mi (rice) was 119. All that was needed in order to find the character bo (cypress) was to count the additional strokes, i.e., strokes beyond the radical and then to search under 75, i.e., under radical 75 in the group of characters possessing five additional strokes. After the reform introduced simplified characters, each dictionary proposed its own system of radicals; in order to use one, we must thus start by learning its particular system. Some dictionaries arrange Chinese characters according to 226 radicals, but others have a smaller number of radicals. Moreover, some dictionaries do not number the radicals at all. Some dictionaries also arrange characters according to the total number of strokes or according to the form of the first stroke. Finally, it must be said that some dictionaries arrange characters according to pronunciation, so that one must know how the character is pronounced in order to find it in the dictionary. This is very annoying in the case of dialectal dictionaries, as one must first know how a character is pronounced in a given dialect and is written in a given dialectal transcription. Worst of all are dialectal dictionaries that arrange the characters according to the rhymes (dialectal of course). All this makes the situation rather difficult, in particular when the so-called dialects

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[Editor: In 2009, the “Hanzi bushou biao” (Chinese Character Radicals Table or The Table of Indexing Chinese Characters Components) was distributed by the Ministry of Education of PRC and State Language Work Committee (Guojia yuyan wenzi gongzuo weiyuanhui). This table contains 201 dictionary radicals and 100 supplementary components which were used then in the newer versions of Xinhua zidian and Xiandai Hanyu cidian.]

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are concerned. To conclude this chapter, we must briefly say something about dialects and Chinese writing. As said above, Chinese writing is not a good tool for noting the language and it never was. It makes it impossible to write a word without knowing its etymology, or we must use characters as phonetic symbols that are totally independent from etymology. This was used from the most remote times, as can be seen from the two categories of characters, called “borrowed” and “semantic and phonetic.” The great epoch of characters used as phonetic symbols arrived with Buddhism in the 2nd century AD. It is clear that many early phonetic notations – because of the changes the language has undergone – do not resemble the original foreign words; for example, the name Wenshu which sounds unlike the Indian Mañjuśri or the word ta, which is rather far from the original term – stupa. The same method of phonetic notation was largely used in more modern times, in particular in the early period (19th – early 20th c.), when many new words were “transcribed” into Chinese. Later, many of these phonetic renderings of foreign words were replaced by periphrastic words coined from Chinese monosyllabic elements. Nevertheless, phonetic renderings of foreign words occur even today. Some are very ingenious, such as tuolaji (tractor), in which the first two syllables corresponding to the English “tra” are written with the characters meaning “pull and push,” and the third syllable is a “machine.” Thus, a “tractor” is in Chinese something like “a push-and-pull machine.” Generally speaking, in Modern Chinese languages most new words are periphrastic in the sense of using – normally – two characters. Phonetic borrowings constitute a minority. Nevertheless, some modern languages are accepting more phonetic borrowings than other languages do. This inclination for phonetic borrowings appears in different areas of the immense Chinese language area, and can be observed, e.g., in the language spoken in Urumchi, in Modern Taiwanese, and in the language of Harbin. Linguistically, however, the situation is not the same in the three mentioned languages. In the language of Urumchi, we have to do with a substratum influencing Chinese; in the language of Harbin, this is the result of cohabitation, which means that Russian and Chinese were in contact within the same city; on the island of Taiwan, this is the strong influence of English as a result of many Chinese who were educated in the USA. Here again I must point out a typical inconsequence of Chinese linguists. The introduction to the dictionary of the Urumchi language7 contains examples of over twenty words said to be borrowed from Uighur and/or Kazakh into Urumchi Chinese, but the authors do not specify which of these words come from which of the two quite distinct languages. Moreover, about half of the words quoted as examples in the introduction do not appear in the dictionary, and consequently are not explained at all. Furthermore, the dictionary contains other fairly wellexplained phonetic borrowings, such as pa-li-tsi (police), taken directly from Russian, which the introduction fails to mention.                                                              7

[M.K.: Most probably the author refers to Zhou Lei 1998 here.]

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The status of the Harbin language phonetic borrowings is quite different, because Russian was not a substratum in this place. All phonetic borrowings were taken directly from Russians living in this city, producing terms such as ma-shen (machine) from the Russian mashina (machine). There are many other examples. These are all simple phonetic borrowings from different languages. There are also Modern Chinese languages which are particularly inclined to create very ingenious phonetic borrowings written in a way suggesting the meaning. This type of phonetic borrowings includes, for instance, some Modern Standard Taiwanese inventions such as xiangbo < “shampoo,” written with characters meaning “fragrant wave,” used instead of the purely periphrastic Continental xifajing (washing hair liquid). Another Taiwanese example is leishe < “laser,” written with characters meaning “thunder shot.” It is surely not easy to adopt Chinese writing to the notation of other Chinese languages, but there are some such languages that have a long tradition of this and their own written form. The most widely used Modern Chinese languages include, for example, Cantonese (and the very similar Hongkongese), the language of Shanghai, as well as some Min languages, e.g., the language of Amoy (Xiamen). In all these languages, new characters are created to note local words that could not be noted with traditional Chinese writing. These new characters are in most cases composed of a semantic element (often the graphic element for mouth, indicating that the character belongs to “colloquial language”) and a phonetic element. There are also “local” characters composed according to other rules, such as the Pekinese character for che (to tear with two hands), which is composed of two graphic elements meaning “hand” and a character meaning “divide” between the two. All this seems to indicate that the process of creating new characters of Chinese writing has not yet been completed. The last question is the following one: What should we do when we cannot find a character to write a dialectal word? The problem is very old and the answer may be found in Lunyu (15.25), where Confucius is said to have stated: “When I was young, there were still scribes leaving empty places when they had doubts (about how to write something).” The same method is used even today. Empty squares are used to mark nonexisting characters. It should, however, be remembered that this is always highly subjective information indicating the individual author’s helplessness. Objectively, it is true that in many cases such notation is signalizing that the etymology cannot be indicated. These last remarks lead us to a final comparison of two phrases with the same meaning: “We are Chinese.” In Modern Standard Chinese it is pronounced: Women shi Zhongguoren. In Cantonese it goes as follows: Ngutei hai tongyan.

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The phrases share only one common character, namely the last one: Both MSC ren and Cantonese yan mean “man” and are etymologically (i.e., genetically) the same. All other characters are different. This proves that it is not true that dialects differ only in phonetics, as Chinese researchers have often suggested.

CHAPTER 3 The Oldest Phase of the Chinese Language The oldest phase of the Chinese language known today – and beyond which we will probably be unable to probe – is the language of oracle inscriptions, discovered at the Yinxu site (Ruins of Yin), the ancient capital of the Shang–Yin dynasty. These inscriptions are dated to the 14th to 17th centuries BC and are written with a script that has been partially deciphered. Beyond any doubt, this is the writing that eventually evolved into Chinese script as we know it today. As mentioned in Chapter 2, I have already presented the history of these documents’ discovery in my book, Pismo chińskie (Chinese Writing System, 1970), and I refer all Polish readers to this volume. Others may easily find similar and even better books in other languages, such as B. Karlgren’s classic work The Chinese Language (1949). Many decades have elapsed since the publication of my book on Chinese writing, but the study of the oldest Chinese writing remains fundamentally unchanged. The progress in deciphering the oldest characters has been rather slow and the last few years have produced no spectacular achievements. Thus, while our knowledge of this writing is today much broader, none of the new facts suffice to alter any fundamental judgments.1 Before presenting the oldest phase of the Chinese language, I must point out that this phase began eight hundred years before the phase that Karlgren has termed “Archaic.” The situation of a Sinologist is unimaginable to a linguist studying European languages. It may be compared to that of a specialist of French whose sources are restricted to the language of the Strasburg Oath and Molière, written with a script that offers information about the phonetics of neither. Our first question must be: What should the phase of oracle inscriptions be called? The term “Archaic” is already reserved for the language of ca. 600 BC. “Pre-Archaic Chinese” seems the most appropriate for the earliest known phase of Chinese. If so, then the term “Proto-Chinese” might be reserved for an unknown phase which theoretically may be postulated as comparable with, e.g., Proto-Lolo-Burmese. Such a purely theoretical Proto-Chinese could be the language of the Xia dynasty (ca. 2070–1600 BC) and the beginnings of Shang–Yin (ca. 1600–1040 BC). Pre-Archaic Chinese is the only phase of the Chinese language that is known from authentic documents preserved in their original form. All other phases of

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[M.K.: From time to time we hear about some – at first sight – sensational archeological discoveries that might contribute to new insights about the origin of Chinese characters. However, as yet no in-depth studies on such topics exist. For example, on October 21, 2013, news spread about the archeological site Zhuangqiao fen (Zhejiang Province), belonging to the Liangzhu culture (3400–2250 BC), which is the last Neolithic jade culture in the Yangtze River Delta of China, that some possible Chinese characters had been discovered that were 1000 years older than oracle bone script. See http://www.cssn.cn/yyx /yyx_yyxsdt /201310/t20131021_443797.shtml, accessed 6 June 2018 ).]

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Chinese – up to now – are known from transmitted documents, and it is obvious that the transmission has altered these documents in many respects. For Archaic Chinese, the original documents play a secondary role. The main role is reserved for the transmitted texts. In many cases that means “texts that were subject to manipulation.” This difference between what is original and what is not is very important for linguistic studies. Pre-Archaic Chinese is known only in its written form. The phonetics of these texts remains unknown. Anything we may say about it is a conjecture relying on convention: The archaic texts are read with modern pronunciation, and so are, for convenience’s sake, the pre-archaic texts. This substitution of modern pronunciation for the unknown original version is very useful, because it simplifies much of the “reading” of old texts. This has – it must be remembered – nothing to do with the linguistic reality of those remote times. It must be also emphasized that only the vocabulary and syntax of the PreArchaic Chinese are subject to linguistic study. While this may seem like a substantial scope, both the vocabulary and the syntax of these texts are very restricted. It is enough to remember that the oldest texts we have are exclusively oracle inscriptions. Therefore, the thematic scope of such inscriptions (i.e., the vocabulary) is evidently very limited and the syntax does not stretch beyond questionand-answer structures. In his Archaeology in China: Shang China (1959, p. 180), Cheng Te-k’un (Zheng Dekun, 1907–2001) states that “the contents” of these inscriptions may be grouped under six headings: 1. Sacrificial ceremonies – offerings and sacrifices presented to various ancestors and natural deities as well as requests for guidance and reports to them regarding various matters; 2. Natural phenomena – enquiries regarding rain, wind, clear weather, water and other happenings in nature; 3. Crops and harvests – enquiries regarding crops, harvests and other matters concerning agriculture; 4. Wars and military expeditions – enquiries regarding the prospects of such undertakings; 5. Private affairs of the king – enquiries regarding such matters as hunting trips, travels, sickness, dreams, child-birth, etc. and 6. Future well-being – enquiries regarding the king’s well-being in the coming evening or the coming 10 days, etc. In most cases the questions asked and the answers received were inscribed near the cracks on the shell or bone used in the divination. It is thus clear that the vocabulary of oracle bone inscriptions in reality only makes up a small part of the pre-archaic language. Thus, the analysis of PreArchaic Chinese is in fact limited to its syntax. It is then clear that we cannot avoid here some general remarks on syntax. If we are looking at a Pre-Archaic Chinese text, we see only a longer or shorter sequence of units (characters) and

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we may remark that the relations between these units are (at least in most cases) not formally marked. This means that no units appear with higher frequency before or after other units. Thus, all we can say is that some units precede other units and some follow them. These may be termed prepositional and postpositional units, respectively – the first type of distribution we are able to note. Analysis of an oracle bone text reveals that some units appear at the beginning, others at the end, and most in the middle. It is thus possible to assume that there are some relations between the units and that these relations are syntactic. Therefore, it is important to establish the fundamental types of syntactic relations that may be discovered between linguistic units constituting the text. The fact that it is impossible to discover formal elements (function markers) in the text does not mean that there were none in the language. It means only that if they existed in the language, they are inaccessible to us. From the point of view of linguistic theory, it is evidently possible to admit that the functions of formal elements were played either by segmental units, which were used to change the segmental structure of the syllable, or by suprasegmental units such as tone, accent, or even intonation, which could perform distinctive functions. This is not pure theory. The phonetic reconstructions of AC pronunciation show a fairly rich set of changes occurring within a syllable, which – as a rule – are not reflected by the writing. It is today well known that Archaic Chinese possessed a very rich morphology that featured various functions and was based on some changes of segmental elements within a syllable. To be exact, we should say that these changes had either morphologic or word-formative functions. It seems that Archaic Chinese did not differentiate morphology from word formation. This difference between morphology and word formation is essential for linguists, but not always discerned in natural languages. Let us here point out only that morphology refers to the creation of new forms of the same word, whereas word formation is a creation of new words. While the line between “new form” and “new word” is not always clear, such a difference is very useful in linguistics. In Modern Chinese languages, the same formal markers often serve to create not only new words, but also new forms. To give one simple example: In MSC, wode (mine) and kanmende (door-keeper) have the same suffix de; in the first case, it serves to create the possessive form of the personal pronoun and in the second, to create a noun from a verb-object structure. There is no difference between the possessive and nominal suffix in this case nor, consequently, between morphology and syntax. Such a situation was also very characteristic for Archaic Chinese (the details will be discussed below). Therefore, it is quite clear that the structure of PreArchaic Chinese could be the same. Such a supposition is in theory admissible. The distinctive function of suprasegmental elements in Pre-Archaic Chinese cannot be excluded, because we know it from other phases of the language as well. Modern Chinese languages use intonation changes to mark semantic differences between sentences. A sentence consisting of the same sequence of units may be

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differentiated by means of intonation. The intonation is often the only marker of the affirmative or interrogative value of the sentence. It is certainly possible that the situation was the same in Pre-Archaic Chinese. Nevertheless, we must remember that as far as Archaic Chinese is concerned, we may also suppose that there was some link between initial and/or final particles and the intonation of the whole phrase. In theory, word stress may also have played a distinctive role. For example, it is possible that a disyllabic compound was accented on the first syllable when it was understood as a subject-predicate syntagma, but accented on the second syllable when it was a determinative syntagma. The same type of game of oppositions is also possible in the case of tones. For example, a tone change (from an A tone to a B tone) may have changed a noun into a verb (if not always, then at least in some cases). “Possible” from the point of view of linguistic theory does not, however, mean that it was actually the case. It is quite obvious that our conjectures rely on very weak foundations. In fact, there are no serious arguments in favor of such presuppositions. Let us thus return to what is definite, i.e., to syntactic analysis. This game of prepositions and/or postpositions to which we have referred above may be resolved by referring to the semantics of the linguistic units, i.e., by referring to its natural disposition to fulfill concrete functions. It is quite normal that a unit meaning “to kill” is predestined to be a predicate and that it is often preceded by something that can semantically serve as its subject and followed by something that can fulfill the function of its object. It is thus probable that when a “verbal” unit is standing between two “nominal” units, the first one is its subject, and the last one is its object. In the same way, we may analyze a sequence of three syllables, two of which are “nominal” and the third “verbal.” In such a case, it is highly probable that the first “nominal” unit is a subject, the second is its object, and the third is the predicate. Furthermore, it seems clear that a unit meaning “man” is predestined to be either subject or object. Its verbal meaning “to be a man” certainly does not appear very often, although it is also possible. Two units meaning “man” and “to kill” may have the meaning “the man killed” or “killed by the man.” In this last case, active or passive interpretation is equally possible and the surface structure may be unchanged. It is thus important to realize that such an interpretation is very near to reasoning in a closed circle, because translation requires understanding the text, and such an understanding is impossible without translation. These dilemmas are well known to all Sinologists, and it is only experience which preserves them from many (though not all) errors. It thus follows that the most reasonable methodological postulate is simplicity of description, which should avoid the unnecessary multiplication of categories (and subcategories). This is nothing new, but a general methodological rule that has been well known since the Middle Ages (entia non sunt multiplicanda …). I am certain that this rule must be adapted to linguistic research as well.

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This also indicates that we shall avoid new terms. Our linguistic experience says that systems based on rejecting existing terminology and introducing a new (that is, better) one do not lead to greater success. Generally speaking, it is better to give an old term some specific new meaning than to create a new term and risk that it will not be understood. Briefly, we believe that new terms are admissible only when truly necessary. The situation characterizing Pre-Archaic Chinese – represented by rather short texts, in which the semantics of linguistic units appears as a conclusive factor – naturally incline one to a curious inquiry of semantic relations between elementary units, i.e., to a logical analysis of the relations between linguistic elements. It is then very easy to forget that logical analysis and grammatical analysis are two different things, that their aims differ widely and the applied methods must accordingly differ as well. Failing to discern these two levels of analysis clearly confuses, rather than elucidates, many issues. Years ago, Chmielewski (1964, pp. 117-120) presented the most elaborated system of a syntactic analysis of the Chinese language. His system analyzed the relations between two-element syntagmas composed only from plerematic units (without function markers). He was concerned only about structures that he judged to have later evolved into words composed of two semantemes, also united by syntactic relations. He strongly stressed that this is why Chinese syllabic morphology has a syntactic character of relations between units. Here are the main types of syntactic relations, which Chmielewski termed as follows: 1. coordination 2. determination 3. rection 4. direction 5. introduction 6. subjection 7. predication 8. exposure In his further remarks, Chmielewski does not discuss the last syntactic relation – exposure – because it does not appear in syntactic groups composed of two elements, which were morphologized in the course of the evolution of the Chinese language. From the above-presented typology of syntactic relations, it follows that the tendency towards a logical standardizing of grammatical terminology resulted in a system that was unclear and therefore rejected by most Sinologists. In truth, I must state that I know of no outstanding scholar who has accepted this classification. It is enough to point to some problematic aspects of this classification: The relation that is normally called “predication” in linguistics (i.e., the relation between the subject and its predicate) is called “subjection” by Chmielewski, because the author wants to name all syntactic relations after its first member. It is not difficult to see that the term “subjection” is unsuitable, as it suggests some

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kind of subordination – which is evidently not what the author intended to imply. The same may be said about “introduction” (called so because the first member is introducing the second, which is its result). This new term was created to replace the old one – “resultative,” which is quite clear. Once more, I must say here and repeat that I am principally against introducing new terms to replace old and well-known ones. If necessary, I would prefer redefining the old term to creating a new one. There are cases when the tendency to call something “more scholarly” leads to quite humoristic results. Many years ago, Wiesław Roman Kotański (1915–2005), an outstanding Polish specialist in Japanese studies, wrote a Polish article in which he attempted to characterize the Japanese sentence by calling it “dexterocentric.” The author did not point out that the Japanese sentence is dexterocentric only if it is written horizontally and from left to right. Only then is the sentence’s nucleus placed on the extreme right. The Japanese prefer to write from right to left, making the resulting sentence not dexterocentric, but rather sinistrocentric. Lastly, we must add that most Japanese texts are written from top to bottom, in which case the sentence would have to bear the cringe-worthy designation “bottom-centric.” This clearly shows that linguistic terms should not be created through the function of external factors and that new terms should be created with the utmost caution. From the point of view of grammar (and not logic), I consider some terms completely unnecessary. Such is the case, for instance, with Chmielewski‘s “direction,” which is a term to denote the relation between a modal verb and a principal verb. Is “determination” not sufficient in this case? There are many arguments in favor of the determinative interpretation of modal verbs. These verbs appear, for instance, on a definite place in a sequence of determinations arranged according to a strict hierarchy. Moreover, as said above, Chmielewski’s terminology was created with the aim of naming all relations after its first member and thus operating with a definite order within adopted terms. In reality, such a system produces no more than an illusory order. If “rection” means the relation between verb and its (postpositional) object, what, may we ask, should we call the relation between the prepositional object and the verb following it? Should we call it “objection”? And what should we do when a verb has two objects, one of which precedes and the other follows it? This last point is more than a purely theoretical problem. From the point of view of both synchronic studies and diachrony, it is very important to differentiate between prepositional and postpositional objects. Describing which objects precede the verb, and under which conditions, is in truth more important than creating new terms. Even remarking that Chinese has both prepositional and postpositional determination is far more important than creating new terms to label the two. The simplest example of the difference between prepositional and postpositional determination is nanhu – “southern lake” (prepositional) and hunan – “south of the lake” (postpositional). The prepositional determination is clearly attributive and the postpositional one is directive. In Classical Chinese, the same difference is to be observed when a verb serves as the nucleus: Beifa means “northern expedition,” while fabei means “to go to the North.”

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Here, we are faced again with the problem of word order as a basis of a classification of Far East monosyllabic tonal languages. Therefore, we must now briefly present the oldest phase of the Chinese language, namely the language of oracle bone inscriptions; only so can this problem be presented correctly. The best grammar of oracle bone texts is the one Chen Mengjia (1911–1966) included in his monumental Yinxu buci zongshu (A General Description of Oracle Bone Inscriptions in the Ruins of Yin), published in 1956. A concise grammar of the language of oracle bone inscriptions is given on pp. 85-134. Obviously, Chen Mengjia has not been the sole person to deal with the grammar of this period; many other descriptions of the oldest phase of the Chinese language exist, and it would be impossible to present a more or less complete bibliography of the problem here. Let me mention only one small, but very interesting book by Mikhail Vasilyevich Kryukov, The Language of Yin Inscriptions, published in Moscow in 1980. This is certainly one of the most valuable grammatical descriptions of PreArchaic Chinese. In the mentioned book (p. 22), Kryukov quotes an interesting fragment of Yuriy Vladimirovich Bunakov’s Gadatel’nyje kosti iz Henani (Oracle Bones from Henan), published in 1935 (Moscow – Leningrad): [T]he profound archaic character of the system of Yin inscriptions can be seen in the fact that at that point there still is no further consolidation of the wordorder in the phrase (the subject coming first, the object following the verb, etc.). Here we often encounter the predicate coming first, the attribute standing after the word it modifies, etc. Kryukov further remarks that Bunakov arrived at the conclusion that in the language of Yin inscriptions “the role of the word in the phrase was determined not by position, as is the synthetical language of the later stages, but through the context.” My following remarks on Pre-Archaic Chinese are based on the book of Chen Mengjia, who gave the fundamental features of the syntax of the late Shang–Yin time. This is, however, not an exhaustive discussion of Chen Mengjia’s text, but only a selection of those features I have deemed most important. Here and below, I will not give an exhaustive grammatical description of the subsequent stages of Chinese. I will only mention those features I consider essential, mainly from the point of view of the language’s evolution. Thus, the most important features, enumerated by Chen Mengjia, are: 1.

The common noun may be associated with a numeral; a personal noun or a pronoun cannot be associated with a numeral. A noun may be associated with another noun, thereby forming a nominal group. This group may be either exocentric or endocentric. A personal noun consisting of two (or three) syllables is in most cases built on the principle of postpositional determination: wang Kai (the king Kai), ziyu (the son of a fisherman), hou Hu (the marquis Hu [tiger]). This also applies to posthumous (temple) names: zujia (the first ancestor).

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In geographical names, which normally consist of one syllable only, the determination of the kind of name (e.g., river, mountain) may stand before or after the name. 2. The classifier (this term will be discussed below when the problem is presented in detail) always comes after the noun and the numeral. This is a typical postpositional determination, which is in contrast to the exclusively prepositional determination in all Modern Chinese languages. 3. The pronoun reflects the number and two cases (dependent and independent), but not the subjective and objective cases. 4. The adjective always comes before the determined noun. 5. The numeral either comes before the noun or after it. 6. Temporal words indicate the past, present, and future. 7. A conjunction comes before a noun (or numeral), but may also be placed before the main clause or phrase. 8. A verb and all words connected with a verb form a verbal group; adjective determinants come immediately before the verbal group, but modal words precede all such groups. Among modal words, the negations are placed at the very beginning when the negation refers to the whole group, but are immediately before the verb when it refers only to this last word. Many modal words are placed at the end of the phrase. 9. The main order in the sentence is: subject – predicate – object. The object may be placed before the predicate. A sentence sometimes contains more than one object. A preposition is often placed in front of the object that precedes the predicate. 10. a. A group preceded by a temporal preposition comes before the predicate, but it may also come before the subject or after the object; b. a group preceded by a personal preposition comes after the predicate, but it may also be placed before the subject or after the object; c. a group not preceded by a preposition comes after the predicate, but may also be placed before it or after the object. 11. The subordinate clause comes before the main clause. This description concludes with a remark that pre-archaic syntax is of the same type as Modern Chinese syntax. Having read the above characteristics of the Pre-Archaic Chinese syntax given by Chen Mengjia, we must ask the following question: How is it really with the – so often strongly underlined – rigid word order in Chinese, especially when compared with the likewise rigid word order in other languages of the Far East? As far as Chinese is concerned today, there is no doubt that the problem is much more complicated than it might appear at first sight. In any case, the problem is not as simple as many linguists had thought it to be when they conducted the first studies in the 19th century. What is more, asking this question – which is doubtlessly fundamental for any description of Chinese languages – plunges us at once into the fervent discussions of previous times. While these discussions cannot be presented here in detail, their essential points should be sketched briefly.

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The dispute concerns the problem of word order in syntagmas and in sentences. There is also the fundamental problem of the evolution of word order. If we agree that word order has evolved, we must try to characterize its fundamental features. Peyraube (1994) shows that the discussion began with Joseph Harold Greenberg’s Language Universals with Special Reference to Feature Hierarchies (1966). This publication may be considered as the starting point of a general discussion of the problem. However, it was Li and Thompson’s “An Explanation of Word Order Change SVO-SOV,” published in Foundations of Language (1974/12, pp. 201-214), which brought the matter to a head. In contrast to the commonly accepted immutability of word order in Chinese (and consequently in all Chinese languages), the authors claim that the PreArchaic (they use just this term) Chinese language was characterized by the SOV (we would say SOP, i.e., Subject-Object-Predicate) sentence structure, which became a SPO (Subject-Predicate-Object) structure between the 10th and 3rd century BC, and then gradually evolved into the SOP structure. This last change is still continuing today. Thus, we are faced with a language (or better: languages) whose fundamental syntactic rules are constantly changing. Of course, these changes are very slow and may be described only in terms of statistics. That means that, e.g., in the 10th century BC the word order of the SOP type was prevailing, while in the 3rd century BC the prevailing word order was SPO, and so on. Li and Thompson’s admission of fundamental changes in syntax is very important: The Chinese language, which is the best known of all monosyllabic, tonal, and positional languages of the Far East, has in its very long history changed its basic word order twice. It thus follows that word order cannot be taken as a basis of classification for all of these languages, because it is not a characteristic feature that is fixed forever. Some Sinologists – such as Timothy Light (1979) or Sun Chaowen and Talmy Givon (1985) – refused to accept Li and Thompson’s opinion, instead defending the immutability of word order in Chinese. As Peyraube has remarked, the scholars defending this immutability do not deny the first stage of the change, SOP>SPO (between the pre-archaic and archaic phase), but are concentrating on fighting the later change, SPO>SOP. Some traces of the original word order of the SOP type can be found in the oldest phases of Archaic Chinese, as I have argued in my “Les archaismes de syntaxe en chinois archaique” (1987). I was evidently not the first to remark on this problem; for example, William A.C.H. Dobson (1913–1982) mentioned it in his Early Archaic Chinese (1962) and Late Archaic Chinese (1959), but did not call it “archaism.” I am quite sure that an analysis of the word order of Modern Chinese languages could produce many interesting observations in this respect. It is, however, true that no such research has been conducted, so we can offer only some introductory remarks here. Some indications are certainly not accidental. One of my students analyzed the position of the object in a corpus of more than 300 pages of Modern Standard Chinese literary texts written by Ba Jin (1904–2005),

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proving beyond any doubt that almost 30% of objects are prepositional. This cannot be overlooked when formulating our opinion about word order in Modern Chinese. Further investigations of this kind would throw new light on the problem of word order. Meanwhile, it is enough to return to Chen Mengjia’s description of prearchaic syntax in order to see that it differs in many ways from archaic syntax. As is often the case, however, the same facts may be interpreted in different and even contradictory ways. For instance, A. Peyraube considers it impossible for the SOP word order to be more frequent in the pre-archaic form than in the later phases of the language. If the linguistic material allows for different interpretations, we are authorized to deliberate if other interpretations besides the theories of change and immutability are possible. I am quite sure that the problem may be solved in the following way: The Chinese language – from pre-archaic times to the modern phase (including all differences, which may be observed in its long history) – never possessed a rigid word order in the sense accepted by many scholars. It was and is a language with a rigid word order in a definite frame, but it was never a language with one exclusive type of word order (e.g., exclusively prepositional or exclusively postpositional in the very broad sense of these terms). No wonder that in concrete cases, we may observe an evolution from one type of word order to another one. Such an evolution remains within the same frames of word order and could be termed mixed. It is vital to recognize that the Chinese language has always represented a mixed word order. I must, however, admit that I am unable to say the same about other positional languages of the region, such as the Tibetan or Burman languages, nor about other languages that cannot be considered as cognate, such as Vietnamese. The modern version of this last example accepts both a postpositional and a prepositional order of determinative structures, but the prepositional determination seems to be limited to borrowings from Chinese. This is quite another thing. If we say that Vietnamese has a mixed word order, this will have another sense than in case of Chinese. It will be near to speaking of a mixed language, which is the result of mixing two languages of different origins that originally possess different syntactic structures. When speaking of Archaic Chinese as a language with a mixed word order, I do not mean that it was a mixed language (langue mixte). A language of mixed word order means only that the word order varies from case to case. Thus, we may speak only of a statistically prevailing type of word order, and this prevailing type of word order is in constant flux. Moreover, a concrete type of word order may prevail in a certain period or even only in a certain type of text. The theory of mixed word order as a characteristic feature of the Chinese language does not negate the fact that the language may be a mixed language, but neither does it strengthen such a supposition. These two things – mixed order and mixed language – are quite different and belong to different levels of linguistic analysis. I would like to stress this problem, because linguistics contains a hypothesis saying that the Chinese language is a mixed language. The author of this hypoth-

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esis is Benedict, one of the most outstanding linguists dealing with the so-called Sino-Tibetan languages. In his book Sino-Tibetan: A Conspectus (1972), he argues that an analysis of Sino-Tibetan languages makes it quite evident that: (a) Chinese shows almost no trace of the fairly elaborate TB morphology, (b) the two stocks have only a small segment of roots in common, (c) the phonological systems of the two stocks differ in many respects, and can scarcely be reconciled at all at some points, (d) the tonal systems of the two stocks appear not to be correlated. Our belief that the two stocks are genetically related must rest, ultimately, on the fact that they have certain basic roots in common, and that phonological generalizations can be established for these roots” (pp. 196197). Benedict further says: “It might be argued that the ST elements constitute only a superstratum in Chinese and that the substratum is of distinct origin” (p. 197). Consequently, Chinese is to be treated as a mixed language. According to Benedict, its two components are a ST language (which he believes to have been spoken by the Zhou) and a non-ST language (spoken by the Shang people; ibid.). I do not see any objection to the theory of Pre-Archaic Chinese being a mixed language, but I cannot agree with the historical frame of the mixture process indicated by P.K. Benedict. It is a fact that China contains an old tradition of the Zhou dynasty or people being of western origin, although I would be rather cautious speaking of “people” in such remote times. Benedict is certainly right when speaking only of the “bearers of ST language.” I am certain that the fact that a people inhabited a territory to the west of the Shang territory does not mean that Zhou and Shang were of different origin. I would certainly not speak of “nationality.” Even the term “ethnic” seems rather inappropriate. It might be supposed that these peoples were primitive nomads, and we know very well that nomads are often a mixture of different ethnicities. Therefore, I judge that we have no reliable indications about the language which the Zhou people were speaking. From very remote times, the Chinese have paid no attention to linguistic features characterizing the described peoples. In China, barbarians were always designated by terms indicating the geographic direction of their homeland from the Middle of the World, i.e., China. For instance, Man is the term for barbarians living to the south of China’s center, Yi the term for those to the east, etc. All this has nothing to do with the language of these peoples. First of all, it must be remarked that the Zhou people were never referred to by the terms used for barbarians. They were living to the west of the Shang territory, but they were not referred to as western barbarians. Secondly, it should be said that a Chinese-speaking country was considered semi-barbarian by virtue of the fact that it was situated on the periphery of the Chinese domain. The Middle Kingdom constituted the nucleus of China and “true” Chinese features automatically diminished with increasing distance from the center. In other words, the peripheral kingdoms were ex definitione less Chinese. Such is the Confucian theory and it is in no relation to ethnic differences. Some Chinese kingdoms were considered barbarian or semi-barbarian only because of their geographic situation. The Qi kingdom, situated to the east of Shandong, is a good example. In

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antiquity, it was said to be barbarian, although its capital was then one of the greatest cultural centers of China. Let us now return to the problem of a supposed Tibeto-Karen superstratum. It must be stressed once more that we currently possess no information about PreArchaic Chinese phonetics. This means that there are no phonetic reconstructions of pre-archaic pronunciation. We have only the reconstructions of Archaic Chinese, i.e., the phonetics of ca. 600 BC. The projection of these reconstructions on the language of the beginnings of the Zhou period (some 600 years earlier) is evidently impossible. Sinologists must honestly say that they do not know how to read the oracle bone inscriptions and anything that precedes ca. 600 BC. The fact that we are still able to “read” even the oldest Chinese texts is only a kind of convention. The Chinese themselves were and are “reading” all texts using the actual pronunciation of Chinese characters in the Chinese language they are speaking. Evidently, this conventional substitution has nothing in common with the character’s original pronunciation in the oldest times. Thus, the same text read by someone who is speaking a Chinese language from the Min group sounds very different from the same text read in Pekinese or in Cantonese. Furthermore, the same text sounds phonetically very different, when read in SinoJapanese, Sino-Vietnamese, or Sino-Korean. If we support the theory of Chinese being a mixed language, such a projection of a reconstructed pronunciation is impossible twice over: first, because we know neither the Tibeto-Karen pronunciation of that time nor what Tibeto-Karen language was the supposed superstratum; secondly, because we have no information about the other component of the supposed mixture. What was the “pure” language of the Shang–Yin period before it mixed with the supposed Tibeto-Karen language? All we may say about this mixed language of the early Zhou period is that it was a language which was written with Chinese characters for several centuries. While this is not much, it may give us some information. This problem will be discussed below. It is important to point out here that we may only be certain that the process of mixing the two unknown languages, which were probably not cognate, must have been rather long. If so, everything before Archaic Chinese belongs phonetically to the dark “period of mixing,” and will thus lie forever beyond the grasp of scientific research. All specialists know that Chinese script plays a fundamental role in the process of reconstructing the oldest phases of Chinese phonetics. Structurally, there are several categories of Chinese characters. These were discussed above. Let us now remember that only two of these categories – numbers four and five – allow us to draw phonetic conclusions from the structure of the characters. The category of borrowed ideograms (Category 4) is not numerous and consists only of characters whose homophonic nature or very similar pronunciation made them useful for denoting something difficult to draw. To give only one example: The character for “wheat” is easy to draw, “to go” is not. In the oldest times, the pronunciation of the two words was homophonic or very near to it. Therefore, the character for “wheat” was borrowed to note the verb “to go.” The

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word meaning “to go” certainly appears with much higher frequency than the word “wheat.” Therefore, the primitive drawing of wheat was finally used exclusively to denote “to go.”2 We may admit that in distant times these two words were homophones or were pronounced very much alike. We must, however, remember that it is impossible to go beyond this information. It is also quite evident that borrowed characters may be used only accidentally. Too many borrowed characters make the text unclear. Therefore, the Chinese invented another category of characters, which consists of two parts: The first indicates the semantic field of the word and the second indicates its pronunciation (Category 5). Thus, a character composed of two elements, one meaning “tree” and the other “white,” is indicating “it is a kind of tree named like ‘white’ (i.e., bai or bo).” Thus it is a “cypress” (bo). This category of characters is very numerous, but it appeared fairly late compared to other structural categories. Therefore, the conclusions resulting from the analysis of the structure of such characters concern Archaic Chinese more than the language of earlier times. Since the phonetics of the Shang period is unknown, we cannot say much in this context, even though we might find some such characters in the oldest inscriptions. For example, the oldest oracle bone inscriptions contain a character composed of two elements – “man” and “grain” – and we know that this means “harvest, year.” Apparently, this character may be taken as composed from two semantic elements. The word’s phonetics in the remote times of Pre-Archaic Chinese remain unknown. The Archaic Chinese reconstruction is pronounced nin; in TibetoBurman, we find ning with the same meaning. Both sound very much alike. What does that signify? I am afraid that nothing further can be said. There are two possibilities: Either the two words belong to the common vocabulary of two cognate languages (but the theory of Chinese as a mixed language says that they were not cognate) or one language has borrowed the word from the other. In the last case, we must rely on common sense. In the period in question, the Chinese certainly represented a more highly developed agricultural society than any of the Tibeto-Burman peoples. Therefore, it is more probable that the bearers of the supposed superstratum language borrowed this term from the Shang people. How the word then migrated to other Tibeto-Burman languages is another matter. The general rule is quite clear: One borrows terms for things that are new to one’s culture. The same types of objections arise when basic syntactic features are observed. In contrast to phonetics, the pre-archaic language’s basic syntactic features are known. If a language of the Tibetan type was the superstratum in a non-cognate language spoken by the Shang people, we should have the following situation: The Tibetan type of word order should feature very seldom in pre-archaic texts, and Tibetan syntax should gradually increase in all texts of the Zhou period. First of all, we must say that we do not know much about Tibetan syntax or Tibetan word order in the early Zhou times. The oldest Tibetan syntax we know                                                              2

[M.K.: Cf. Norman 1988, pp. 59-60.]

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is the classic Tibetan syntax from the Tang period, i.e., from the 7th century AD onwards. This language is about 18 centuries more recent than the supposed superstratum of the beginning of the Zhou period! How could we argue that the basic rules of that syntax remained unchanged for so long? Moreover, there is another question: On what basis are we identifying the supposed old TibetoKaren superstratum with classic Tibetan? All we can say is that Tibeto-Karen languages have the same prepositional object. Determinative syntagmas have a different word order in Tibetan and in Burman. If so, the only one element that could be compare is the position of object in the pre-archaic and archaic versions. As far as the Chinese side is concerned, we know that word order was not as rigid as one could think. It changed – and in this period, its main change was a shift from prepositional object to postpositional object. This is evidently contrary to what should happen under the influence of a Tibetan type of superstratum. Moreover, cases of prepositional object are more frequent in the Pre-Archaic Chinese of the 14th and 18th centuries than in the Zhou period. At last in early Zhou the prepositional object is not more frequent at all. In view of the above, the theory of a Tibeto-Karen superstratum, arriving with the Zhou dynasty in the 12th century BC, cannot be accepted. This does not counter the theory of Chinese being a mixed language, because Chinese syntactically represents a mixed type. Thus, it may be supposed that two unknown languages mixed earlier than the beginnings of the Zhou period. Faced with a lack of solid evidence, however, we must designate the problem as simply irresolvable. All we can say is that Tibetan and Chinese possess certain common roots. According to Benedict, while the number of these common roots is not great, they cannot be neglected. In his already quoted A Sinologist Handlist of Sino-Tibetan Lexical Comparisons (1986), Coblin gives about 450 common roots. The question is: Are these 450 roots a lot or not? My previously presented case of “indigo” (not listed by Coblin) is rather instructive. The same may be said of other materials from languages that are not cognate with Chinese. These materials illustrate the mechanisms of how languages exert mutual influence. The Laha language (probably belonging to the Kadai group spoken in North Vietnam) as described by Vadim M. Solncev (1986) and others has – in one of the two main dialects – its “own” numerals only from one to four (cam, śa, tow, pa). Numerals from five to ten are borrowed from Chinese (ha, hok, cet, pet, kow, śep). The general mechanism of diffusing the decimal system of numerals was probably the same for many languages, at least the TibetoBurman ones. The parallel to Tai should be noted: Only the two first numerals (nyng, song) are not borrowed; all others are of Chinese origin (sam, si, ha, hok, t’iet, pet, kau, sip). Thus, it is clear that numerals are not to be treated as common linguistic material inherited from the remote past, while Benedict is inclined to do so. Once more, we must stress that in linguistic comparisons special attention should be paid to extra-linguistic arguments.

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It is quite evident that Chinese culture was the most advanced culture of the Far East since remote times. If a linguistic community (of the rather doubtful Proto-Sino-Tibetan type) existed, it must be dated back to Palaeolithic times. Would a Palaeolithic culture have known decimal numerals? Probably not. In China, the decimal system of numerals was preceded by an older duodecimal system. Therefore, all Tibeto-Burman numerals commonly spoken are in reality old borrowings from Chinese and thus useless for any linguistic comparison. A linguist must avoid errors in the non-historical treatment of linguistic material. Unfortunately, such errors are relatively frequent. I wish to conclude this chapter by demonstrating how often linguists (under political pressure) deliberately misinterpret linguistic material. The mentioned description of the Laha language was published in 1986, but it relies on research conducted in 1979, during the Sino-Vietnamese conflict. Russia was supporting the Vietnamese. Therefore, the book makes not a single mention of borrowings from Chinese in Laha. Such words are called borrowings from Tai or are not called borrowings at all – even when such misinterpretations are evident, such as Laha nong zen (farmer) (< Chinese nongren [farmer]), Laha hop tak śa (cooperative) (< Chinese hezuoshe [cooperative]), etc. The problem of common roots cannot be discussed without a presentation of phonetics. As stated above, the oldest phonetic reconstructions we have at our disposition have been elaborated by Karlgren and represent the supposed pronunciation of ca. 600 BC, called Archaic Chinese. There are some controversies around this date, but let us remain in the historical frame Karlgren has provided. The main problems of phonetic reconstructions will be presented in the following chapter.

CHAPTER 4 The Archaic Chinese Language Archaic Chinese is today the best-known period from both the phonetic and the grammatical perspective. However, the term itself has different meanings in phonetics and grammar. Phonetically, it indicates pronunciation arbitrarily dated to ca. 600 BC, a date fixed by Karlgren, the author of the most widely accepted phonetic reconstructions. Several other reconstructions also exist.1 Therefore, the dating of Archaic Chinese differs according to the accepted reconstruction system.2 Grammatically, Archaic Chinese is the period from the 11th century BC to the end of the pre-imperial period, i.e., to the end of the 3rd century BC. Dobson, the author of a set of grammars of Archaic Chinese, divided this period into Early Archaic Chinese (EAC), Middle Archaic Chinese (MAC), and Late Archaic Chinese (LAC). Thus, his descriptions were based on three complexes of texts. According to Dobson, Early Archaic Chinese is a kind of abstraction created out of descriptive necessity and indicates the language of authentic parts of the Shujing (Book of Documents) and the language of authentic inscriptions on bronze dating from the Zhou period. Strictly defined, it is the language of six chapters of the Shujing (“Kanggao,” “Jiugao,” “Dagao,” “Luogao,” “Shaogao,” and “Duoshi”), the language of the Shijing, and the language of 14 chosen inscriptions. Dobson’s book Early Archaic Chinese was published in 1962 in Toronto. However, this was not the author’s first book; he had published his Late Archaic Chinese back in 1959. The Late Archaic Chinese was defined as the language of the following texts: Mengzi, Mozi, Zhuangzi, and Zuozhuan. The intermediary phase between these two is called Middle Archaic Chinese, and it is defined as the language of Chunqiu and Lunyu. As we may see, the term “Archaic Chinese” has quite different meanings in phonetics and in grammar. This is a vital distinction, because strictly speaking AC pronunciation should not be applied to Late Archaic Chinese, which ex definitione came much later. If we do so we are only following a convention, because we do not have reconstructions for each period and those for Archaic Chinese are more accessible. It is also important to note that all AC texts are known in the form in which they have been transmitted through the ages. Only the 14 selected inscriptions on bronze vessels are an exception in this respect, being doubtlessly authentic. The remainder of the linguistic material taken for the grammatical analysis of Archaic Chinese suffered the extraordinary fate of all classical Chinese texts. Therefore, a linguist must remember that the authenticity of Pre-archaic Chinese texts (e.g., oracle-bone inscriptions) and the authenticity

                                                             1

[M.K.: E.g., Pulleyblank 1962a, 1962b; Li Fang-Kuei 1971, Li Fang-Kuei (transl.: G.L. Mattos) 1974–1975, pp. 219-287); Zhengzhang Shangfang 2003; Baxter – Sagart 2014.]

2

[Editor: All reconstructions of AC phonetics given below are preceded by two asterisks.]

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of AC texts are two different things. The authenticity of the first group is beyond any question, the second one is a matter of discussion. None of the AC texts have been transmitted down to our times in their original forms, or in their original graphic forms. First of all, it is important to realize that in remote times all of these texts were composed with quite another writing than the one known today. It is enough to compare the writing of oracle-bone inscriptions and the writing of bronze inscriptions in order to know that they are quite different. Moreover, we must remember that according to many specialists – such as Tung Tso-pin (Dong Zuobin, 1895–1963) – bronze inscriptions represent an older form of Chinese writing than the writing of oracle-bone inscriptions. This would mean that a portion of EAC texts is known to us in archaic writing, or in a writing that was strongly archaized. The rest of the corpus has suffered a rather complicated fate. A very old tradition states that during the reign of King Xuan of Zhou (827–781), the grand historian of the royal court composed a glossary in 15 chapters entitled Shizhoupian. It is said that he used the Great Seal characters (dazhuan) and that this was the first effort to normalize Chinese writing. According to the same tradition, all texts were then written in these characters. Both the analysis of palaeographic forms of Chinese characters and the reconstruction of AC phonetics have shown how often the old graphic forms were misunderstood and misinterpreted. Therefore, if we agree that this ancient reform was in fact realized, we must consider that this was possibly the first corruption of the oldest texts. In 213 BC, First Minister Li Si induced the First Emperor to issue an edict on the burning of books. At the same time, the normalized Small seal characters (xiaozhuan) were introduced. After the fall of the First Chinese Empire, the Han dynasty introduced a new reform of Chinese writing, which later resulted in regular writing. Each change was more than a simple change of style. In many cases, scribes made multiple errors and mistakes. It is well known that the oldest forms of Chinese characters consisting of two or three elements give us interesting information about some aspects of the primitive society. Two examples should suffice. First is the character for “home” ( jia), consisting of two elements: “roof” and “pig.” The character clearly indicates that animals were kept together with the whole family. Another interesting example is the character for “family”/“clan” (zu), which was composed of a “banner” and an “arrow,” thus indicating that a family was first conceived as a “military unit.” In later times, scribes misunderstood the old graphic form and composed the character from a “square,” an “arrow,” and an additional graphic element with no particular meaning. The original meaning disappeared completely. From a linguistic point of view, misunderstandings concerning the phonetic part of the characters have played the most important role. These are particularly difficult to discover, but they have direct influence on the reconstructed pronunciation. At the beginning of the Han dynasty, scholars recited memorized texts, and recordings were then made on the basis of their recitation. It is not difficult to imagine that many errors must have resulted from such a transmission of texts.

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The fact that the old texts were discovered in the wall of a house supposed to be the dwelling of Confucius himself does not facilitate the situation. Instead of one version, we have at least two. If this did really happen, the old texts must have been written in an old writing and the scholars would have had to rewrite them in actual characters, making additional errors. Scholars of the Former and the Later Han dynasty fiercely debated which version of the text was the authentic one. In speaking of Archaic Chinese, we must always remember that it is known in a very contaminated form, because the texts transmitted down to our times from the Han dynasty are far from the original versions. With all of these reservations, we may now briefly present the phonetic system of the Archaic Chinese as Karlgren reconstructed it. The system had the following consonants: a. gutturals: k, k’,g, g’, ng, x b. palatals: °t, °t',t, d° , d° ',ń, ś c. dentals: t, t’, d, d’, n, l, z, ts, ts’, dz, dz’ d. supradentals: ṣ, tṣ, tṣ’, dẓ’ e. labials: p, p’, b’, m f. laryngeals: • This system differed strongly from the one known from Modern Chinese languages, in particular from that of the Northern Chinese languages called the Mandarin languages. It had the regular opposition of voiced and voiceless aspirated and non-aspirated consonants. The only two exceptions were the absences of the non-aspirated b and dz. The consonant system also disposed of two medial consonants: i and w (of course, a vocalic i existed, as for instance in kien). Karlgren does not discuss the vowels separately. Following the old Chinese tradition of analyzing the syllable, he is speaking only of rhymes. The system of rhymes is rather complicated, consisting of 26 classes and 223 rhymes in total. From our point of view, it is important to remark that there were relatively few simple vowels like a, o, u, e, each of which had several variants (a, å, ă, â; ě, ə, ɛ etc). These variants might appear with the preceding i (siag) or w (g’wag), or even with both elements (śiwag). As a result, Archaic Chinese included diphthongs and triphthongs. One important remark must be made here. Karlgren’s linguistic formation preceded the development of phonology. His reconstructions are thus phonetic reconstructions made with the aim of explaining the phonetic evolution of Chinese. Even when he uses the term “phonology,” it has the meaning of phonetics. Thanks to his great effort, we now possess phonetic reconstructions of Chinese, but we still know very little about the phonology of the Chinese languages of the past and of modern times. In truth, we must point out that phonetic reconstructions giving detailed differences of pronunciation are of great importance for the study of the phonetic evolution. Small differences in phonetics mostly develop differently.

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It is true that some Sinologists are attempting to present the reconstructed phonetics in terms of phonology. Samuel E. Martin did so many years ago for the Ancient Chinese of the Tang period (cf. The Phonemes of Ancient Chinese, 1953), but this work was probably precocious and thus had no continuation. While I appreciate much of his work, I do not know if a simple rewriting of phonetic reconstructions in terms of phonologic analysis is the right way to discover the phonetic structure of older times. More than half of a century has passed and the problem remains open for further research. The structure of the syllable in Archaic Chinese differed much from the syllable structure of Modern Chinese languages. First of all, there was a full set of final consonants: nasals – m, n, ng, the oral r, as well as voiced and voiceless plosives: t, d, p, b, k, and g. As a result, most syllables were closed, i.e., ending with a consonant. Secondly, a syllable could begin not only with a single consonant, but also with a consonant cluster. Various combinations of plosives and liquids were very frequent, e.g. kl-, k’l-, gl-, g’l-, but in some cases we had combinations of spirants with nasal or oral liquid, e.g. hm-, sl-, sn-, śn-, as well as two liquids such as ngl-. Some examples can be seen below: **kliang – hill **g’liang – strong **gliang – illuminate **klak – everyone **k’lak – esteem **g’lak – badger **glak – river name **nglak – incessantly **hmwang – nonsense Karlgren does not give a full list of AC clusters. Therefore, only some examples are given. The reconstruction system elaborated by Karlgren is not the only one now existing. It may even be said that reconstruction systems are too numerous, making the work of linguists very difficult. It would be impossible to discuss all of them in a book like this. The result would be an additional book, devoted exclusively to the phonetic reconstruction systems of Archaic and Ancient Chinese made in China and beyond the Middle Kingdom. It must be stressed that speaking of Chinese and foreign reconstruction systems is not a mere stylistic device. The difference between the two is sometimes rather astonishing. Wang Li, one of my highly regarded teachers (I worked at the Peking University under his direction for over a year), elaborated his own phonetic reconstructions, because he believed that Karlgren, as a capitalist scholar, could not arrive at the correct scientific results that are reserved for Marxist science. Although I am unable to present and contrast various systems here, I will briefly mention some select achievements of outstanding scholars. The reconstructions presented by Li Fang-kuei from the University of Hawaiʻi in his “Shanggu yin yanjiu” (Studies on Archaic Chinese Phonology, 1971) are very

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interesting and clear. Li Fang-kuei believed that Archaic Chinese had the following consonants: labials: p, ph, b, hm, m dentals: t, th, d, hn, n sibilants: ts, tsh, dz, s velars: k, kh, g, hng, ng, h labiovelars: kw, khw, gw, hngw, ngw, hw, w medials: r, j and the following vowels: i, u, e, a vocalic clusters: ie, ia, ua final consonants: -m, -n, -ng, -ngw, -b, -p, -d, -t, -g, -k, -gw, -kw Li Fang-kuei admits that the pairs of consonants in the lower line are allophones depending on tones. He also admits that tones might appear as the result of the disappearance of final consonants, in particular of final consonant clusters. Not speaking of small differences in notation (Karlgren’s t’- versus Li’s th-), it may be said that the later system has no palatal consonants, but possesses instead a full range of labialized consonants; the consonant clusters are few; there is no l-, but there are labialized final consonants unknown to Karlgren. As this comparison with Karlgren’s system may have shown, Li Fang-kuei’s system of reconstructions is very “ascetic,” or in other words – it is much poorer. This does not mean that Karlgren is superior. The two systems represent different approaches to the problem. With the present state of our knowledge, it is certainly impossible to say which one is nearer to the supposed historic reality. Was Archaic Chinese a tonal language? There has been much controversy about this issue in recent times. I am convinced that it was. The reconstruction of tones is, however, a great problem. In his Grammata Serica (1940), Karlgren does not give any indications about AC tones. In his corrected version, i.e., Grammata Serica Recensa (1957), he indicates four tones. He briefly writes about these tones in his The Chinese Language (1949, p. 133). Karlgren says that one of these tones corresponded to pingsheng, the second to shangsheng, the third to qusheng, while the fourth called rusheng appeared in syllables ending with final plosive consonants. All four terms are taken from the treasury of Chinese traditional linguistics and fundamentally refer to Ancient Chinese, and will thus be discussed further (Chapter 7). As far as the tones are concerned, two points must be emphasized. The first is that the Chinese language is the only monosyllabic language of the Far East of which might be said to have possessed tones even in the most remote times of antiquity. In all other languages of the region, tones were absent in the oldest forms and they appeared as a kind of phonetic compensation for the disappeared phonemes. I am convinced that the Chinese language is the only one for which the existence of tones must be admitted even for Pre-archaic and probably also for Proto-Chinese. The chief argument is that between Archaic and Ancient Chinese no phonetic changes justifying the appearance of tones occurred. It must be

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said once more that this was one of the major arguments P.K. Benedict (1972) used to reject the theory of the Sino-Tibetan linguistic family. The second problem is that compared with the phonetic reconstructions, the reconstructions of tones are purely theoretical: It may only be stated that two linguistic units had different tones. The real value of these tones is inaccessible to reconstruction. Only after describing modern tones may we precisely indicate their basic parameters. When we step into the past, we are condemned to purely theoretical reflection – or even speculation – and that means that we may speak only of the existence of tonal differences without any possibility of describing them. In the case of phonetic reconstructions, it is possible to draw conclusions from the present state and step by step go back to the ancient forms. This is impossible in the case of tones, because – as André-Georges Haudricourt (1911– 1996) said many years ago: “Une fois constitué, le système tonal évolue sans souci de sa valeur ancienne étymologique.”3 Thus, it seems quite clear that speaking of four tones in Archaic Chinese is a purely theoretical construction, created in the brain of the scholar who was observing differences and drawing conclusions about the nature of these differences, and finally marking them arbitrarily (as Karlgren did by using point one, point two etc). No Archaic Chinese text mentions tones. It is, however, possible that Archaic Chinese people did not know that they were speaking using tone differences, in the same way the famous Mr. Jourdain in Molière’s play did not know that he was speaking in prose. What is evident to us was not necessarily evident to people speaking Archaic Chinese. Modern Sinologists know very well that Archaic tones were distinctive in some cases at least (see, e.g., G.B. Downer, “Derivation by Tone Change in Classical Chinese,” 1959). The fact that tone differences were not used in archaic poetry is not an argument either, because there is no dependence between the existence of a linguistic feature and its use for artistic expression. Another important argument in favor of the existence of tones in Chinese is the fact that the phonetic mechanisms of tone creation are known in Tibeto-Burman languages. We may thus say what kinds of phonetic changes lead to the appearance of tones. It is very important to remark that between Archaic Chinese and Ancient Chinese, no changes occurred that would have produced the appearance of tones. Meanwhile, the existence of tones in Ancient Chinese is clear, because we have rhyme tables at disposal in which the linguistic material is divided according to tones. Thus, it might be said that Archaic Chinese was doubtlessly a tonal language. However, we know nothing about the real phonetic value of the archaic tones and we have no information about the phonologic function of the tones in this period. Archaic Chinese also had stress. Stress probably played a role in syntax and in some cases may have had a distinctive function. We cannot say much more about it. There are cases when a disyllabic syntagma is evidently determinative,                                                              3

[Editor: Haudricourt 1961, p. 165.]

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but the same syntagma in other cases is clearly a verb-object structure. It cannot be excluded that both functions were linked with a change of stress. It is also true that some disyllables have a phonetic structure indicating the existence of stress. It might be admitted that Archaic Chinese also knew differences of intonation, perhaps distinctive in some cases and linked with elements such as concrete final particles. However, we cannot go beyond such general remarks. Karlgren’s reconstructions proved that Archaic Chinese had a rich morphology, based on consonantal and/or vocalic changes within a syllable. The reconstruction revealed sufficient links between monosyllabic units for us to speak about word families, which forms the title of one of Karlgren’s works (cf. his “Word-Families in Chinese,” 1933). In some cases, this may be evident at the first glance. Let us compare such words as **d’am (to speak), **d’em (to talk), **tiam (talkative), and **tiam (to chat), which are doubtless cognate. These words are derived from the same root, but the nature of the derivation is unclear. All we may say is that some changes of the initial consonant as well as vocalic changes are to be observed. It is possible that difficulties in interpretation of the nature of changes are due to the fact that not all of these words belong to the same language. AC texts do not represent one and the same dialect and are not all from the same epoch. Therefore, we must admit that not all of the observed resemblances occur between words belonging strictly to the same word family, i.e., they may represent different dialects or different periods. For example, it is probable that **ngiak (to go to meet someone) and **ngiang (to meet, to receive) are in fact synonymous words from different dialects. In his The Chinese Language, Karlgren gives the following examples of intrasyllabic morphology (cf. id., 1949, pp. 90–95): a. **kan – “shield” (noun) **g’an – “to screen, to shield” b. **tiu – “to prop up” **d’iu - “pillar, post” c. **ken – “distress, want” **g’ien – “to die for want” d. **p’wer – “to match” **p’iwer – “a match” e. **tswet – “soldier” **tsiwet – “to die” f. **ts’u – “to let run” **ts’iu – “to run” g. **seng – “to bear” **sieng – “innate” It is quite clear that all of these pairs of words (and many others of the same type) are cognate, but an interpretation of the changes is rather difficult if not impossible. It must be remembered that the above-given phonetic word shapes are not the original ones, but are reconstructions based on AC reconstructions. Thus, the degree of certitude of the phonetics of the whole AC linguistic material itself is in considerable doubt. It is evident that the AC linguistic material cannot be treated in the same way as the modern material, which is accessible to direct research. As a result, the same phonetic device is very frequently used for contrary aims. An alternation of a voiceless non-aspirated occlusive to a voiced aspirated one marks the change of a noun into a verb (in case a and c), but another alterna-

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tion changes a verb into a noun (case b). An infixation of a medial – i – changes a verb into a noun (case d), but it also produces the opposite result (case e). The same device seems to change a causative verb into active (case f) and an active verb into an adjective (case g). Examples like these may be multiplied. The following three remain in accordance with the general scheme explained above: h. **piwen – “a part” **b’iwen – “to divide” i. **twan – “to cut” **d’wan – “a piece” j. **tiang – “to grow long” ** d’iang – “long” The last example uses quite another device to produce the same result. Here, we have to do with the elimination of a medial vowel and the addition of quasiprefixed h: k. **miwang – “to disappear” **hmwang – “empty (the result of disappearing)” To conclude this kind of observation, let us look at another three examples: l. **d’iek – “to eat” **dzieg – “to feed” m. **d’ier – “to look” **dier – “to show” n. **ńiep – “to enter” **nep – “to show in” In these cases, the semantic opposition of active to causative is quite clear, but this opposition is rendered differently in each case. In the first case (example l), we have an opposition of initial consonants (voiced aspirated occlusive to voiced affricate) combined with a change of final consonants (voiceless to voiced guttural); in the second case (example m) we have a simple opposition of a voiced aspirated occlusive to an non-aspirated one; in the third case (example n), there is an opposition of the presence to the absence of a medial vowel. All these words are doubtless cognate and belong to the same word family. We cannot go beyond this, because the nature of the oppositions is not clear. It is impossible to say which word is the base and which one is the derivation. I am afraid that these problems are irresolvable. Many results depend on and come from adopted reconstruction systems. There are many such systems. No wonder, thus, that almost all can be proved within the Chinese language as well as in comparison with other Tibeto-Karen languages. If we accept Karlgren’s reconstruction of the AC word for fire, i.e., **hwar, we cannot compare this word with the Tibeto-Karen word with the same meaning, like the Tibetan me or the Burman mi. If we accept Pulleyblank’s (1984) reconstruction of the same AC word as **s-mar, it is comparable with the Tibeto-Burman roots. That is not all. It is possible to think of a reconstruction that would be the base of all Sino-Tibetan forms. Coblin (1986) admits that the AC form was **hwa, stemming from an earlier **hmerx (where the final x is a mark for a tone). According to him, this form comes from **smey (where y is again a mark for another tone). The path from this **smey to all Sino-Tibetan forms is simple: **smey > smyey > myey, etc. This clearly shows the great role that fantasy plays in reconstructions.

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Serruys (1959) showed the way to these unrestrained speculations. His main idea was that Karlgren’s reconstructions are substantially good, but that he did really not know what he had reconstructed. According to Serruys, it is quite clear that all Confucian classics were finally composed during the Han time. Therefore, someone who made his reconstructions mainly on the basis of these documents has reconstructed the pronunciation of the Han time and not of Archaic Chinese, as Karlgren has claimed. This conjecture is still open to discussion. I will not present here all possible arguments defending Karlgren’s assumption. Two points should suffice. Firstly, the rhymes of the Shujing certainly played a very large role in Karlgren’s reconstructions. These rhymes are not from the Han time. They doubtless reflect AC pronunciation. Secondly, the characters composed of a semantic and a phonetic part also do not reflect the Han pronunciation, but a much older one. Therefore, it may be admitted that contrary to Serruys’s opinion, Karlgren knew quite well what he was doing. In brief, Serruys argues that Karlgren’s AC is in fact only Han-period Chinese and Serruys therefore attempts to reconstruct an earlier stage, which he calls PreArchaic. In some cases, he even reconstructed five earlier phases of pronunciation. His work is based on arguments that were not taken into consideration by earlier Sinologists. These arguments have evoked a great deal of fervent opposition. Among Serruys’s arguments, we find those drawn from Xu Shen’s palaeographic dictionary. Xu Shen explains what graphic elements the character is composed of. Serruys admits that these explanations also contain indications about pronunciation. For instance, if a character is composed of three identical elements X, its structure is described in this dictionary as cong san X, meaning only “is composed of three X.” However, Serruys treats this as a “sound phrase” indicating the pronunciation of the character. Thus, for example, there is a character composed of three elements meaning “hair, bristles” [cui ]. According to Karlgren, this character was pronounced **ts’iwad zbyed. It must be said that this sideward and downward reading of graphic elements is Serruys’s own invention. It has no textual base and thus must be treated as pure fantasy. The main tendency of Serruys’s effort to go beyond Karlgren’s reconstructions is to complicate the initial parts of the reconstructed syllables by an augmentation of consonant clusters. One may ask if such a language could really function. Full of words with incredible consonant clusters, it would be difficult to speak even for people with as much linguistic experience as the Polish (pronouncing without difficulty such clusters as –rstw- in the Polish word gospodarstwo [farm] or –pstr- in the Polish pstrąg [trout]). Nevertheless, one may ask if in case of such reconstructions such as pwlyak – pwglak – dwklog – bzgwed – dgwemb – btsyap – btsyamp – blsung – slmand - zbliend – bdliend the author did not go beyond the bounds of reason. Are all such reconstructions to be rejected? I do not think so. In any case, I am quite sure that not all of Serruys’s inventions are unacceptable. Some of his ideas are quite ingenious. Let me give one example. It is well known that the first part of the Shijing is entitled “Guofeng” (Odes/Songs from [Various] Countries). However, the first two sections of this part are entitled “Zhounan” and “Zhaonan.” All other sections have feng instead of nan. A close translation of the first two titles would be “South of Zhou” and “South of Zhao,” but this makes no sense. During the last two thousand years, nobody has proposed a good explanation. Serruys was the first to give the following explanation. Studying the text of Fangyan, he found that this mysterious nan is probably a dialectal version of feng. He suggested that the pronunciation of nan was b-nem, d-nem and the pronunciation of feng was plum, b’lam (Karlgren: **nam, **pium). In the light of the proposed reconstructions, the two monosyllables seem cognate and the mysterious titles are explained. It is also interesting to note that Serruys tried to show how the tones could appear between the pre-Archaic Chinese and AC periods. Karlgren reconstructed tones (or better: tonal differences), but he did not say how the tones had appeared in the language. Benedict (1972) says that if we are unable to show how the tones appeared, we must admit that they existed in the most remote times. This is an obstacle in Sino-Tibetan comparisons. Serruys thinks that mechanisms of the appearance of tones might be shown in Chinese too, but he is rather isolated in this respect. Having characterized AC phonetics, we may now try to say something about AC vocabulary. The vocabulary may be analyzed from various standpoints, but

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even a simple enumeration of all possible points of view would be too long. Most relevant here are those aspects of AC vocabulary that are important from the point of view of the evolution of the Chinese languages. We must, however, realize that this field is filled with contradictory opinions. According to Chmielewski (1949), AC vocabulary was monosyllabic (as Serruys also pointed out ten years later, i.e., in 1959) and all derivations occurred within these monosyllabic units. Therefore, in this language phonemes were simultaneously morphemes. All morphology was limited to one syllable. All processes between the syllabic units belonged to syntax. Nowadays, it seems quite clear that such a standpoint is a bit simplified, although we do know that in elaborating the general theory of the evolution of the Chinese language, Chmielewski was not obliged to go into details exceeding his general description. A linguist must, however, be aware of details, because there are many dangers just in the details and exceptions may be more important than the sum of everything normal. This has been well known since error analysis took its place in linguistic theory. Today, we realize that something that is rare and breaks the established rules may be very important from the point of evolution. Therefore, it is clear that when describing a general tendency, we cannot disregard the exceptions or limitations of the rules. Let us first have a look at AC morphology occurring within a syllable. It is undisputed that the AC system of phonological changes was rather well developed. However, a clear description of this system is very difficult, if not impossible. On the one side, the same devices serve to obtain different results and on the other side, different devices serve to obtain the same results. Finally, we are even unable to determine the character of the observed changes. Could it be called alternation? In some cases, we have perhaps a kind of prefixation, in others it is infixation or suffixation. How, then, could such a complicated system function? The only good resolution to this problem is to admit that what we come to know is the archaic system in the stage of a rather high degree of disintegration. We may thus admit that the full development of the system of changes occurring within a syllable existed in the remote past and that the phonetic evolution of the language caused its almost total disintegration. Everything we may observe today in the light of phonetic reconstructions is only some traces of the formerly existing morphological system. Here, I must shortly recall how Margaret Schlauch (1898–1986), one of my lecturers at the University of Warsaw, used to warn her students. She repeated the following phrase often: “And please do not throw all your difficulties into substratum.” She was saying that a fully developed morphology existed somewhere in the unknown past. What I am doing here seems to be what I was warned against. In other words, it means that I do not see any other solution – or put more accurately, I am unable to find another solution. Besides the nature of AC syllabic changes, the following observation should be even more important: The morphology occurring within a syllable does not exclude the existence of some elements of syllabic morphology. I am quite certain that we cannot deny the existence of syllabic prefixes in Archaic Chinese.

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In some cases, we may see that the limits between syllabic morphology and the morphology within a syllable are not as clear-cut as Chmielewski claimed. This might be demonstrated by the analysis of so-called allegro forms. Dobson (cf. his Late Archaic Chinese, pp. 167–169) gives some very interesting tables of AC allegro forms. Let us analyze the following two examples: 1. **g’ieg < **g’a + **zieg (by what means? how? why?); 2. **g’o < **g’a + **ko (for what reason). These two allegro forms – like many others – are monosyllabic, but the syllables are composed of two parts (initial consonant and rhyme), which are of a different origin: The first part of the contraction comes from the first of the two contracted syllables, while the second part is taken from the second syllable. The phonetics of such contractions is not always easy to explain, but the same may be said of some modern contractions of this type. One example from Modern Pekinese will be discussed below. Here, it suffices to say that this is not the most important side of the problem. As far as such contractions are concerned, two conclusions are important from the point of view of the history of the language. The first is that new syllabic units appeared in AC not only as a result of morphologic changes, but also as a result of contractions. The second conclusion is that it cannot be said that AC phonemes were morphologic units, because in our first example the whole rhyme (consisting of three phonemes) should probably be treated as a morpheme. Someone may say that AC contractions are a marginal linguistic feature, and in a sense this is true. Nevertheless, these structures cannot be neglected, because they are present throughout the history of Chinese languages. Contractions occur in all Modern Chinese languages, and thus the mechanisms of contractions must be duly described. We are, however, rather far away from such a description. Some things are unclear even in the case of very popular contractions occurring in Modern languages. Pekinese beng < bu + yong is understandable, because the syllables bung and bong do not exist in this language. But the case of bie < bu + yao is not clear, because Pekinese contains the syllable bao as well as the syllable biao. The processes of contraction have been barely analyzed and described until now. Some efforts that have been made to explain the contractions in Min languages (which contain plenty of them) are completely unsatisfactory.4 From the point of view of the history of language, it is very important to see that contractions as a linguistic process may be opposed to something that Sinology has called “dimidiation.” 5 A contraction consists of creating one syllable from two syllabic units. Dimidiation consists in creating two syllables from an originally single one by splitting the initial consonant cluster, i.e., in intruding an

                                                             4

[M.K.: In fact, the phenomenon of contraction (Chin.: heyinci) has barely been analyzed and described until now; however, some contributions exist, e.g., Tseng Shu-Chuan 2005 and Sun Hongju 2014.]

5

[M.K.: In Chinese this phenomenon is called fenyinci. It is especially described in the context of the language Jin (Jinyu), which Künstler did not thematize; cf. Hou Jingyi 1999, pp. 330-334.]

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epenthetic vowel between two elements of a consonant cluster. Therefore, the results of dimidiation may be called lento forms. This proves clearly that not only allegro but also lento forms occur in the Chinese language in different periods of its development. In both cases, the boundaries of a syllable are overstepped. This means that the Chinese language – from its very beginnings – is not as strictly monosyllabic as it is often believed to be. It also means that AC morphology was certainly not limited to processes within monosyllabic units. I am ready to agree that if we admit that phonemes in AC function as morphemes, while syllables are syntactic units, the description becomes clear and simple – surely, this would permit a description that gives good general characteristics of the language. But the reality was different, and we must consider exceptions as well. Another problem connected with Chmielewski’s theory of typological evolution is his idea of the “functional activity” and “functional passivity” of linguistic units. While this concept is not Chmielewski’s invention, we will not present here an exhaustive discussion of all possible linguistic ideas in their historical development. The concept must have been accepted by the time when he was writing his essay (i.e., before 1949). I think that linguistic units (independently of the level of analysis) either play a function or not, and that this situation cannot always be understood with the comparison of a key and its keyhole. I am certain that using the notions of “functional activity” and “functional passivity” cannot put us on the right path to finding a good description of AC morphological processes. In one of my earlier articles (1968), I remarked that in all cases concerning the morphological role of phonemes in Modern Chinese languages (a derivation that has not disappeared in modern times!), it is better to speak of morphological oppositions realized in pairs of words by an exchange of phonemes, and not of phonemes treated as morphemes. Evidently, this way of speaking of morphological oppositions is not my own invention. I believe that the first scholar to use this term was Nicolas Cleaveland Bodman (1913–1997) in his review of Karlgren’s The Chinese Language. Chmielewski also used the term in one of his articles published in 1952. Both Sinologists were speaking of Archaic Chinese, and in particular of nomen–verbum morphological oppositions realized by tonal and phonemic oppositions. My invention – if I dare to say so – was the application of these terms to an analysis of Modern Chinese languages. Because it is important as far as the theory is concerned it would be perhaps good to give at this point some examples taken from modern languages. Pekinese (also called Beijingese, which in many respects is not identical with the Putonghua) contains regular oppositions of personal pronouns vo : vom (I : we), ni : nim (singular you : plural you), ta : tam (he : they), but also za : zam (I : inclusive we) and such appositions as zhe : zhem (that : such). It is, of course possible to say that the first series is an example of a morpheme -m (obviously coming from -men) playing the role of plural suffix of pronouns and that in the other example we have the suffix -m (coming evidently from -ma), which – though homophonic – is playing quite another role. Conse-

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quently, we must admit the existence of m1 opposed to m2. I think, however, that it is simpler to speak of the opposition of zero: -m playing two functions. This renders the description purely synchronic without the necessity of referring to diachronic analysis and avoids the endless multiplication of morphemes (a1, a2, a3 …). In many cases, it is impossible to clearly point out what is the etymology of such a phoneme and its morphological function. Besides, I am quite positive that the morphological oppositions were playing a greater role in the AC period than is the case in all Modern Chinese languages. We are thus certainly authorized to say that Archaic Chinese may be characterized as a language featuring oppositional morphology realized by an exchange of phonemes. To treat all AC phonemes as morphemes (and moreover to say that all were functionally active) – as Chmielewski did – seems to me rather risky. It is enough to think how many morphological and word-formative functions are possible in a language and compare this number with the total number of phonemes (which is always rather restricted) in order to see how inconvenient such an interpretation would be. Actually, it seems possible to characterize various morphological and word-formative oppositions. Let us return to the examples given on the previous pages. It would be extremely difficult to say that concrete phonemes are morphemes of active and causative voices, but it is possible to say that the opposition “active–causative” is realized by the following series of phonetic oppositions. It is even possible to characterize these oppositions. For instance, it might be said that active verbs beginning with plosives and voiceless unaspirated consonants have the causative form which in turn commences with corresponding plosive, voiced and aspirated sounds. In some cases other changes may accompany such oppositions. I am sure that this is the sole reasonable solution that enables a morphological description of Archaic Chinese. Speaking of functional active phonemes à la rigueur (at a pinch), we must either admit that there are no more morphemes than phonemes or attribute multiple functions to each phoneme. Both methods are in fact misleading and no clear description of the language is possible in this way. In this chapter, we have very often spoken of Chmielewski’s opinions concerning Archaic Chinese, and must now do the same when discussing different opinions about the character of AC vocabulary. Chmielewski belonged to those Sinologists who believed that AC vocabulary was monosyllabic; Serruys believed that it was not. A detailed discussion of different opinions in this respect seems simply impossible. Instead, I will briefly present some characteristics of AC vocabulary below without referring to any authors. While AC vocabulary was unquestionably mainly monosyllabic, this does not mean that the entire vocabulary was so – and this, I believe, is the aspect of the problem that must be underlined. The most important exceptions from the rule of monosyllabicity are as follows: 1. Archaic Chinese had a very rich vocabulary for expressing impressions (impressives) – as Paul Demiéville (1894–1979) defined these kinds of words. These are not onomatopoeic, but mostly render various impressions, for instance:

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Yang-yang – “vast water surface” Wei-wei – “majestic” (as a high rock) A characteristic feature of AC impressives is reduplication, but it cannot be said that all are primitive monosyllables that were reduplicated in the process of creating this category of words, as Karlgren was inclined to claim. The reduplicated structure is an intrinsic feature of these words. It is not a method of creating such words. This makes AC impressives quite different from many Modern words of this kind, which are reduplicated monosyllabic roots. As far as Archaic Chinese is concerned, we cannot prove the same. The origin of AC impressives is far from clear. Some authors speak of a possible Austronesian influence on Chinese, but these are only conjectures based on the observation that the Austronesian languages have many such words, i.e., many reduplicated impressives. On the level of synchronic analysis, the AC impressives are doubtlessly disyllabic. The problem is: Should they be treated as monomorphemic or as bimorphemic? Irrespective of this, we must accept that Archaic Chinese also had syllabic (or even disyllabic) morphemes. Therefore, Chmielewski’s thesis that phonemes=morphemes in Archaic Chinese seems difficult to accept. AC texts contain no cases of separating two syllables of an impressive, which means that the reduplicated syllables are inseparable. This seems to indicate that there are no syntactic relations between the two syllables. As a rule, the monosyllabic elements of an impressive are not used separately (although they are artificially treated as monosyllables in dictionaries). They apparently resemble coordination, but two members of coordination can always be separated and two members of an impressive cannot. 2. Moreover, alongside the reduplicated impressives exist others that are called broken reduplicates. The Chinese linguistic tradition speaks of two types of broken reduplicates called dieyun and shuangsheng. The first ones have the same rhymes, but different initials, e.g. tang-lang; the second ones have different rhymes, but the same initials, e.g. fang-fu. The impressives constitute only a part of words classed as broken reduplicates. Another group constitute nouns. This evidently goes beyond what was stated about impressives above. A broken reduplicate is not automatically impressive. The above-quoted example tang-lang is a noun meaning “praying mantis.” The origin of such structures is not clear. Sometimes it is even more obscure than in the case of simple reduplicates. Only in some instances may we guess that the primitive form was probably a monosyllable with an initial consonant cluster: tlang > tang-lang. Such a type of dimidiation or splitting the initial consonant cluster was known in later times, and was thus of course also possible earlier. In some other cases, the final form may be the result of the influence of stress, e.g. mien-mian < mian-mian with a stressed second syllable. It seems that we may suppose that the vowel of the first syllable was narrowed, because it was unstressed. Of course, some cases cannot be explained at all. It is also possible that some words of this type are very old borrowings from unknown languages, because it is known that in later times some borrowings had

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the structure of a broken reduplicate, such as mu-xu (medicago/lucerne) or meigui (rose), both discussed by Chmielewski. All this is unimportant for AC vocabulary. What is important is that these are disyllabic structures, the members of which are inseparable, as well as that there are no syntactic relations between the members of such disyllables, thereby breaking Chmielewski’s rule. 3. Documents younger than the AC period testify to the existence of many dimidiations mentioned earlier. “Dimidiations” are the result of splitting an initial cluster by adding an intercalary vowel (as a rule narrower than the main vowel or identical with it) between two consonants of the cluster and creating a disyllabic unit. A classic example is k’lung > k’u-lung / ku-long (hole, cave). Ke-lang (beetle), which is preserved in Modern Pekinese as shi-ke-lang (dung beetle), probably has the same origin. The primitive word was presumably k’lang, although the form with an initial cluster does not appear in old texts. In the old dictionary Erya, we can find another example, i.e., **piug-bliwet

master, teacher) and yu-fu (the fishing man > fisherman). Words such as se-fu (the harvesting man > harvester, farmer) already appear in Early Archaic Chinese. Most words of this type are based on the principle of periphrasis. Taboos were one reason for periphrasis: People were obliged to use a periphrasis in order to avoid pronouncing a prohibited word, saying ye-ji (field hen) instead of **d’ier (now: zhi [pheasant]). In later times, the taboo was forgotten, but the principle of periphrasis remained very active. Its use was soon very widespread and it is popular even today. It played a great role in the evolution of the language and continues to do so. Thousands of modern neologisms are created on the basis of periphrasis: For instance, “computer” is called diannao, i.e., “electric brains.” An overview of these general characteristics of AC vocabulary cannot omit its very interesting semantic features, which deserve a short investigation, although a thorough description would exceed this work’s scope. Here, we will briefly mention only the most important semantic features: 1. It is of extreme interest that AC vocabulary contains no abstract notions, not even ones such as length, wisdom, clarity, loyalty, fidelity, or courage. There are, of course, adjectives meaning long, clever, clear, loyal, faithful, and brave, but these belong to the class of predicates (and not nouns) and function as such in a phrase. It is very characteristic that Chinese adjectives belong to the class of predicates. Some of these typical limitations of Chinese are thought to have influenced the development of Chinese philosophical thought. One aspect of this problematic is that we often use abstract nouns when translating Chinese philosophical texts into Western languages. We must always remember that the Chinese way of thinking differs from ours in this respect. In short, the Chinese are much nearer to the concrete than we normally are. 2. AC vocabulary was very rich in everything concerned with farming and rearing cattle. There was, of course, a general term for horse – ma. Other terms were: zhu (a horse with a white left rear foot), xiang (a horse with a white right rear), ceng (a horse whose feet were all white), di (a horse with a white mark on the forehead), huan (one-year-old horse), ju (two-year-old horse), tao (three- or four-year-old horse), and quan (a white horse with dark lips). The same applies to other animals. Shi (a pig) was a general term, but there were other terms, such as tun (a young pig), zong (a six-month or one-year-old pig), jian (three-year-old pig), and hai (pig with white legs). The vocabulary for plant names was also very rich. It comes as no surprise that an agricultural society had names for the different kinds of rice that were so important in everyday live. The well-developed ritual was certainly the cause of a

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very abundant vocabulary concerning various types of bronze and ceramic vessels. It is also normal that a portion of such specific vocabulary disappeared in the course of history and was replaced by new terms. All this is in accord with general linguistic rules and is not a peculiarity of the Chinese language. 3. Some semantic features of AC vocabulary are rather peculiar. From the very beginning, the verbs denoting movement also indicated the direction of the movement in respect to the person who was speaking. Thus, lai means “to go in the direction of the speaker” and qu means “to go in the direction opposite to the speaker.” Our semantic opposition of “to approach” and “to walk away” only partially corresponds to the Chinese opposition of direction. Other examples are shang (to go upwards) and xia (to go downwards). In later times, such directional verbs were joined together to constitute a very precise system, in which shang-lai (to go upwards in the direction to the speaker) is opposed to shang-qu (to go upwards in the direction opposed to the speaker). The evolution of this system of indicating the direction of the action of the verb reached its highest point in Modern Chinese languages. The system is precise, but rather difficult for foreigners who are learning Chinese. 4. AC vocabulary was also very rich in synonyms. This richness is in great part due to the fact that Archaic Chinese had many dialects that were melted together, because there was no one normalizing cultural center. Moreover, words from various periods were included in the commonly used vocabulary. From the very beginning, the Chinese used local languages or dialects, which were considered as good as all the others. Therefore, every synchronic level of the language contains many synonyms; Classical Chinese is extremely abundant in synonyms because syncretism was always a characteristic feature of written Chinese. All of this is rather difficult to analyze, because no archaic document is known in its original version that could be ascribed to a concrete dialect. We can never be certain that we are dealing with an original version. In most cases, we have only a – possibly deformed – version at our disposal that has been altered by later scribes. We must remember that scribes, who wrote down what was read aloud, produced copies of ancient texts. The result is that a single text will contain synonyms from different epochs as well as synonyms from different dialects. This is clear when we look at different forms of personal pronouns of the first two persons such as **ngo/wu and **nga/wo (I) or **nio/ru and **ńia/er (you), but also **ńiak/ruo, **neg/nai, and **ńieg/er  (you). Doubtlessly all forms of the first person as well as all forms of the second person are cognate. However, it is impossible to assign these forms to concrete dialects or a concrete epoch. Moreover, other forms besides the ones enumerated above also existed, e.g., **d’iem/zhen (I) and **dio/yu (I), which are believed to be typical of the Chu territory. At the very beginning of his studies, Karlgren tried to explain the first four forms as traces of an old inflexion. He believed that forms ending with -o correspond to “cas sujet” (a case of subject) and that those ending with -a correspond to “cas regime” (an oblique case). In the analyzed texts, pronouns ending with -o do function mostly as subjects, while those ending with -a are mostly objects.

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The opposition of the two vowels is really very suggestive and Karlgren therefore titled his article “Le proto-chinois, langue flexionnelle?” (1920). However, the evidence relied only on two examples and was so weak that he never continued this kind of research. All that might be said at present about these various personal pronouns is that there are forms that are characteristic for some kinds of documents. As far as pronouns of the second person are concerned, it means that, e.g., nai appears in earlier literary documents, er is characteristic of dialectal historical documents, while ruo is certainly a later form, known from texts of the 3rd century BC. The same may be said of demonstrative pronouns. Archaic Chinese knew the difference between demonstrative pronouns indicating what is near and what is far (semantic opposition “this–that”). There are two pairs of such pronouns: **dieg/shi (this) – **t’a/ta (that) and **ts’iar/ci (this) – **pia/bi (that). These pairs of demonstrative pronouns were not perfect synonyms: **t’a had an additional meaning of “other, second”; **pia was derived from this meaning (and less frequent). It seems clear that the additional meaning of **t’a made possible its evolution toward a pronoun of the third person in some (but far from all) modern Chinese languages. Analogically to personal pronouns, demonstrative pronouns formed a constellation of forms representing various dialects and various epochs. This is in particular characteristic of the demonstrative pronoun meaning “this.” Besides the examples of **dieg/shi mentioned above, there existed its homophone (written with another character) **dieg/shi ( characteristic of earlier texts), **tsieg/ci (occurring in earlier texts), and **sieg/si (typical of Confucian texts). There is no doubt that AC monosyllabic vocabulary is highly heterogenic. It represents different epochs and various dialects. The principle of eclecticism played a fundamental role in Classical Chinese from the very beginning to its final years. Linguistic norms allowed the use of everything once written by someone, especially by someone recognized as an authority independently from the epoch in which he/she lived. 5. Another observation about AC vocabulary seems more important (even if we can present only some of its superficial characteristics here), namely that the monosyllabic vocabulary constitutes an earlier layer, while the disyllabic units (in most cases syntagmatic structures) are a later layer. Terms belonging to the vocabulary of a social organization are good examples. All of the basic terms of the structure of a feudal society are monosyllabic: wang (king), gong (duke), hou (marquis), bo (count), zi (viscount), nan (baron); a part of the titles of court officers is disyllabic: sima (lit.: in charge of horses > minister of war), sikong (lit.: in charge of the multitudes > minister of public works), and last but not least tianzi (lit.: son of heaven > emperor). I am quite certain that a sociolinguistic analysis conducted from this point of view can lead to many interesting conclusions, but to the best of my knowledge no such research in this field has been systematically undertaken so far. The most difficult task consists in characterizing Archaic Chinese from the point of view of syntax. Archaic Chinese is too long a period (over eight centuries) to be generally

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described in a short way. It is also impossible to give a short outline of the syntactic evolution of the language across so many centuries. It seems rather obvious that separate periods within Archaic Chinese should first be distinguished and duly described, followed by a comparison of these synchronic layers of description. This was the method adopted by Dobson, who issued a famous series of publications consisting of the following parts: Early Archaic Chinese (1962), “Studies in Middle Archaic Chinese” (1963), Late Archaic Chinese (1959), and Late Han Chinese (1964). It seems, however, that this way would be very difficult to follow in a book aiming at the general characteristics of a language with such a long history, a language which is the mother language of so many modern dialects. Therefore, I will briefly discuss only some chosen aspects of the evolution of Archaic Chinese. I should stress that my choice is evidently subjective. I must begin by presenting the problem that I consider essential for the history of Chinese syntax, namely the problem of word order in Chinese. Today, it is one of the most discussed questions. From the last quarter of the 19th century (at least from the times of von der Gabelentz and his Chinesische Grammatik [1881]), it was believed that the Chinese language has a rigid and unchangeable word order (like other languages of the so-called Sino-Tibetan linguistic family). This word order is based on the rule briefly noted as SPO (i.e., subject – predicate – object) and the rule of preceding determination. These two basic features were considered to characterize the Chinese language throughout its history. The great and very important discussion about these basic principles of Chinese syntax began around 1974, when Li and Thompson wrote the above-mentioned article “An Explanation of Word Order Change SVO → SOV” (1974). Both authors concluded that the word order SOV (i.e., with preposition of the object) was characteristic of the pre-archaic period. According to them, this word order shifted to SVO (i.e., with postposition of the object) between the 10th and 3rd century BC. In the centuries afterwards, this word order changed again very slowly into SOV, and this stage has lasted down to our times. The Li – Thompson theory sparked a fervent discussion. Timothy Light in his “Word Order and Word Order Change in Mandarin” (1979) and later Sun Chaowen and Talmy Givon in “On the So-called SOV Order in Mandarin Chinese” (1985) wrote that Mandarin was and is a language with SVO order. This is rather typical of many linguistic discussions in Sinology. There are those who present some conclusions based on the analysis of the oldest layers of the Chinese language, while others object to these conclusions by arguing that in Mandarin it is not so. Thus, both sides seem to speak of different languages. To finish these introductory remarks, let it be said that the estimation of the modern state of word order is not always the same. The above-mentioned authors represent a dogmatic point of view. In his article entitled Guanyu Hanyu de cixu leixing (On Order Patterns of Chinese, 1992), Tang Ting-chi (Tang Tingchi), who in my opinion is the best Taiwanese Sinologist, gives the following series of examples:

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Wo mai shule Wo ba shu maile Shu wo maile Wo shu maile All four phrases mean: “I bought a book.” In these four examples, the object is a. after the predicate b. before the predicate (and is preceded by ba) c. before the subject d. before the predicate (without a preceding ba). There are, of course, emotive differences between these four phrases, but the meaning is the same. Only in one of the four cases does the the object come after the predicate; in the three other cases, it comes before the predicate (once even before the subject). How can we agree with those who are saying that it is always after the predicate? Let us now return to the oldest layers of the Chinese language. In Yinxu buci zongshu (1956), Chen Mengjia gives many examples of the object preceding the predicate in texts of the oracle bone inscriptions. His research seems to show that this order was accepted and prevailing. However, Shen Pei’s doctoral dissertation Yinxu jiagu buci yuxu yanjiu (1991) makes clear that this problematic is not so simple. According to Shen Pei, it is really impossible to say that the prepositional object was more frequent in the pre-archaic than in the archaic period. As far as the position of object is concerned, we are thus rather far from a final conclusion at present. A statistical study of the position of the object is not easy and must be based on rigid rules concerning the analyzed corpuses. However, in some cases the situation looks rather helpless. It suffices to mention the case of the Shijing, which consists of many clearly falsified chapters and whose “original parts” are full of later interpolations. It is quite clear that the authenticity of many texts depends on subjective opinion. Therefore, I am afraid that we have long to wait for concrete studies in this field. According to Li and Thompson, during the AC period the language evolved towards putting the object after the predicate. Most Sinologists agree with this theory. Peyraube (1994) strongly stressed this by saying that contrary to this quite general agreement, the second part of Li and Thompson’s theory – the postulated later evolution towards putting the object before the predicate – is not generally accepted. We may agree that the problem of the position of object is not easy to solve. There are, however, some syntactic features of pre-Archaic Chinese that are easier to describe. I would first like to mention postpositional determination. The oldest texts adhere to it frequently enough to almost make it a rule. It then gradually disappeared in later times. In the archaic period, it appeared only as an archaism. Between the pre-archaic and the archaic period, the Chinese language thus shifted from postpositional to prepositional determination. This very significant change has been utterly neglected in all debates about the prepositional and postpositional object.

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Moreover, AC prepositional determination is very interesting from another point of view, namely that of the determinative particle zhi. According to Dobson (1962), Archaic Chinese in fact includes two kinds of determinative structures: The first has a prepositional determination indicating the art/species to which the determined part belongs; the second has a prepositional determination indicating the attribute. Thus, we have tu-wu (products of the earth) and xin yi (new town). Only in the first case is it possible to use the particle zhi (tu-zhi-wu is possible, *xin-zhi-yi is not). Therefore, it can be said that we have a special kind of determination marked (not always) with a special particle of this particular kind of determination. This shows that Archaic Chinese included specialized particles and that various determinative syntagmas were treated differently: Only these of the type tian-fa (the heavenly punishment) could be enlarged by a particle to tian-zhifa. Consequently, Archaic Chinese contains two great categories of particles: syntagmatic (like the mentioned zhi) and syntactic. The division of particles into these categories is not clear-cut, because – as always in Archaic Chinese – two kinds of interference are involved: diachronic and dialectal. Some particles are not strictly from the same epoch (i.e., some are earlier, others later), and there are particles taken from various dialects. Moreover, these two kinds of interference often cross one another. Accordingly, some elements originated earlier and were derived from different dialects. A good example is the personal pronoun of the first person **d’iem/zhen, which originated later than other pronouns (it appears mainly in Chuci and other Southern texts) but is also evidently dialectal. The same may be said of many other AC elements, including particles. The initial particle gai is typical of Confucian texts, while the final particle xi is characteristic of Southern texts. The first originated earlier and represents the language of the center (of the Middle Basin of the Yellow River), the second originated later and represents another dialect (of the Middle Basin of the Yangzi). The Chinese used to divide linguistic units into shici (full words) and xuci (empty words). In Western Sinology, these terms are rendered by “plerematics” and “cenematics” (see Prolegomena to a Theory of Language [1953] by Louis Hjelmslev [1899–1963], and A Course in Modern Linguistics [1958] by Charles F. Hockett [1916–2000]). However, some linguistic units occupy the position between the two great groups. In Archaic Chinese, the transitional position between plerematics and cenematics is occupied, e.g., by negations. Other such units are the so-called “generalizing particles,” which always stand between the syntagma of the subject and the syntagma of the predicate (including the object). This last feature may be taken as a serious argument indicating that the AC phrase is first of all a bipartite and that it should not be treated as a tripartite (i.e., consisting of three main parts: subject-predicate-object). The problem of the main partition of the phrase is not irrelevant from the linguistic point of view. I cannot give details here. There are, of course, also some arguments in favor of the threefold theory of the phrase. I am quite certain that in Chinese the main partition is between the subject and the predicate and that the partition between the predicate and the object is secondary.

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Let me now return to the determinative syntagma I characterized above. I have remarked that two kinds of determinative syntagmas existed in the prearchaic period – the postpositional and the prepositional – and that in older times the first was prevailing. The royal titles of the Shang-Yin dynasty rulers are all built on the basis of postpositional determination. Those of the Zhou dynasty rulers are prepositional. With the passing of time, two kinds of determination became specialized. Attributive determination became obligatorily prepositional, e.g., dong shi (Eastern tribes); directional determination became obligatorily postpositional, e.g., Jian shui dong (east of the Jian river). Some postpositional determinations were conserved as archaisms such as, e.g., nü Ba (the girl Ba: goddess of the Drought). Other archaisms of syntax will be discussed below. While discussing some characteristic features of AC determination, I would like to pay attention to one of its peculiarities: the lack of distinction between attributive and possessive determination. This characteristic feature has persisted in all Chinese languages up to modern times. In the bronze texts, the frequently used expression of the type Ding gong bao (the reward of duke Ding) may be perceived as a possessive phrase meaning: “the reward belonging to the duke Ding” as well as an attributive expression meaning: “the reward given by the duke Ding.” In the same way, the Modern Standard Chinese phrase zhe shi wode xiangpian means either “this is a photo belonging to me” or “this is a photo of me.” Not everything that concerns determination has remained unchanged to the present. In Early Archaic Chinese, the toponyms could be determined by common nouns, as in the following case: tian yi Shang (the heavenly town of Shang), with tian determining yi and both determining the name Shang. From Late Archaic Chinese on, such determiners do not appear in the texts. The same is true of other types of determination. Personal pronouns as well as demonstratives could be used as determining nouns in syntagmas like this: wo min (our people) or ci Luo (this [town of] Luo). The first was later used as an archaism, the second was not used at all. The same may be said about negations such as fei jiang (boundless, i.e., having no limits) or fei li (immoral, i.e., having no ritual). The development of prepositional determination was certainly supported by the structure of predicative syntagmas in which prepositional determination prevailed. This is evidently linked with the position of negations that preceded the predicate. Before briefly presenting both problems below, we must first summarize the problem of nominal phrases, also called phrases with copula. This last term is sometimes very convenient, but it can also be misleading, because it suggests that Chinese nominal phrases are structurally analogous to our copula phrases. In fact, there is no analogy of structure between the Chinese and our quasi-similar phrases. In Archaic Chinese, nominal phrases are phrases with a nominal subject and a nominal predicate. Both subject and predicate may be nominal syntagmas. Such phrases mean “A is B” and often possess a final particle ye.

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This final particle is not of verbal origin. It also has nothing common with a demonstrative pronoun. In some Modern Chinese languages, the counterpart of these AC structures has A and B linked with a copula, which is etymologically a demonstrative pronoun (e.g., shi in Pekinese) and stands between the two parts. In other Modern Chinese languages, the same role is played by a unit etymologically serving as a verb (e.g., the Yue languages). A typical AC affirmative nominal phrase goes as follows: Kong-zi xian-ren ye – “Confucius [was, is] a wise man.” The interrogative form of a nominal phrase has an interrogative final particle (hu) instead of ye. The negative nominal phrase has a negation fei between the two parts, e.g., Zi fei yu – “you are not a fish.” Bai ma fei ma – “a white horse is not a horse.” The situation presented above is not the original one. In Early Archaic Chinese, the negation **piwer/fei had its affirmative counterpart **diwer/wei. It is quite possible that these two forms are derived from the same verbal stem. If so, some such EAC phrases would be: Nai fu wei hong – “your duties are great.” Yi ru wei xiao zi –“really, you are a little child.” Tian fei cheng – “heaven is not reliable.” These examples are not nominal but simple verbal phrases. What, then, about nominal phrases in earlier times? Interestingly, some oracle bone inscriptions include nominal phrases without a copula or particle, e.g., Zhen bu bing ji– “my oracles are all auspicious.” It is thus possible that nominal phrases in Proto-Chinese are based on a simple juxtaposition of two nominal syntagmas, the first of which was conceived as subject, the second serving as its predicate. Later, a verb was used between the two parts. As the language evolved, the affirmative form of the verb fell out of use and was replaced by a final particle, but the negative form continued to use an ancient verbal form between the two parts. The disappearance of an ancient verbal affirmative form may be connected with the expansion of the verb **gwia/wei – “to do,” etymologically distinct from **diwer/wei. In MAC and in LAC, verbal **gwia/wei appears sporadically as a “copula” in nominal phrases. All of this distracted us from the main problems of this presentation, which leads us to a discussion about negations in Archaic Chinese occupying an intermediary position between “full” and “empty” words. In Archaic Chinese, a pair of affirmative and negative words could stand between subject and predicate, thus playing the role of copula. Semantically, this was an opposition of “to be – not to be,” but these two verbs were not affirmative and negative forms of the same word, although both may have been derived from an unknown stem. I would hazard that it means that in AC negative forms were not derived from affirmative ones by means of an alternation of initial consonants.

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There are other pairs of words with affirmative and negative meanings, such as **giug/you (to have, to be) and **miwo/wu (not to have, not to be). Etymologically, these two forms are quite different. These archaic forms have disappeared in most modern Chinese languages. For instance, Pekinese contains only you (to have, to be) and a regular negative form of it built by the prefix meiyou (not to have, not to be). In Cantonese, however, the archaic opposition has been preserved: yau (to have, to be) and m (not to have, not to be). AC negations may be arranged into two series. The first consists of **miwo/wu (prohibiting), miwo/wu (simple negation and the negative form of the verb), **miwet/wu (prohibiting), **miwed/wei (imperfect negation) and probably **mak/mo (meaning also “nobody”), and **miwang/wang (wu). The second series consists of: **pwet/bu (the most popular negation), **piwet/fu (negation and prohibition), **piwer/fei (used as copula), **pwet/fou (negation of the whole phrase). Apart from this series, there is a particle of prohibition **hiog/xiu that will surely be used later. The negations belonging to each series are cognate. Moreover, it is possible that the two series are cognate as well, but this is rather difficult to prove. The system is probably secondly complicated by the later inclusion of dialect forms and forms from various times. The situation is rather typical. If so, the semantic specialization of various forms may be inherited from the original language, to which these forms belonged, but it may also be the result of the differentiation of originally synonymous forms. It is very interesting to see that AC negations are not linked with verbs (or other words that could be used as predicates), but refer to the whole group of predicates including the object and this independently from its position in the phrase. This underlines the twofold character of the AC phrase, which should be schematically presented as S-(P-O) rather than S-P-O, as it is often presented. Some other words are also used between the group of the subject and the group of the predicate, such as generalising words meaning “all mentioned treated as a whole.” These words are as follows: **ker/jie, **kio/ju, **g’em/xian, **k’siam/jian, and others such as **piet/bi and **dz’ien/jin. There are some semantic differences between them. Typical examples of the use of these words are: Ren jie wei wo hui ming tang – “All men say to me that I shall destroy the Bright Hall.” (Mengzi) Yu ru jie yin – “I and you, we are withdrawing (from public life).” The same position is occupied by limitative words such as “only”: Zi du bu jian – “Only you have not seen.” (Zhuangzi) In this last example, there is a problem of the sequence of these words standing between the subject and the predicate. The generalizing words and the limitative always come before the negations. This is all we can say here. A more detailed discussion would exceed the scope of this book. It must be stressed that the problem of numerals as determinants is very important for the history of determinative structure. In Archaic Chinese, the numer-

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als could independently function as a determinative of the noun and verb. “Independently” must be stressed, because the situation changed as the language evolved further. The final effect of this evolution can be seen in modern Chinese languages, in which a numeral may be associated to a noun only by means of a classifier. Thus, the AC structure san ren (three men) has the modern counterpart sange ren (three – classifier – men), with a general classifier ge obligatorily standing between the numeral and noun. An AC numeral may function as a simple predicate or as a determinative of verbs and nouns. Both determinative functions are not identical. As a determinative of a noun, a numeral stands either before or after the noun. There was something like a balance of the prepositional and postpositional use of a numeral determinative. Besides san ren (three men), niu er (two cows or bulls) was also possible. This last one is ambiguous, because it can be understood as a verbal syntagma with a numeral predicate: “there are two cows.” In most cases, however, structures that might seem ambiguous in fact have the same meaning: Qi che san qian – means (predicative) “his chariots are [in the number of] three thousand” or (determinative) “his three thousand chariots.” When a numeral functions as a verbal determination, the preposition is the only possible position: San bai – “to kowtow three times,” but never bai san. Numerals appear often with a measure noun as a determinative of a noun and/or verb. In such a case, postposition is the only possible word order, e.g., Ma si pi – “four teams of horses” (a team had always four horses) Xing shu shi bu – “to go several tens of steps.” In later times, nominal determinatives of this kind could be placed before the noun, but a particle of determination zhi was obligatorily used between the numeral and the measure group and the noun, e.g., Wan sheng zhi guo – “a country (having) ten thousand battle chariots” Jiu ceng zhi tai – “a tower (having) nine floors” This type of structure was probably the origin of later nominal determinations consisting of numerals and classifiers. Late Archaic Chinese simultaneously contains both prepositional and postpositional determinations with a measure noun and without it, sometimes even without the particle of determination, which was previously obligatory. Thus, we have the following possible structures: San niu Niu san Niu san tou (tou – ‘head’ is a measure noun, not a classifier) San tou zhi niu San tou niu. All of these phrases mean “three cows.” Only the last syntagma could at a pinch be ambiguous, because it could be understood as “a three-headed cow.”

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Verbal determinations never appear as prepositional. This rule continues to be valid today. It is possible that in some cases numeral and measure nouns were treated as an object, as is done by Sima Qian: Shanyu … liu Qian shi yu sui – “Shanyu detained [Zhang] Qian more than ten years.” In the above sentence, the verb liu has two objects (whom and how long). Before giving here some brief characteristics of the most important features of AC syntax, I must briefly address one specific quality of the Chinese language. Chinese clearly contains a superior number of parataxic structures (placing side by side). There is no question that parataxis prevails over hypotaxis (subordination). Practically, this makes it so that every text contains many more simple phrases than complex sentences. In most cases, Chinese texts – especially AC texts – contain a sequence of simple phrases. In most cases, the relations between these phrases are not marked and therefore a translation is always an interpretation. Evidently, this does not mean that there were no complex sentences and no means to mark such structures formally. Rather, it means that since the very beginning, a natural expression of Chinese thought was a sequence of parataxis with deducible relations between simple elements. When reading a Chinese text – old or new – we realize the importance of deduction for comprehension. The Chinese do not feel any necessity of marking differences between singular and plural, of indicating gender or tense. These three elements alone can make a simple Chinese phrase quite untranslatable. Mozi (Mozi 5/1) says: Jin you yi ren. Ru ren yuan bu. Qie qi tao li. Zhong wen ze fei zhi –“Hearing that a man was going into someone’s orchard to steal the fruit, all blamed him.” This translation is in many points arbitrary. The Chinese text consists of three sentences put together in a paratactic sequence and a fourth complex conditional sentence. No links between these sentences are marked. Only the last sentence contains a conditional particle, ze. All four sentences are rendered as one complex conditional sentence. The philosopher says “peach and pear” or “peaches and pears.” This expression is translated as “fruit.” In the original text, the coordination “peach and pear” is preceded by a pronominal determination qi – “his, i.e., belonging to him,” which is omitted in the translation, because it is unnecessary. This short fragment shows how widely the structures of Chinese and English diverge. It also demonstrates that the path from the philological rendering of Chinese text to its literary acceptable form is very long. In extreme cases, therefore, I have postulated that the terms rendering or transposition are more appropriate than translation. This applies to all attempts to translate truly untranslatable classical Chinese poetry. However, this is a different problem that could be discussed in a separate study. Here, we will discuss briefly the most important question: the problem of the position of the object in Archaic Chinese and its evolution in later times. Irre-

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spective of its character, the direct object comes immediately after the predicate. The object is unmarked: sha ren – “to kill men” wu han – “to hate cold” qi shi – “to beg for food” fan Lu – “to go back to Lu” xiao Lu – “to make Lu small” > “make Lu look small” (It goes without question that xiao Lu is ambiguous, because it may mean “the small Lu” as opposed to “the great Lu.” In rejecting this interpretation, we should be able to prove that there was no such opposition in antiquity.) [neng] yi zhi – “[to know how] to make [them] one.” The last two examples show that an adjective as well as a numeral may function as a predicate and may have an object (nominal as well as pronominal). In the case of intransitive verbs (e.g., fan), the object may be preceded by the particle yu. The object of an intransitive verb preceded by this particle preserves the same meaning without a particle ( fan yu Lu = fan Lu). In the case of transitive verbs, the same change alters the meaning of the verb: When the object is not preceded by the particle, it remains active; preceded by the particle, it is passive, e.g., sha ren – “to kill a man”/ sha yu ren– “to be killed by a man.” The same opposition of active to passive occurs in the case of transitive verbs used without or with an object. Without an object, it is passive – thus, sha means “to be killed”; followed by an object, it is active – sha ren – “to kill a man.” An intransitive verb used without an object preserves its active meaning. The situation is a little more complicated when the verb has two objects (direct and indirect). In Archaic Chinese, the indirect object may indicate the person or the place. The classic structure is: predicate – direct object – particle – indirect object. This is evidently a further development of a postpositional object, e.g., qi shi yu ye-ren – “to ask the farmer for food” (Zuozhuan) yin ma yu he – “to water the horse in the river” (Zuozhuan) xian ma yu Ji Wu-zi – “to give the horses to Ji Wu-zi.” (Zuozhuan) In the case of two objects, it is possible to put one of them before the predicate according to the following two rules: a. particle – indirect object – predicate – direct object, e.g., [gong] yi ge ji zhi – “[He] hit him with a spear” (lit. “with a spear he hit him”) (Zuozhuan), with an indirect object preceded by an instrumental particle yi. b. particle – direct object – predicate – indirect object, e.g., yi tian-xia yu Shun – “[Yao] gave the empire to Shun” (Mengzi), with the direct object preceded by a particle. This is the moment for an example that is very characteristic of AC syntax: bu wo zhi – “does not know me” (Daodejing, Shuoyuan).

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It shows us a pronominal direct object that stands before the predicate and a negation preceding the whole group, because as we remember, the negation refers to the whole group of predicate and object. The affirmative form of this phrase is: zhi wo – “knows me” with a postpositional object. The general rule is as follows: When the predicate is negated, a pronominal (i.e., personal or interrogative) object stands before the predicate and never after it. This rule supports what we have said about the bipartite character of a Chinese sentence. The preposition of pronominal objects is probably an archaism indicating that every such object was prepositional in ancient times. The preservation of this archaism in this particular case is apparently due to the unknown phrase intonation. There are two different conclusions which follow the above examples: 1) It is quite clear that a much richer stock of particles exists than the one shown by our examples. These particles have their specific functions. This does not, however, mean that AC particles are isofunctional. Some particles have – partially at least – the same functions as others. In the examples quoted above, the particles yu and yi have the same functions of introducing a direct object. However, it is quite clear that we cannot discuss here in detail different particles and their functions. Some particles have a rather clear etymology such as yi coming from the verb meaning “to take”; others are of unclear etymology. 2) The second conclusion is that as far as the order of object in Archaic Chinese is concerned, prepositions and postpositions are extensively used. In some cases, this may be the result of emphasis or stylistic requirements. We are certainly authorized to think about stylistics and its requirements when the unusual word order cannot be explained in another manner. It seems that postpositional objects always follow the rule: The direct object comes first (i.e., immediately after the verb) and is followed by the indirect object. Nevertheless, Middle Archaic Chinese (as represented by the Lunyu) exhibits many departures from that rule, e.g., gui Kong-zi tun – “to give Confucius a piglet.” Such unusual use of unmarked postpositional objects with the indirect preceding the direct may be caused by stylistic requirement. Cases of the prepositional use of both types of object are rather rare and have in most cases objects preceded by a particle, e.g., Qi ren wu yi ren yi yu wang yan zhe – “Among the people of Qi, there are no such men who are talking with the king about humanity and justice.” Here, the particles yi and yu are introducing the objects. Considering everything that could be said here about AC syntax, we can conclude that it is very difficult to speak about a transition from a prepositional to postpositional object during this period. Any statistical study of this problem is very difficult if not impossible, because the texts that we have at our disposal are in many respects not comparable. How could we compare the laconic oracle-bone inscriptions characterized by very limited vocabulary and schematic structures

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with the extremely rich philosophic texts from later times and the splendid poetry of Qu Yuan? It seems that we are authorized only to speak about one clear tendency in syntax – namely the gradual abandonment of the postpositional determination in favor of the prepositional one. To end this chapter, we must add some words about complex sentences in Archaic Chinese, remembering always that the prevailing parataxis made it so that the role of complex sentences was decided to be minor in comparison to many other languages, above all the Indo-European. Therefore, when translating AC texts into our languages, we must often make complex sentences out of simple Chinese sentences used paratactically. Of course, Archaic Chinese possessed complex sentences with formal markers of complexity, but such structures were much less frequent, because a juxtaposition of two simple sentences was understood as a complex sentence. In his Late Archaic Chinese (1959), Dobson briefly presented the problem of AC complex sentences; therefore, I will follow his line of thought below. Coordinate complex sentences originate from coordinate predicates that could be united by conjunctions such as you – “and also, also,” yi – “as well,” and qie – “moreover.” These conjunctions were not synonyms; there were, of course, minor semantic differences between them. The simplest example of such a coordination of two predicates can be found in Mengzi: ren qie zhi – “[He] is humane and clever.” In the same way, two sentences may be united, e.g., Shou xiang shi qie ren wu zhi – “The animals are eating each other and [because of it] the men hate them.” Special attention deserve conditional clauses, which are composed from two parts: The first place is occupied by the protasis (the dependent clause expressing the condition) followed by the apodosis (the main clause expressing the consequence). In Archaic Chinese, various conjunctions stand between the two: e.g., ze, si, qie. The first one is rather universal; the second appears chiefly in Mengzi and the third in Mozi. It is possible that one of these conjunctions came earlier (Mozi is older than Mengzi) and that at the same time both are dialectal. Moreover, all three are variants of the same root: **tsek, **sieg, **tsiet. A typical example of a conditional clause is: Wang ru shan zhi ze he wei bu xing – “If you think that it [i.e., my teaching] is good, then why did you not realize it?” (Mengzi) Some conditional conjunctions introduce protasis, such as gou and cheng, but they have an additional meaning of “if really,” e.g., Gou wei hou yi er xian li – “If you are really are putting justice on a further place and the profit on the nearer …” (Mengzi) In some cases, the protasis is introduced by jin (now) and dang (when). Finally, we have structures with both protasis and apodosis introduced by special particles. This seems important from the point of view of the evolution of syntax:

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Jin wang yu bai-xing tong yue ze wang yi – “Now when your joy and that of your people is the same, you are a true king.”(Mengzi) Moreover, there is a special particle of protasis that includes negation. This is **miwer/wei (cognate with other negatives) – “If not,” e.g., Wei Yu wu qi yu hu – “If there had not been Yu, would not we all have been fish?” (Zuozhuan). To conclude this short review of AC syntax, connective clauses must be mentioned. These clauses are marked by **siwer/sui placed before the subordinate sentence, e.g., Bu xian zhe sui you ci bu yue ye –“[As far as those who] are not a sage [are concerned,] even if they possess [such virtue], they will not enjoy it.” (Mengzi) This extreme poorness in formal markers used to build complex clauses will be slightly enriched during any further evolution of the language, but such a type of clause will never prevail over the sequence of simple sentences in all Chinese languages. This is because the Chinese language has from the oldest times largely used simple phrases as parts of more complicated structures. A phrase consisting of three basic parts, subject-predicate-object, may function as a subject on a higher level that also consists of subject-predicate-object. Such structures were in the place of complex clauses with special markers. A good example of such a multi-layered structure is the following clause taken from A First Course in Literary Chinese (1968, vol. III, p. 543) by Harold Shadick (1902–1994): Gu zhi yu ming ming-de yu tian-xia zhe xian zhi qi guo – “The ancients who wanted to flare up their bright virtue in everything under the Heaven first regulated their own countries.” (Daxue) This clause is composed of two parts, which are subject and predicate: The subject is: Gu zhi yu ming ming-de yu tian-xia zhe. The predicate is: xian zhi qi guo. After the subject of the whole clause, which is gu (ancients), there is an obligatory particle of subordination zhi and the subordinated clause is finished by zhe – a particle of a relative clause. The two particles (zhi and zhe) embrace the predicate of the subordinated clause. The predicate is preceded by a modal verb and is followed by an unmarked direct object and by a marked indirect object. The predicate of the whole clause consists of a verb determined by an adverb and followed by a direct object determined by a personal pronoun. The entirety is a game of simple basic structures used on various levels according to the strict rules of word order. Over the course of the long but rather slow evolution of the syntax of the Chinese language and its split into many Modern Sinitic languages, word order changes were certainly not the most important development. The only important syntactic change is the appearance of telescopic clauses, which consist of a sequence of subject – predicate – object/subject – predicate – object. As we may

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see in these clauses, the object of the preceding phrase is the subject of the following one. It must be here underlined that historically these clauses are not a result of elision (i.e., the omission of one or more sounds, such as a vowel, a consonant or a whole syllable).

CHAPTER 5 The Post-Archaic Period In the last quarter of the 3rd century BC, the Chinese-speaking world experienced the greatest revolution in its history. Some scholars call it the only Chinese revolution worthy of the name. This revolution abolished the traditional social order and tried – partially without success – to introduce a new one. In this book, we are interested only in those changes that had some influence on the Chinese language. Up to the establishment of the Qin Empire (221–207 BC), i.e., during the Spring and Autumn period (722–481 BC) and the Warring States period (403–221 BC), Chinese culture developed in local centers. Such centers were mostly local courts dispersed across the archaic Chinese domain. While Chinese culture principally formed a whole, it was not unified because of a strong feeling of local particularities that were consciously cultivated. Some texts condemned these local particularities, but in most cases they were only mentioned occasionally. As far as the language is concerned, there was no normalizing center. Everyone was using and writing in local variants of Chinese and all of these local variants had equal status. This also true of Chinese writing, but we are here not discussing the problems of writing. It must be stressed again: This book deliberately does not investigate Chinese writing, which is only an external code. Zhuangzi and Qu Yuan – the greatest literary authorities of the archaic period – expressed themselves in a Southern Chinese idiom that was the language used in the middle basin of the Yangzi (Changjiang). However, this does not mean that they used the language in order to impose it upon other forms of Chinese. Many written documents of the period represented a specific kind of heterogenic language, showing influences from various local languages, but also taking elements from various periods. Thus, it may be said that Archaic Chinese is a language not only geographically, but also historically heterogenic. This may be seen in many outstanding documents of Archaic Chinese literature, not only in the Shijing (Book of Odes), which is a collection of poems from different periods and taken from all Chinese kingdoms, but also in the texts of Lunyu, which linguistically do not represent the language of central Shandong – the homeland of Confucius (551–479 BC). Dialectal differences as reflected by the Shijing are the basis of a chart elaborated by Zhou Zhenhe and You Rujie (1988, p. 266; see next page). It is interesting to remark that Zhou Zhenhe and You Rujie speak of “Chinese languages” (zhuxia yuyan) and not of “Chinese dialects.” Zhou and You also indicated the territories of “non-Chinese languages” ( feizhuxia yuyan). According to Zhou and You, the southern Chinese territory included regions with the non-Chinese languages Shu, Ba, Chu, Wu, Yue, and Huai-Yi. We are thus faced with the fundamental question of contacts between Chinese and non-Chinese languages in these remote times.

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This is not a new problem in Sinology. Let us mention here only the name of Eduard Erkes (1891–1958) and his well-known article “Die Sprache des alten Ch’u” (1930). More than eighty years later, we are still unable to give a generally accepted answer.

Chart 1: Dialects of Archaic Chinese (according to Zhou – You 1988, p. 266; introduced from Künstler 2000b, p. 117)

Many problems concerning the languages of this area remain unsolved. First, there is the problem of the genetic links between languages and groups of languages. I will not enter here into the rather complicated problems of terminology. Zhou Zhenhe and You Rujie clearly differentiate between Chinese and nonChinese, but they do not say if both groups were cognate – an essential matter. If the language spoken in Chu is classified as non-Chinese, then we must ask the following questions: What was the original language of the great poetry of Qu Yuan? Was it cognate to the Chinese group or not? If cognate, was it near or rather distant from it? Is the textus receptus of Chuci only a translation into Chinese? While there are many possible answers, we must remember that we have no decisive evidence providing any solution. To give only one example of the possible speculations on this theme, I will briefly repeat the opinion of Chmielewski, who wrote a Polish article about linguistic aspects of the oldest layers of Chuci (1956b). Chmielewski argued that the language spoken in Chu did not originally belong to the Chinese group, but was certainly part of the same linguistic family. During the Warring States period, the Chu dialect was so strongly influenced by

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Chinese that it came to be considered the same language. I disagree: I am inclined to think that in spite of the fact that Zhou Zhenhe and You Rujie number the Chu language among the non-Chinese languages, in reality the language spoken in archaic times in the middle basin of the Yangzi cannot be considered as non-Chinese. Certainly, as far as the oldest times are concerned, the linguistic limits between Chinese and non-Chinese are very difficult if not impossible to establish. All we have at our disposal are some lexical peculiarities and a very few cases of syntactic singularities. This cannot be considered conclusive. In those times, everyone who identified as Chinese considered the unity of culture, custom, rite, and ritual as essential, but certainly not the unity of language. This holds true even today. There is no unity of language in Modern China, but there is a strong Chinese identity. Nationality and language are not to be confounded. The German language area is another example of such a situation: German people speak several quite different dialects, but all share a strong German identity. The totalitarian revolution of the First Emperor of the Qin dynasty was aimed at the liquidation of all local separateness and the creation of a one and indivisible China submitted to a single imperial power. Unified measures and weights, institutions, and even a unified wheelbase were introduced across the empire. Li Si (c. 280–208 BC), the powerful Prime Minister of the time, reformed Chinese writing with the aim of setting it in order. The language reform was implicitly to be based on the language spoken by the conquerors of the Chinese world, i.e., the language of the Western parts of the Chinese domain, what is today the province of Shaanxi. Many archaic Chinese documents mention semi-barbarian Chinese, spoken in the Qin kingdom. The relatively short rule of the Qin dynasty seems to indicate that the effort to unify the language was doomed to failure. The new Han dynasty, originating from the region of modern Shanghai, was certainly not interested in enforcing the Qin linguistic norm. The Liu family was probably speaking a quite different dialect, perhaps strongly influenced by the Wu language that was the substratum in their homeland. Moreover, the first emperors of the Han dynasty were rather illiterate and had no comprehension of language refinement. Historical documents prove that their understanding of Confucian tradition and ritual was also quite weak, at least during the first period of their rule. From the linguistic point of view, only one fact may be taken as more or less certain. At the end of 3rd century and the beginning of the 2nd century BC, the territory of the Chinese language was limited to the basin of the Yellow River (Huanghe) and reached southward to the middle basin of the Yangzi. There was dialect differentiation within this territory, but no dialect played the leading role. It also seems that the people speaking these dialects combined a strong feeling of linguistic unity with an awareness of the differences between the dialects. Dobson calls the subsequent period of more than four centuries (207 BC – 220 AD) the “Han Chinese” period and divides it into “Early Han Chinese” and “Late Han Chinese.”

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About 14 BC, Yang Xiong (53 BC – 18 AD) wrote a rather small treatise un1 der the title of Fangyan (Local Speeches, a term that today means “dialect”). Yang Xiong noted down differences between local variants of Chinese in the form of something like a dictionary. Therefore, his work (which is still in existence today) can be considered the oldest dialect dictionary in the world. It records dialect differences, but does not go beyond the traditional borders of archaic China, that is, the basin of the Yellow River and the territories in the middle basin of the Yangzi. Doubtlessly, the territory of dialects described by Yang Xiong is much smaller than the territory of the empire in his times. The Chinese Empire then extended from North Korea to North Vietnam and had under its control the kingdoms in the Basin of Tarim. However, Yang Xiong’s interest does not exceed the limits of what was then linguistically Chinese. This proves that the author possessed a good linguistic sense. Yang Xiong’s work was analyzed by Serruys (1959). On this basis, Serruys elaborated a dialectal map of these times, i.e., at the end of so-called Earlier (or Western) Han dynasty.2 The essential question is: What can we say about the Chinese dialects of Yang Xiong’s time? When it comes to phonetics, the answer is very little – that is, only that which can be deduced from phonetic reconstructions and with the certitude granted by these reconstructions. That is not much, but it is more than nothing, especially when compared with the little we know of other linguistic regions in remote times. Yang Xiong’s treatise contains quite exclusive information about the vocabulary of the described dialects. The text is filled with phrases of the following type: “something here called such is in this region called such, but in another region called such.” The author gives no information about syntax. This is due to his individual approach, because we do know that in some cases the Chinese were able to note rather precisely the syntactic differences between some dialects. The most important conclusions Serruys gives are as follows: 1. The West-Chinese dialect of Qin (i.e., the dialect spoken by China’s First Unifier) exerted a strong influence on northern and north-eastern dialects (i.e., on the territory of the former Jin state) long before the unification of China at the end of the 3rd century BC. In Yang Xiong’s treatise, the dialects of Qin and Jin may therefore be treated as a unity. After the unification of China, the influence of the Qin dialect on other Chinese languages apparently intensified, so that borrowings from Qin appear in the eastern, south-eastern, as well as north-eastern dialects. 2. The Chu dialect (which some scholars treat as non-Chinese) played a rather large role in the formation of a standard language, especially due to its expansion into the originally non-Chinese eastern territories Huai, Wu, and Yue, as well as the Nan-Chu territory.                                                              1

[M.K.: The full title of Fangyan is Youxuan shizhe juedai yu shi bieguo fangyan (Local Expressions of Other Countries in Times Immemorial Explained by the Light-carriage Messenger).]

2

[M.K.: For more information on Fangyan, see Yong – Jing 2008, pp. 76-94).]

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3. The analyzed linguistic material shows a strong expansion of Chinese dialects into non-Chinese territories situated in the north and north-east, called Yan, Dai, Bei Yan, Chaoxian, and others. 4. This analysis shows both that the language of the Early Han period is to be treated as Archaic Chinese and that no homogenous Archaic Chinese existed. For the history of Chinese languages, it is important to note that the existence of various dialects is testified at the turn of the epochs. These dialects are neither an abstraction nor a theoretic deduction, but something concrete that may be presented on a map (that Serruys delivers). This is crucial, because some scholars are admitting that certain Modern Chinese languages are directly rooted in this period. Robert A.D. Forrest (The Chinese Language, 1948) is one of them. According to him, the group of Chinese languages called Min split from the main stem just around this date. If so, then the direct ancestors of the Min languages and dialects are to be searched for among the southern Chinese dialects described in Fangyan, and this group is to be connected with the archaic Chu dialect. It would mean that this group separated from the main stem about two thousand years ago. These languages are then much older than all Romanic languages, which are a much later result of the bifurcation of Latin.3 Some scholars, however, present this development quite differently. According to Karlgren, all Modern Chinese languages derive from Ancient Chinese spoken in Chang’an, the capital of the Tang empire. Karlgren believes that the Chinese language of the Tang capital (or the language of what is today Xi’an in Shaanxi) spread across the empire’s territory, and its differentiation then gave birth to the beginning of Modern Sinitic languages. If so, then we must admit two important stages: the acceptance of the official language across the Tang Empire and its subsequent differentiation. I believe that this could not happen in less than two centuries (and am inclined to think that it took much longer). Accordingly, the differentiation of the Modern Chinese languages must be dated to approximately the 9th century AD. This would be about one thousand years later than Forrest claims. Such discrepancies should not bother us now. Nevertheless, it is quite obvious that we must return to this question below when discussing problems linked with Modern Sinitic languages. Here, it suffices to say that in accordance with the present state of our knowledge, the beginning of the Min languages cannot be linked with any of the archaic dialects described by Yang Xiong. It seems, however, probable that the history of this group began at this time. If so, then these languages derive from Early Han Chinese (according to Dobson’s periodization) and, moreover, it seems probable that they do not derive from the literary version of this language (which was certainly far from homogeneous), but rather from a southern dialectal version, which was probably closer to the language of the ancient kingdom of Chu. Serruys classes the language from 100–200 BC as a part of Archaic Chinese. For Dobson, this language is to be treated as a separate stage. This controversy is                                                              3

[M.K.: For more theories about the splitting of Chinese languages see Handel 2015, pp. 34-35.]

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not an important one, but it should be noted here. At any rate, it is a language well known from many (some would say too many) authentic documents that are still in existence today. They include such gigantesque works as Sima Qian’s Shiji or Sima Xiangru’s poetry, the philosophic treaty known as Huainanzi, and hundreds of other works. The two stages – Archaic Chinese and Early Han Chinese – are rather near one to another and it is therefore not easy to characterize them by showing any essential differences between both. Nevertheless, it goes without question that anyone acquainted with the texts of this epoch is intuitively able to point out some typical differences. It is, however, true that generalization in the field of grammar is very difficult, because all archaic texts known today are transmitted in their Han-period versions (and mostly with commentaries that also date from that time). Therefore, it is very difficult to discern what is Archaic Chinese and what is Early Han Chinese. For a good comparison of two languages or two stages of the same language, a linguist would prefer comparable texts (like those of the Holy Bible). We do not have such comparable texts at our disposal for the Chinese language, and the two stages are too near (which means that the differences are not easy to discern). The situation is different for the Late Han period (25–220), because we have access to many commentaries written in this time. Many archaic texts of this epoch (if not all) were commented on. It is true that the commentaries frequently give transpositions of the commented text. These transpositions are not exact translations into the language of commentary, but explanations of the commented text, interpretations, and indications of parallel places in other texts. All this is a very weak basis for linguistic conclusions, especially as far as the evolution of syntax is concerned; nevertheless, a comparison of the two stages of Chinese seems possible. It is obvious that the authors of the commentaries were not conscious of linguistic differences between the commented texts and the language they themselves spoke. Nevertheless, the commentators explained everything they found incomprehensible to make it comprehensible for their contemporaries. The comparison of the language of the old texts with the commentators’ explanations proves that we in fact have to do with two different stages of language. The study of these differences was presented by Dobson, who wrote Late Han Chinese: A Study of the Archaic–Han Shift (1964). This book compares the archaic text Mengzi, attributed to Mencius (372–289 BC), with the paraphrases given by Zhao Qi (108–201) in his commentary (Mengzi zhangju). These paraphrases are treated as something like a translation from Late Archaic Chinese into Late Han Chinese. Five centuries separate these two compared texts, a distance that makes it possible to grasp the differences. According to Dobson, the changes characterizing the passage from Archaic Chinese to the language of the Late Han are the most important for the whole history of the Chinese language, because it was in this epoch that the foundations of everything that characterizes Modern Sinitic languages appeared. Dobson’s opinions here converge with those of many other scholars, including

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Chmielewski and his theory of the typological evolution of the Chinese language. It is, however, quite evident that although the two authors agree on the importance of the described linguistic changes, they differ in their appreciation of this crucial epoch and the interpretation of the changes the language has undergone. To characterize these differences as briefly as possible, it may be said that Dobson considered most important those changes that could be called “macrostructural,” whereas Chmielewski concentrated exclusively on syntagmatic structures, mainly those consisting of two syllables, and thus in a sense his interest may be called “microstructural.” This is only a comparison of two different points of view, which has nothing to do with an evaluation of the two theories. There are, of course, many other theories, and this seems to justify our point of view, which differs in many details from others. Therefore, the most important problems of the evolution of the Chinese language in this epoch will be presented below from our individual point of view, independently from all existing theories. The above-mentioned opinions of two eminent Sinologists are very important, but many other theories exist, both Western and Chinese (and in this point these are two different worlds). Of course, it would be impossible to discuss them all. In every language, all change begins with phonetics and from so-called “natural causes.” These natural causes may be characterized as a constant tendency to diminish the effort by simplifying existing structures. To be as concise as possible, I would say only that all the rest is just the result of this simplification trend and very often the effort to prevent the results of simplification. It is also quite evident that preventing simplification sometimes leads to a secondary complication of the whole system. Each language is a coherent system and therefore the evolution of the language is always to be treated as a transformation of the system as a whole. When stating that the evolution of a language begins with phonetic changes, I am referring only to systematic changes occurring in the phonetic structure of a language, i.e., changes on the macro-scale that are transforming the system as a whole. Other changes also exist, but these do not affect the entire system. A good example of phonetic changes that consequently affected an entire system is the disappearance of the short vowel called yer in Polish. Let me give here only one example: The Polish equivalent of field is “pole” [IPA: 'pole]; the plural genitive was “pól∅” [IPA: 'pul]. The final, unstressed vowel disappeared, with lengthened the preceding stressed vowel. Two syllables were thus replaced with one syllable with a long vowel. The opposition of short/long vowels was not characteristic for Polish, so this long vowel subsequently changed into u. As we can see here, one simple phonetic change caused a lot of trouble in phonetics and inflexion. We must remember that in linguistics nothing disappears without leaving a trace somewhere. This basic rule of the “économie des changements phonétiques” (economy of phonetic changes) was strongly underlined by Martinet (1955), my great master, whose lectures I attended in Paris many years ago. Of course, the above-mentioned Polish short vowel disappeared leaving a trace: the lengthening of the vowel in the preceding syllable. In this way, a series

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of long vowels appeared in Polish, which caused the transformation of the entire phonetic system and consequently the transformation of morphology (e.g., the declination of nouns). Our short characteristics of changes occurred during five centuries in Chinese, and we will start with phonetics. For the Late Han Chinese period, we have LAC or LHC phonetic reconstructions at our disposal. This is crucial to keep in mind, as it means that I will not take the opinion of Serruys into consideration below . As stated before, this scholar believes that Karlgren’s Archaic Chinese is in fact reflecting Late Han Chinese. In reality, the rejection or acceptance of Serruys’s theory changes nothing, because if we were to admit that Archaic is not Archaic, but Late Han, we would only be accepting other time frames but still be comparing the same two evolutional stages of Chinese. Thus, we must agree that all reasonable phonetic reconstructions called Archaic Chinese concern the language of the 10th to 6th century BC, and that these reconstructions may be compared only with Ancient Chinese from approximately the beginning of the 7th century AD. A coherent system of LHC phonetic reconstructions does not exist. This situation implies two important conclusions. The first is that in spite of possessing a wealth of information about dialects, we must speak of one Chinese language. The second is that deprived of systematic phonetic reconstructions, we must remember that Late Han Chinese was certainly a different form from Archaic Chinese on all levels. To put it very simply, its phonetics are to be situated somewhere between the two stages. This means that in some aspects it was certainly different from Archaic Chinese, but at the same time it cannot be identified with Ancient Chinese. The impossibility of reconstructing the LHC phonetic system does not mean that we have no fragmentary indications concerning the pronunciation of certain words. It means only that these indications do not permit the reconstruction of the whole system. It is now time to state briefly what kind of indications we may expect to find. The answer does not seem very difficult to me, because many years ago I published in the Polish review Przegląd Orientalistyczny (1969, pp. 274-276) a brief piece concerning just this problem. I have the impression that the problem has preserved its actuality to today. Published in Polish, it could not be remarked by other Sinologists and therefore it was not criticized. To begin with, I must remind the reader that Hou Hanshu (History of the Later Han Dynasty) contains short poems said to be of popular origin that were written in the first half of the 5th century AD. It is also known that the chronicle’s author Fan Ye (398–445) based his work on authentic documents of the epoch. In the whole text of this history, I was able to find about 50 poems of different lengths that are said to represent the popular poetry of the epoch. This is confirmed by the fact that many of these poems are quoted in extenso or in fragments by Yuan Hong (328–376) in his Hou Hanji, written some 70 years earlier. Moreover, it is well known that both historians – Yuan and Fan – took many fragments from Dongguan Hanji, a chronicle written in the second half of the 2nd century AD. This historical work has not survived in toto to present times, but its

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existing fragments prove that both later historians copied the text without alteration. Moreover, in the preserved fragments of this chronicle, I have found one poem that was not inserted into Fan Ye’s Hou Hanshu. It seems that we have a firm basis to treat all these poems as authentic LHC material. The poems mentioned above are not the only ones we have at our disposal. Hui Dong (1697– 1758), a philologist living in the Manchu times, gathered all the preserved fragments of a lost work entitled Sanjun bajun lu, among which I found 14 other popular poems, dating from the Late Han time. I will now explain why the popular poetry – as opposed to all poetry – is so important for our study. From the beginning of the Han dynasty, literary (written) Chinese was entering its formative stage. As a rule, the men of letters of this epoch (poets, writers, historians, philosophers, and others) were well educated, and they were writing under the strong influence of classic works of the preceding times. It is quite evident that the rhymes they used were imitations of classic works, of tradition. They did not take the actual colloquial pronunciation into consideration. Even if they were aware of differences, they treated everything colloquial as inelegant. The analysis of rhymes used by Ma Rong (79–166), presented in my Ma Jong – vie et oeuvre (1969), proves clearly that the author – like other educated people – used exclusively classic rhymes, and therefore his poem cannot be taken as representing the actual pronunciation of that time. In contrast, popular poetry quoted by historians was not influenced (or at least not so strongly influenced) by the classic literary norm, and therefore it may be treated as reflecting the popular pronunciation. Moreover, all these examples of popular poetry are well dated, as they refer to concrete historical facts, and they can mostly be assigned to a concrete place. Very often, the poems are introduced with a snippet of information, such as “the people of … said …” Therefore, if we find in these poems rhymes reflecting concrete changes, we may be sure that “in that time and in that place” something was pronounced in “such a way.” Although this material is possibly incomplete, it is still very valuable. I will give one typical example below. Archaic Chinese had a final -r that is absent in the Ancient Chinese of the beginnings of the Tang dynasty. It is known that the change: -r>-j also caused other changes of vocalism, but at this moment this is unimportant. Furthermore, it is very important that the chronology of this change is not known. We must, however, underline that there are scholars who claim that it could perhaps be dated to the Han period. Let us see what can be found in the popular poetry of that epoch assuming that popular poetry may reflect the actual pronunciation. The basic difficulty is that the materials at hand are not sufficiently abundant and that they are only conclusive in those cases in which two words rhymed in Archaic Chinese, but did not rhyme in Ancient Chinese. Only such pairs (well dated, of course) may be used to indicate the chronology of this change. I have found, for instance, a tetrastich (a stanza of four lines) introduced as a “children’s ballad (tong-yao) from Nanyang” (“Nanyang tongyao,” Southern Henan). The poem contains the rhyme xie – mei (Modern Standard pronuncia-

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tion). The two words rhymed in Archaic Chinese: **g’er – **mier. In Ancient Chinese, these words were pronounced xai – mjwi and belonged (like in Modern Standard Chinese) to different rhyme classes. The chronicle Dongguan Hanji clearly states that the poem was created in the gengshi era (23–25 AD), and is connected with the Red Eyebrows Insurrection (Chimei zhi luan). Therefore, we are authorized to conclude that the final -r existed in Central China in the first quarter of the 1st century AD. This example is not the only one. Two other similar examples are later, but also date from the 1st century AD. Moreover, we also have one example of a rhyme with Archaic -r dated in the thirties of the 2nd century AD. All of these examples come from Central China. Therefore, it may be said that the archaic final -r existed until the beginnings of the 2nd century AD in Central China. Another poem dated to the mid-2nd century AD (the text references the beginnings of the reign of Emperor Huan, 147–168) and coming from the same region rhymes two words that in Archaic Chinese were pronounced **siwer – **giwed. The rhyme was only possible in Ancient Chinese, when both the final -r and -d disappeared and the two words were pronounced *swi – *iwi. What is more, the structure of rhymes in this poem seems to also indicate the disappearance of the Archaic final -g. If this example is admitted to be decisive, we are confronted with an ideal situation: The disappearance of archaic final consonants is attested in a poem from Middle China written in the middle of the 2nd century AD. Unfortunately, the conclusiveness of this last example is invalidated by the fact that pre-Han poetry already contained many examples of a rhyming final -r with a final -d. It is, however, possible that this Archaic feature was not preserved by peasant children in the first half of the 2nd century AD. One could argue that the situation in the 2nd century AD was not the same as in the pre-Han period. The mentioned poetry also contains rhymes of words with a final -r and those with a final -g. This was impossible in Archaic Chinese. Does this mean that all three finals (-r, -d, -g) had already disappeared in this period? It seems quite possible that just in the middle of the 2nd century AD certain final consonants disappeared or began to disappear in Central China. The existence of four pairs of rhymes with -r in the previously mentioned very long poem by Ma Rong is not conclusive. Firstly, these pairs of words remained rhymed after the disappearance of the final; secondly, because we do know that Ma Rong was strongly influenced by archaic tradition. This last point is proved by the fact he also used typical archaic rhymes with a final -t and -d, as well as others that could not be rhymed according to ancient pronunciation (e.g., **tiet/*tśiet and **swed/*suai; **leg/*lai and **gieg/*i). In order to have a clear image of the final voiced consonant problem in the Late Han time, we cannot omit the final **-b. This is, however, rather complicated, because there were very few archaic words with this final. No wonder that the limited corpus we have at our disposal does not provide examples of rhymes with this final. If the final -b disappeared along with other voiced finals, we would admit that the described changes had a systematic character. This seems to

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be proved by the final stage, i.e., Ancient Chinese, which had no final voiced consonants, nor a final -r. If our conclusions based on Han-period popular poetry are justified, we may say that the phonetic system of the Chinese language was gradually transformed in the 2nd century AD. The loss of final voiced consonants and of a final -r induced changes of the whole system. Subsequently, these changes caused the transformation on other levels of the language, chiefly the transformation of its syntagmatic structure. It goes without question that the above-discussed changes were not the only ones the language has undergone. A systematic discussion of the changes in phonetics will be presented in Chapter 7, which is devoted to the language of the early Tang period, i.e., the epoch of Karlgren’s Ancient Chinese. Among the most important phonetic changes of that time we must mention the disappearance of initial consonant clusters. This simplification of the phonetic structure reduced the possibility of morphologic and word-formative differentiation based on the consonantal and/or vocalic alternation of phonetic units and in many cases made such an exchange quite impossible. At any rate, there is no doubt that this phonetic change entirely transformed the structure of the language. This very important transformation is here mentioned second, because its chronology is even more mysterious than the chronology of the disappearance of finals. We cannot even say if the change occurred during the period of the Early or Late Han language, or even much later. It must be stressed once more: All phonetic changes occur very slowly and they do not all occur simultaneously. Moreover, one type of change may occur very slowly, while another may occur more quickly. This is particularly important when we are faced with changes that took place across some one thousand two hundred years. It is good to remember that twelve hundred years separate Archaic Chinese from Ancient Chinese – so it is not irrelevant when a change took place. It is for this reason that we are trying to indicate when these changes could really have occurred. In his conclusions concerning the language of the Late Han period, Dobson points out that in this epoch the AC monosyllabic words were replaced by compounds, which consequently later had a more restricted grammatical use. Once could say that the compound words are less universal; they are clearly either nominal or verbal, and cannot be both at the same time. This is an evident reference to Chmielewski’s theory of the typological evolution of the Chinese language. Before explaining here some important syntagmatical aspects of this theory, we must strongly underline that all of this began with phonetic changes, which were probably intensified in the second half of the 2nd century AD. The importance of phonetic changes was also pointed out by Chmielewski. The phonetic changes caused a gradual disappearance of specific archaic morphology based on phonetic changes within a syllable, very near to what is called “alternation.” This type of morphology played a great role in AC morphology and word formation. Let us remember that morphologic and/or word-formative processes were realized in the same way in Archaic Chinese, i.e., were based on the exchange of phonemes. The so-called “exchange” is not easy to characterize.

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In some cases, it was an infixation, in others a prefixation, and so on. With the whole system gradually dispersing, practitioners of the language had to find some way of preventing misunderstandings and identifying other ways of differentiation. The simplest method was to combine two synonymous (or quasisynonymous) monosyllabic units and use them together. This was the more urgent because the phonetic evolution of monosyllabic units caused a great increase of homonymous words, which always imperils a language’s communicative function. It is well known that all monosyllabic languages of this region have many homonyms and that these are tolerated to a much higher degree than in IndoEuropean languages. Nevertheless, it seems quite obvious that as far as homonyms are concerned, there must be a certain point that cannot be transgressed and that the language must develop a means of avoiding misunderstandings. From the point of view of general linguistics, such processes are well known even in those European languages in which the problem of homonymy is marginal in comparison with the East Asia linguistic area. The classic examples are four modern French words that were originally quite different in Latin: sanus>sain (healthy), sanctus>saint (saint), sinus >sein (breast) and signum>seing (signature), which are now all pronounced se. To express “healthy,” a coordination of the two quasi-synonymous words sain et sauf is therefore in current use. In other cases, different devices are used, e.g., “signature” replacing the older “seing.” Because of the relatively great number of homonyms in Chinese, linguistic processes of this type evidently occurred in a great number of cases. They transformed the language. Chmielewski called these changes “the typological evolution of the Chinese language.” The thrust of his theory may be briefly explained thusly: As the language evolved, the old, i.e., AC monosyllabic words were replaced by disyllabic syntactic groups (syntagmas) built according to syntactic rules. These disyllabic structures were subsequently morphologized, i.e., their members became inseparables; the old independent words became morphemes, but the links between these morphemes preserved their syntactic character. In this way, many AC disyllabic syntactic groups transformed into morphologic structures and consequently the old intrasyllabic morphology (based on consonantal and/or vocalic changes within a syllable as well as on some tonal changes) gradually disappeared and was replaced by a syllabic morphology (based on syntactic links). At this point in my explanation of my professor’s theory of evolution of the Chinese language, I feel obliged to explain why I do not use Chmielewski’s original terminology. Less important than his nomenclature is the fact that I do not agree with his propositions, at least not with all of them. An exhaustive discussion of all the differences between us is unnecessary, but some examples should be given. In his The Typological Evolution … (1949), Chmielewski speaks for instance of the “functional activity” and “functional passivity” of linguistic units. I feel that a linguistic unity is either fulfilling a function or not, and that this cannot be called either passivity or activity. In his later works, Chmielewski speaks of syntactic relations, introducing new terms with the aim of naming each type of relation after its first member. The aim is evidently noble, but the result is often

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misleading. I am certain that creating a totally new terminology is not always the best way to reach a better understanding of the described linguistic reality. Some outstanding linguists have undertaken attempts of this kind that demonstrate my point. Today [i.e., in 2007], almost 70 years after the publication of The Typological Evolution …, it is clear that Chmielewski’s terminological innovations were not accepted by Sinologists, and this is the principal reason I have not introduced them here. I want to stress that from the very beginning Chmielewski’s linguistic ideas were strongly influenced by his inclination to logics. It goes without saying that his eight articles on early Chinese logic (1962–1969)4 are accepted as fundamental in this field worldwide. This is, however, another area that cannot be here discussed. This book deals with linguistic problems, and therefore we must remember that logic and linguistics are different fields of investigation that have their own particular methods. They should not be confounded. Now let us turn to our main theme, which is the evolution of the Chinese language. Having presented the main types of this evolution – as seen by Chmielewski – we are now faced with the fundamental question: When did this change occur? To begin with, there is no problem if we compare two distant phases of the language like Archaic and Modern Chinese, as Chmielewski did. But even in such a case, there are many minor questions that must be answered. At first glance, the problem may not appear very complicated. Every language has bound and/or free units. In syntax, the free units may function independently; in contrast, the bound units are used only with the free ones. Therefore, a juxtaposition of two free units is always a syntactic group (syntagma), while two bound units, or a bound unit and a free one, are a morphological structure. In some cases, it may seem that examining a corpus of monosyllabic words should suffice. This was Lu Zhiwei’s (1894–1970) opinion in his Beijinghua danyinci cihui (The Monosyllabic Words of the Peking Speech, 1956). He wanted to know which basic units of this speech are free in order to be quite certain that the rest are bound. This is, however, only illusory. Firstly, Chinese contained a certain amount of indecomposable disyllabic words even in the remotest of times; secondly, all Modern Sinitic languages also contain multisyllabic indecomposable words (e.g., modern phonetic loan words). The disyllabic words based on syntactic links uniting both parts – which Lu Zhiwei studied – were not the first ones known by the Chinese language. From the oldest times, the Chinese language knew at least the following categories of indecomposable disyllables: 1. reduplications (which P. Demiéville called “impressif” in French); 2. broken reduplications (probably dissimilated ones); 3. shuang-sheng – “double initials”; 4. dieyun – “piled up rhymes”; and last but not least, 5. borrowed words, e.g., Xiongnu (the Huns). In all of these cases, the relation between the two syllables is fairly obscure, but is probably not of the syntactic type. I would rather say that such was their phonetic structure and that it is hard to go beyond such a statement (which explains nothing). For this reason, I am inclined to treat them all as disyllabic in                                                             4

[Editor: Cf. Chmielewski 2009, pp. 175-337.]

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decomposable morphemes. The study of these structures is very important for the history of the Chinese language. Let us say, e.g., that in later times the Chinese themselves interpreted some expressions of the 2nd and 3rd type secondly as the coordinations of male and female animals, like feng-huang (male and female phoenixes). This seems to indicate that during the very beginnings of the evolution of – so to say – “syntactic disyllables,” such an interpretation was the only acceptable one. Moreover, another type of enumerated disyllable – namely the dissimilated – may also furnish interesting indications. Dissimilated reduplications often have a narrower vocal in the first syllable and a broader one in the second. This seems to be caused by strong stress on the second syllable. It is here that we find the first indication of stress in Chinese. As said before, many procedures are admissible only when comparing an older stage of the language with the contemporary one. The situation is more difficult, if not hopeless, when comparing two older stages, e.g., Archaic Chinese and languages of the Han period. How can we establish fixed rules to decide what was free or bound in the era in question? I am aware of no reliable studies in this field that might be useful in pursuing such an investigation. One must think of other formal criteria, but this is rather complicated. Most such devices are limited to one type of structure, such as those seen, for instance, in the inseparability of members constituting the disyllable and their strict order (i.e., incommutability). It may be admitted that, e.g., as long as two coordinated monosyllabic units are appearing either as AB or as BA, we have to do with two free units. When only one of the possible orders is used (and the other disappears), we are faced with a coordination of two bound units. However, such formal criteria have at least two serious limitations: As stated above, they are limited to one type of structure; in addition, in some cases the order of the two elements is imposed by cultural and not grammatical factors. For instance, the two monosyllabic AC words **ier/yi (upper dress) and **diang/shang (chang) (lower dress) appear as free forms: yi zheng se, shang jian se (“the upper dress should be in a basic color, the lower dress should be in a secondary color” [Liji ]). In the same epoch, both appear in coordinative syntagmas in any possible order, i.e., **ier-diang (Shijing) and **diang-ier (Shujing), which proves that both were free syntactic units. The first version was used from the Late Han period on, while the inverse order does not appear at all. Therefore, it may be admitted that both monosyllables were treated as a disyllabic unity in this period, the members of which were inseparable, or morphologized, as Chmielewski would say. This word ( yishang) has persisted in Modern Mandarin up to today. Another proof of the inseparability of members of a disyllabic coordination is the following: The syntactic coordination “AB” may always be transformed into “A and B” or into “A or B”; if such a transformation is impossible, we have to do with a disyllabic word. This is particularly important in all cases in which the order change of the coordinated members is impossible because of other, extralinguistic causes. Such is the case with **b’iwo-meg/fu-mu (father [and] mother), now functioning as one word meaning “parents.” Due to extralinguistic causes, “father” must

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come first and “mother” second in this coordination. The inverse order is (and always was) impossible. Another example of this type is **piwo-ts’ier/fu-qi – “man and wife” > “married couple.” As we may see, no such additional criteria are decisive by themselves. For instance, some antonymic coordination structures have only one possible order of parts from the start: The greater must come first, the smaller second, and both are inseparable. However, very often in such cases a disyllable consists of two free forms (i.e., free even today), such as da-xiao – “great and small” > “size.” It follows from the above that the formation process of disyllabic words presented by Chmielewski on the basis of ancient syntactic structures was in certain cases relatively quick, in others very long, and in some never achieved at all. Therefore, this transformation of the Chinese language cannot be understood as having concrete time frames. Rather, it should be understood as an evolutionary tendency that has its origins in the Han period, but in some cases may be found much earlier, and in certain cases is still transforming today. This is not meant as a criticism of Chmielewski’s achievement, because I am certain that in linguistics it is much more difficult to see the general tendencies of evolution than to formulate linguistic laws. Neither does it mean that this tendency to polysyllabization characterizes all Modern Sinitic languages to the same degree. It is quite obvious that the modern languages differ in this respect. Now we will turn to the problem of the main structural types of this slowly developing new polysyllabic vocabulary of the Chinese language, independently from the chronology of its appearance. First of all, let it be said that this new syllabic morphology caused not only the appearance of polysyllabic words (mostly disyllabic composed of two semantemes), analyzed by Chmielewski, but also at this time unknown words consisting of one semanteme and one affix that he does not take into consideration. Both these fundamental types are based on the same principle of semantic relations between the composing syllabic morphemes. However, the difference is crucial. In the case of disyllabic words (composed of two semantemes), the old syntactic relation between the two syllables remains clearly distinguishable. In the case of affix-like structures, this relation between composing elements is not clear at all. This is because the monosyllabic element transformed into an affix loses its old meaning and is identified only with its new grammatical function. This may be illustrated by the following examples. For the Modern Standard Chinese term lie-ren (a hunter), the determinative relation between the first syllable (to hunt) and the second (man) is evident, because “the hunting-man” is clearly “a hunter.” This same structure can be found for other cognate words such as lie-ying (a falcon [trained to] hunt), lie-gou (a hunting dog), and lie-qiang (a hunting gun, rifle). In contrast to the above-quoted examples, every educated Chinese person is perfectly aware that lie-qi (to hunt for [something] curious) is based on a quite different type of structure, i.e., a predicative one. The situation is quite different when one of the two components of a disyllable turns into an affix (in most cases into a suffix). All Modern Mandarin languages (the term “Mandarin” will be discussed later) have nouns ending with zi – a typical nominal suffix occurring in thousands of

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words. Initially, this was a full word with the meaning of “son, child.” Thus, the determinative syntagma yi-zi (the son of the chair > little chair) was used to speak of a chair smaller than a normal one. Many other words were constructed in the same fashion, such as fang-zi (son of a house > little house) or wu-zi (son of a room > little room). This zi – originally a full word – gradually turned into a diminutive suffix deprived of its etymological meaning. For a linguist, further evolution was clear, because the diminutive terms of languages worldwide (including Latin, French, or Polish) are losing their diminutive character step by step. And so it was in Chinese, as well. Nowadays, yi-zi means simply “chair” and not “little chair.” From our point of view, it is important that when a word loses its basic meaning and function and becomes an affix of its former relation of syntactic type, the preceding and/or succeeding element disappears (i.e., is no longer regarded as such). Therefore, in many cases the etymology of modern affixes is unclear or even totally unknown. It is thus impossible to speak about syntactic relations between two parts of a structure with an affix. This is the fundamental difference between affixed forms and those composed of semantemes. Thus, to state that modern Chinese morphology is syllabic and has a syntactic character would be inaccurate. The following question now presents itself: Why do we speak of affix-like formations in a chapter on Han-period language? And that in spite of the fact that the just discussed diminutive forms came much later than the Han time. The answer is rather simple: Both main types of morphologization – that is, the “semantemic” as well as the “affix-like” – may be traced back to the Han period, at least to its second half. The results of both processes were, however, quite different. The beginnings of sematemic morphologization were briefly presented above. A short presentation of the second type will now follow. In order to show the linguistic changes between Archaic Chinese and Hanperiod Chinese, Dobson compared AC texts with the paraphrases given by Zhao Qi in his commentary Mengzi zhangju. Many years ago, I compared Zheng Xuan’s (127–200) commentaries with the commented text of the Shijing. My remarks were published in Chinese (“Lun Zhengjian yuyan mouxie fuci ciwei wenti” [Adverbial Suffixes in Zheng Xuan’s Commentary to Shijing], 1958), and they therefore remain rather unknown outside of China. As Zhao Qi and Zheng Xuan lived approximately at the same time, their texts may be considered to represent the same language. These remarks of mine on quasi-suffixes were appreciated by two outstanding Chinese linguists to whom I am very grateful. The main ideas of my article are presented by Wang Li in the second edition of his Hanyu shigao (Outlines of the History of the Chinese Language; 1980). Zhou Fagao (1915–1994) discussed the fundamentals of my ideas in his Zhongguo gudai yufa: Goucifa (A Historical Grammar of Ancient Chinese: Morphology; Chapter 3, pp. 202f.). I later presented the same question in a more exhaustive manner in my book Les formations adverbiales à quasi-suffixe en chinois archaïque et dans la langue de l’époque Han, written 1960–1961 but published in 1967, that is, three years after Dob-

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son’s Late Han Chinese (1964). In consequence, my book neither incorporated Dobson’s achievements, nor could Dobson have taken notice of it. According to the research in my book, in Archaic Chinese – relatively early – certain quasi-suffixed elements appear after monosyllabic units used as adverbs (i.e., units determining the predicate). In Early Archaic Chinese, the most frequently used were **ńio/ru) (to be like something, to be such as); **ńiak/ruo (such as); **ńian/ran (such, such as), and **ngian/yan (to speak). In this series, the last monosyllable may appear strange, but there is a possible plausible interpretation that will be presented below. In Middle Archaic Chinese, these quasi-suffixes are also used with reduplicated impressives. In Late Archaic Chinese, there is only one of them which is used, namely **ńian/ran. In the following periods, the total amount of monosyllables with this quasi-suffix remains – so to say – constant, while the number of reduplicated impressives with a quasi-suffix is rapidly increasing. In the analyzed MAC texts, they number two; in LAC – 41; in EHC – 76, and in LHC – 149. After the end of the AC period, all other quasi-suffixes disappeared. In this respect, the difference between Archaic Chinese and the Han language is clear-cut. The monosyllabic adverbs with a suffix have persisted until modern times. In Modern Standard Literary Chinese, this group is quite large. In a rather small dictionary (published in 1988 in Changsha), we can find about 170 such adverbs. On the contrary, reduplicated structures with -ran have all but disappeared. Structures such as huanghuangran (fearfully) and piaopiaoran (in a self-contented manner) have become the exception. In many Mandarin languages, the role of ran is now played by a much later modern suffix de having an attributive meaning. Such is the rather clear image of the general tendency to create syllabic morphology. We are speaking of a tendency, not of a linguistic law, because suffixation was never obligatory in all similar cases. This tendency may only be discovered in the course of a keen analysis of selected texts and a comparison of the studied problem. Moreover, it is impossible to say something about eventual links between the adverb-root and the quasi-suffix. If hu-ran (sudden; violently) and hu have the same meaning, then the only reason to add a suffix is to limit a disyllabic word’s use to that of an adverb. Let us remember that the AC monosyllabic hu could be also used with a verbal function as “to overlook, to neglect,” which is impossible when the suffix is added. Linguists are therefore searching for a suitable interpretation of the oldest adverbial suffix of this kind. Let us mention here the opinion of George A. Kennedy (1901–1960) in his article (1940) about the etymology of another disyllable, namely ruo-gan (some, a little). He interpreted this disyllable as **ńiak-an > ńia-kan, with the first part meaning “such as” and the second part (i.e., an) serving as a hypothetic demonstrative pronoun meaning “this.” Thus, the supposed **niak-an had the primitive meaning of “such as this” or “like this.” If so, it seems that this hypothesis concerning the existence of an unknown demonstrative pronoun in Archaic Chinese may also be admitted in other cases, such as **ngian/yan and **nian/ran. Both forms may be

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considered allegro forms composed of a verbal root (meaning “to be such, to be like”) and its object, which was the supposed pronoun. In this case, it appears quite evident that the character meaning “to speak” – **ngian – is in fact only a borrowed character. The same may said of the character **nian, originally meaning “to burn,” later used as a suffix and written with the additional element “fire.” Kennedy’s supposition is thus by no means a linguistic fantasy. On the contrary, in my opinion it is a serious solution to the problem. Sinitic languages contain elements, above all various formal affixes, whose etymology is unknown. This problem will be discussed later on. Here, a handful of examples will suffice. The MSC plural suffix -men has no satisfactory explanation until now. The same may be said about the suffix -de. As far as other Chinese languages are concerned, the situation is truly helpless. In linguistic theory, the changing of two syllables into one is called “contraction.” In Chinese, contractions are rather seldom, but they existed in older times and also appear in modern times. In any case, it seems impossible to suppose any syntactic relation between both parts of a contraction. The observed state of things proves that in the case of suffixed structures, the eventual syntactic links were forgotten quite early. That is not an exception, but rather a rule concerning all affix-like formations, as may be seen in other known suffix-like formations. I will briefly present the typical syntactic structures that were from the Late Han period on subdued to morphologization. Various coordinative structures (synonymic and antonymic) were already mentioned above. These were not excessively numerous, but played a great role in the development of the language: In such a way many abstract terms were created, the lack of which is to be observed in the preceding phases of the Chinese language. The best-known examples of synonymic coordination include **b’eng-giug/peng-you (fellow-and-friend > friend) and the already mentioned fu-mu (father-and-mother > parents; in reality standing between synonymic and antonymic structures). Another group consists of antonyms such as **d’adsiog/da-xiao (great-and-small > size) and **d’iang-twan/chang-duan (long-andshort > length). The last two examples are very interesting, because in these cases an antonymic coordination of two adjectives (which in Archaic Chinese are either determination or predicate) becomes a noun. A general theoretical remark is necessary at this point. There is no question that the gradual formation of disyllabic structures should be the object of various research conducted with many approaches. First of all, one must make a typological analysis, the general outlines of which I am trying to sketch out here. Secondly, a statistic analysis (synchronic as well as diachronic) should certainly be taken into consideration. Thirdly, the frequency of these structures in the analyzed texts should be presented. All this may provide a solid base to characterize the evolution that leads to the transformation of a language with preponderant changes within monosyllabic units into a language with syllabic morphology and preponderant disyllabic vocabulary. However, no such studies have been carried out so far. Consequently, we today have no answer to all of the aboveenumerated questions and many others, as well. We can only say that the major

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part of the finally morphologized disyllabic structures seems to be constituted by ancient determinations. This will be elaborated below, when the language of the Song dynasty will be presented. From the point of view of the evolution of the language, it is important to remember that each unit added to a word as its determination restricts the sense of the whole. Therefore, it may be said that the morphologization of ancient determinative disyllables was followed by a process of narrowing of the meaning, signifying simply that the disyllable was a more precise means of expression, but had a more restrained syntactic function. This was remarked on already by Dobson (see especially his publication of 1964). As a rule, a monosyllable was semantically far less precise than a disyllable. A monosyllable could be used as a noun, a verb, or an adjective; in most cases, a disyllable could only be either a noun or a verb. In certain respects, this is still the case in Modern Chinese languages. I will give only some simple MSC examples. The monosyllabic word ai may be used as a verb (wo aishang ta le [I fell in love with her]), but disyllabic words are either nouns, e.g., aiqing (love [between a man and woman]) or verbs, e.g., aifu (to caress) and aihao (to be delighted with). Moreover, some MSC disyllabic nouns have narrower but more precise meanings, such as bo-ai (universal love), mu-ai (mother-love), en-ai (matrimonial love), peng-ai (brotherly love, friendship), and many other words belonging to the same family. These disyllables with narrower meanings gradually replaced older monosyllables with general meanings. Morphologized formations also include other types of syntactic structures (besides determinations and coordinations), but they are less numerous. A very small group is formed by ancient subject-predicate formations. This group includes disyllables such as dan-da (lit.: the bile [liver] is great > brave), dan-xiao – (lit.: the liver is small > coward) and dan-han (the liver is cold > terrified). The syllable dan (liver) is not listed in the dictionary of Pekinese monosyllabic words and thus the three mentioned words are good examples of ancient morphologized structures. Today, all three are bisemantemic words. Not very numerous are also disyllables having a verb-object structure. Moreover, there is always a possibility of another interpretation of such structures, because any archaic monosyllabic transitive verb could be used as an attribute of the following noun. The result is that any verb-object group may be (and sometimes must be) understood as a determination. The situation is clear only in some cases, namely when the verb is intransitive. Therefore, the disyllabic formation **piwer-tiog/fei-niao has only one meaning: “flying bird,” because of the intransitive verb “to fly.” In the case of a transitive verb, two interpretations are equally plausible. Therefore, the expression **sat-nien/sha-ren means either “to kill a man” or “the killed man.” That is not all. The determinative function may also be played by modal verbs placed before another verb, as in the cases of ke-xiao (be able to laugh > funny) and neng-ren (the man, who is able to do > talented). Of course, some cases cannot be resolved at all, e.g., chao-rou, which may be interpreted as a verb-object – “to fry the meat,” as well as a determinative

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group – “fried meat.” The MSC chao-cai has simply two meanings: 1. “fried vegetables” and 2. “to fry vegetables.” Does this mean that morphologization is still not achieved in such cases? Are these structures still syntactic formations? If so, then the typological evolution of the Chinese language as described by Chmielewski is a tendency that is manifested only partially. On the other side, it is much easier to discover a verb-object structure in all cases of a verb with a so-called “empty object” that functions as a meaningless “filler.” The verb-object structure shuo-hua does not mean “to say words,” but only “to speak”; xie-zi means “to write” and not “to write Chinese characters.” However, such structures are not easy to interpret, because they are not inseparable. First of all, any “empty object” may be replaced by a “full” one, like shuohuang (to tell lies); secondly, the “empty object” may be preceded by a determination, like shuo-da-hua (lit.: to say great words, to boast). Having said the above, we must immediately add what follows: The problem is that the two members of these structures are really separable. Are these the cases with monosyllabic words united by syntactic links and then lexicalized (as it was in the most remote times)? Or are they morphologized formations? Relatively numerous is the group of disyllabic structures composed of a verb and its socalled “resultative object” (indicating the result of the action), e.g., chi-bao (to eat full). This type – generally speaking from much later than the Han time – is also rather difficult to interpret, because the structures are not inseparable: Both its members are regularly separated by elements constituting potential mood, like chi-de-bao (be able to eat full) and chi-bu-bao (to be unable to eat full). Can such formations really be taken as morphologized? Should the inseparability be considered a decisive mark of morphologization? Should we rather speak of disyllabization based on syntactic links and omit the problem of morphologization or speak only of lexicalization? All reasonable solutions are, of course, possible. To end these remarks, let me point out that morphologization and inseparability must not necessarily go together. In the light of the discussed problems, this last point of view seems rather reasonable. There is no question that an old derivation system based on consonantal and vocalic alternations (realized within the frame of a syllable) was gradually transformed into a new derivation system, based on monosyllabic units put together according to the rules of syntax. This gradually induced a complete typological change of the Chinese language from a language consisting of monosyllabic units subdued to complicated consonantal and/or vocalic alternations into a language with an increasing number of units composed of two syllables put together by syntactic rules. The beginnings of this process may be dated to the end of the archaic period. A visible acceleration of changes took place in the Late Han period and in certain fields continued into the modern period, with evident differences in each particular case. The acceleration of changes in the Late Han period and in the following centuries was caused by two important factors. The first was the great change in the phonetic system, which made the Ancient Chinese of the beginnings of the Tang dynasty clearly distinct from Archaic Chinese. One of the most important consequences of these

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phonetic changes was the levelling of primitive oppositions that had been causing serious problems for the whole system. Another factor that influenced the trend to the polysyllabization of the vocabulary was connected with the spread of Buddhism in China. This religion brought to China many new terms, which very often were rendered into Chinese with “phonetic transcription” and then abbreviated to disyllabic forms that the Chinese could more easily accept. It goes without explication that the Chinese word pu-sa is easier for a Chinese person than the Sanskrit word “bodhisattva.” In this way, hundreds of new words entered into the Chinese language, and most of them were disyllabic, consisted of two inseparable syllables that were not united by any syntactic links. In this way, the number of disyllabic morphemes (earlier unknown or very seldom) increased considerably. The final result is that all Modern Sinitic languages contain far fewer morphologized old disyllables than the total number of formations of this type. The archaic examples fu-mu, peng-you, and yi-shang given above became a minority in later times. In contrast, the major part of the disyllabic vocabulary is constituted of much later formations built on the same syntactic rules as the older ones. It follows that the structural model is more important than the linguistic reality. In this sense, we cannot speak of syntactic formations that were morphologized in the course of the evolution. The great part of such words did not exist at all in the beginning of the process of polysyllabization; they were later created according to the old model. The polysyllabization of the Sinitic languages was strengthened further by another characteristic feature of these languages, namely by the Chinese inclination to use periphrasis. Examples of periphrastic structures are known from the oldest times. The periphrastic formations were also built according to the same syntactic model of links between the members, and consisted mostly of two syllables. The older periphrases include **t’ien-g’a/tian-xia (lit.: all under the heaven > the world), and **lier-minn/li-min (the black-haired people > Chinese). There are, of course, many kinds of periphrasis and many reasons for using them. One of these reasons was taboos. The word **dia-kieg/ye-ji – lit. field hen > pheasant) was invented in order to avoid the pronunciation of the personal name of an empress, which was **d’ier/zhi (pheasant). Religious reasons induced the use of **d’ien-kieg/tian-ji (field fowl > frog). As the symbol of the moon, the frog personalized the female dark forces, and for this reason it was better not to pronounce its name. For these reasons, various periphrastic structures were very popular in Archaic Chinese. Not all Chinese learners of today are aware that the very common word **sien-seng/xian-sheng (mister, master) is an old periphrasis meaning “the earlier born” and had the counterpart **g’u-seng/hou-sheng (the later born > disciple), which was already out of use in Archaic Chinese. In the course of later evolution, the Chinese language as well as other Sinitic languages profited largely from the periphrastic method of enriching its vocabulary. In this respect, some Southern Sinitic languages seem even more inventive than Modern Standard Chinese. In modern times, periphrastic structures were and are used in mass to create new terms. In some cases, this contributes to a

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differentiation of languages (because not all think in the same way). This method of creating neologisms extended even beyond the Chinese linguistic area, as may be seen in Japanese. Such problems will be discussed in the last part (Chapter 13) of this book. Let us us turn back from contemporary problems to those of the Han time. The most important change was the creation of many neologisms and the use of periphrasis with the preponderant tendency to use determinative structures. This is why this period is so important for the history of the Chinese language. There is always a legitimate question about the causes of all the changes the language has undergone. One of these causes was already mentioned: the phonetic evolution that caused the gradual disintegration of the whole system of intrasyllabic alternations. This system required a replacement. The changes were also accelerated by the great development of civilization, which always creates the need for new terms. The third important factor was the quick Buddhization of the country. which very soon showed that the adaptation of Daoist terminology for the needs of the new religion was not a good solution and that phonetic borrowings could not be of much help: The first option was often misleading, the second incomprehensible for the Chinese. The best solution was thus to create new words using local linguistic material. Although Chinese Buddhism always included many foreign words, its role in inventing neologisms cannot be overlooked. Having presented the large problems of phonetics and vocabulary in the Han period, we may pass now to the main questions of syntax. The best way to do this is to first summarize Dobson’s characterization of the problem as given in his LHC book (1964). The following four points are essential: 1. In Late Han Chinese, the role of “empty words” used to mark grammatical differences was considerably reduced. 2. The number of such differences marked by “empty words” as well as the number of “empty words” were both reduced. Consequently, a tendency to use forms of more general meaning is to be observed. 3. Several “empty words” lost their meaning and were used only as meaningless enclitic forms. 4. In some cases, we have to do with semantic shifting, which shifts the function and meaning. Moreover, Dobson underlines that there is a strong tendency to use periphrastic forms marking grammatical differences, in particular when formal means to mark the functions of determination, mood, voice, and interrogative forms are concerned. Therefore, everything attained in Late Archaic Chinese through the use of “empty words” was expressed in Late Han Chinese by means of periphrasis. New periphrastic forms are current. This strong tendency to use periphrasis in the syntax described by Dobson is in accord with that what we have said above about the vocabulary. All the changes the Chinese language underwent during the five centuries from the 3rd century BC to the 2nd century AD produced quite a new image of the language. It may even be said that all later Sinitic languages are a continuation of just this model.

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All these changes described by Dobson could be surely presented in a more exhaustive manner, but I wish to avoid overloading this text with too many details, as I want to make the general image clearer. Some changes, however, are of such importance that they cannot be omitted. One of them is the reduction of many AC negations ( fu, wei, fou, wu, fei) and their replacement with bu. Only one LHC verb, you (to have), has preserved its AC negative form – wu (not to have), a trace of old alternation; it is also negated by wu, never by bu. This later produced the negative mei used in Modern Standard Chinese. It is interesting to note that this particular feature has, however, been retained in modern times in certain Sinitic languages, as in the Cantonese opposition yau/m. Late Han Chinese also used bu or fou at the end of a sentence as something like an interrogative particle. This makes the sentence an alternative one, meaning that the negation at the end stands for the whole negated sentence. The use of a coordination of affirmative and negative forms to express interrogation is an important invention of the Late Han period. Dobson’s book gives us the following example: In bu zhi cheng you zhi fou (I really don’t know whether this is right or not), fou stands for the negated verb and the pronominal object making the whole an alternative interrogation. The tendency to reduce the number of negations is, of course, in accord with the mentioned tendency of reducing the function of “empty words” to indicate grammatical differences and replacing them with periphrastic devices that were largely an innovation of the Han period and persisted during the following centuries. Even today, they are the only means of functional differentiation in many Sinitic languages. The most important of such innovations includes the marking of the passive voice. In the oldest texts, passives were transitive verbs used without an object. In Late Archaic Chinese, the first periphrastic devices appear to mark the passive voice. First, an originally causative verb **g’ian/xian – “to show, to become visible, to make visible” (its active form was **kian – “to see”) – was put before the verb as a mark of a passive. One of the few examples of passives in LAC would be: Bu xian yue Lu Wei zhi jun (Mengzi) – “[He] was not loved by the lords of Lu and Wei.” In Late Han Chinese, xian appears in this function very frequently. This is, however, not the end of such changes. In the same period, another verb was also used to mark the passive voice: bei. Dobson explains its semantic evolution thusly: “to dress, to cover > be under the influence of something > be touched by something > to suffer, to receive.” All these stages are attested in texts, as for instance: bei en – “to receive grace” bei bing – “to suffer from illness.” The same type of semantic evolution may be observed in the case of the verb meng – “to receive > to meet > to suffer” – which was in the same epoch and was used to mark the passive voice. This was also an innovation. In all of the

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examples given above, bei stands before the verb, but it is not a prefix of a passive. It is normally introducing the object preceding the passive verb; bei stands immediately before the verb only when the object is omitted. Thus, from the Han period onwards the passive sentence has the following scheme: subject – bei – object – verb. This is different from the scheme known from earlier times. Another passive scheme that is current and was invented in the Han period is: **gwia/wei A (noun) – **sio/suo B (verb). Its shortened version would be, for example, wei zhi zhe suo xiao (was laughed about by those who knew it). A very important syntactic change is dated to the LH period. In the oldest times, degrees of adjectives were indicated by syntactic structures. Therefore, it is hard to speak of LAC adjectives as having degrees, in particular in comparison with morphologically marked degrees in our speeches. Late Archaic Chinese did not know such devices and the syntactic structures used on such occasions refer to the predicate and not particularly to adjectives. In Late Archaic Chinese, the higher degree was marked by a periphrasis and the following verbs were placed before the adjective: **ka/jia (to add) or **iek/yi (to increase). The following structures were the result of using such devices: **ka-śiog/jia-shao (lit.: additionally small > smaller) or **iek-ńiat/yi-re (lit.: hot in a greater degree > hotter). The highest degree was indicated by preceding an adjective with **tied/zhi (to reach, to reach the summit, to reach the most distant point), as for instance **tied-d’ad/zhi-da (culminant great > greatest). Interestingly, other variants of the above structure were also in use in the same period. This was the following one: adjective – determining particle zhi – zhi (to reach), i.e., da-zhi-zhi – or something like “the summit of greatness > the greatest.” This last one is based on determinative links. It was more frequent in the case of words **diem/shen and **giug/you, but both appeared also in prepositional structures. Let us also point out that this specific kind of “degrees of comparison” was used also with verbs, e.g.: Bu xin zhi you – “not to trust (him) in the highest (degree).” In Late Han Chinese, the degrees are decidedly built on the principle of preposition. Thus, either shen or zhi regularly precede the determined words. Additionally, another LHC innovation appeared – **tseng/zeng, which was also frequent. Thus, we find in LHC texts either shen-bai or zeng-bai, or zhi-bai – all three meaning “the whitest” or “very white (whiter).” Gradually the first meaning – marking the highest degree – disappeared. This last process caused the appearance of a new device, namely the placement of **tswad/zui before the adjectives. In the same period, the prefixed **t’ad/tai (too, excessively), e.g., **t’ad-d’iung/tai-zhong (too heavy), was more frequently used. Both these morphemes have conserved their meanings and their function as markers of the highest degree in many modern Mandarin languages.

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The passage from a postpositional determination to a prepositional one, as well as the gradual using up of old markers and their replacement with quickly morphologized innovations, are very typical for the evolution of Sinitic languages. In syntax, parataxis predominated over hypotaxis as in older times, but all basic hypotactic sentences were greatly developed. The set of used conjunctions was greatly increased (including the coordinatives) and all appear with greater frequency. In particular, this may be observed in the case of the excessive use of the innovation of that time: **b’iok/fu (again, moreover), which drove out the older **giug/you. In this period, the typical LAC conjunction **ziak/yi (also) was still very frequent, as were some other conjunctions. Next, the conjunctions marking the opposition must be addressed. The older **ńieg/er (and) was also used to mean “but.” However, in Late Han Chinese it is often omitted and the opposition is marked by **piwan/fan (on the contrary). As a result of these changes, in LHC the sequence of simple sentences found in Archaic Chinese was replaced with sentences with marked coordination. The frequent omission of the conjunction er (which at first glance might be considered as unimportant) was the cause of an interesting phenomenon. Let us compare two sentences, the first one drawn from Mengzi: Wang wang er zheng zhi (the king is gone and punished him). This second sentence is the paraphrase of the first given by Zhao Qi: Yuan wang wang zheng zhi ye (he wanted the king to go to punish him). As we can see, in place of the AC coordination of two verbs, LHC has two verbs of which the first indicates the action while the second indicates the result of this action. In this way, the resultative structures appear in Chinese. Another change occurred in this epoch that may seem unimportant at first glance. In LAC, the copula shi is used only as a positive counterpart of the negative copula fei, in particular in constructions of the type shi … fei … . Today, shi is used as a copula alone, e.g.: Liu-xia shi qi hao ye (Liu-xia is his second name). This change was crucial to the later evolution of the Sinitic languages, because it opened the way to the appearance of a new type of sentence that was unknown until this period: sentences with a copula. It is also important to stress that the copula is not of verbal origin. It is an ancient demonstrative pronoun. Northern Sinitic languages inherited this peculiar feature, whereas in the Southern languages (e.g., Cantonese) the function is fulfilled by an old verb (**kieg/hi xi – “to bound,” Cantonese hai, attested with this meaning in Han texts). As we can see, some fundamental features differentiating Sinitic languages reach as far back as the Late Han period. The subordinate clauses consist of two parts, one subordinate and the other principal. In Late Archaic Chinese, the subordinate clause mostly precedes the principal clause, and the relation between the two parts may be unmarked. In such cases, we have in reality two paratactic sentences that in translation are rendered as hypotactic. There are, however, cases, when the relation is marked: 1. in the subordinate clause; 2. in the principal clause; 3. in both clauses.

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In LAC, only the concessive sentences have a formal marker of concession, which precedes the subordinate clause or follows the group of the exposed subject. The concessive marker was primarily **siwer/sui, and later **siwerńian/sui-ran, both meaning “though, even if,” e.g.: Bu xian zhe sui you ci bu yue ye ([those who] are unworthy, even if they have this, they do not enjoy it [Mengzi]). At first, in all conditional sentences (irrespective of various subtypes) the formal marker **tsek/ze (written with a character meaning primarily “the law” and indicating that the etymology of this formal marker was unknown) preceded the principal clause. In other words, in AC conditional sentences the protasis was unmarked, and the apodosis was marked. In some LAC texts (e.g., Mozi), the protasis is preceded by the modal ru or ruo (both meaning “compared with”), followed by the verbal shi. In Late Han Chinese, the conjunctions ru, shi, ru-shi, and jia-shi all regularly precede the protasis. This structure dating from the Han period is preserved in modern Sinitic languages, which demonstrates once more how important this period is for the further evolution of Chinese. Perhaps this crucial change was to a certain degree inspired by Mohist studies on logic, but such speculations exceed both our powers and the scope of this book. The comparative analysis of AC texts with the paraphrases from the Han period taken as the basis of the description of the language underlines another important aspect of the evolution of the Chinese language. It seems quite evident that these paraphrases are “translations” of AC texts into the language spoken by the commentator. Speaking to his pupils and writing for them, such a commentator must have been aware of the linguistic differences between the old texts and the speech of his time. This supposition is all the more probable when we remember that this was the epoch of the beginnings of Chinese linguistics. Two great works testify to this interest in two domains of linguistics: the dictionary of dialects Fangyan, written by Yang Xiong, and the monumental dictionary Shuowen jiezi (Explaining Compound Graphs and Analyzing Simple Characters), written by Xu Shen (ca. 58 – ca. 147). Therefore, we may suppose that just in the 2nd century AD the discord between the old (written) and the contemporary (i.e., spoken) languages was realized by the Chinese themselves. The written language taken as a whole was of course highly heterogenic. The linguistic heterogeneity of old literature was very complex. First, every archaic text was geographically heterogeneous, with its parts often representing various territories (and thus presumably reflecting different dialects). Second, these texts were from different epochs, and third, they likely each had more than one author. The fourth and crucial point is that all of the old literature is heterogeneous. In the Han period, heterogenic written heritage was treated as a venerable pattern for the next generations. Such thinking was greatly imposed by the victorious Confucians. This was the time of formulating the foundations of the written language (wen-yan), its creators also including several later elements, especially those they regarded as coming from an authority. This written language, called

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wen-yan (Classical Chinese), differed from Archaic Chinese and was not identical with the language spoken at any time. This dead language, enriched and altered in every epoch, lasted as the official language until the end of the Chinese imperial era (1912). For many centuries, it was also used outside of China (in Korea, Japan, and Vietnam). In the meantime, the living Chinese language underwent great changes, its rather complicated evolution finally producing the strongly differentiated Modern Sinitic languages of the present day. In regards to this evolution, it is important to remember that the existing differences between written and colloquial languages are dated from the evidence of the LHC epoch. The LHC language is accordingly crucial to the study of the evolution of Sinitic languages. This is clearly shown by Dobson, who compares LHC characteristic features with those typical for Shijing and Shujing, both representing the Early Archaic Chinese. Dobson concludes by comparing LAC and LHC peculiarities with Modern Standard Chinese. These two comparisons show clearly that Late Han Chinese has so few features in common with the preceding epochs that we are authorized to conclude that such common features do not exist at all. None of the 33 features typical for Late Han Chinese is in accord with the features of the preceding periods. The second comparison shows that the links between Late Archaic Chinese and Late Han Chinese are very few, in contrast with the closely connected Late Han Chinese and Modern Standard Chinese. The former contains many formal means that are identical or very similar to Modern Standard Chinese. For example, in Late Archaic Chinese, the direction an action comes from is indicated by **dz’i/zi (from). This word is also used as the pronoun “self.” In Late Han Chinese, “self” is zi or **dz’i-kieg/zi-ji. In MSC, this last word is the only one meaning “self,” while the monosyllable zi is a bound morpheme appearing in many disyllabic compositions. In Late Han Chinese, the directive function was separated from the other usage and marked by an innovation **dz’iung/cong (from), which is also used today. Another example is the LAC verb **giuk/yu – “to want” (used before verbs as a modal marker) – which in Late Han Chinese was replaced by **iog/yao, and this is the only one used in Modern Standard Chinese. One final example: Late Archaic Chinese had two interrogative pronouns, **diok/shu and **diwer/shui (shei). Late Han Chinese had only the latter, which is still in use today. Because of these and many other specific features, the LHC language may be considered as a truly crucial stage in the evolution of Modern Standard Chinese and other Sinitic languages. Many innovations of this time are typical features of modern languages.

CHAPTER 6 From the Han Dynasty to the Tang Dynasty The end of the Later Han dynasty (220 AD) marks the start of the turbulent period preceding the ascension of the Tang dynasty (618–907). From the linguistic point of view, this epoch is less well known than those both preceding and following it. As it often happens, this is partly due to the lack of clear contrast between the linguistic features of the neighboring epochs on the one hand and the lack of serious studies on the other. The poor knowledge of the language of this time is also caused by the great number of preserved written documents and the diversiform of their character. Taken together, these factors make any attempt at a synthesis very difficult. The study of this period requires a narrow specialization, as someone familiar only with classical texts may be helpless in the face of Buddhist documents, which are impossible to interpret without a solid grounding in rather esoteric Indian thought in general and Buddhist thought in particular. Moreover, it also necessitates a capacity to combine various domains of research, i.e., interdisciplinary studies. The problem is also difficult because for linguistic purposes the knowledge of Chinese translations of Buddhist texts is doubtless very important, if not crucial in this field. The language of these texts must have been comprehensible to the uneducated masses in China. However, the research of these documents is in fact a challenge to any linguist and Sinologist. This period (220–618) is the first in the history of the Chinese language from which we have not only texts in classical (written) language, but also texts in the spoken (vernacular) language. Unfortunately, the two kinds of texts seem to be largely incommensurable when considering their contents and their form. This is why their research, i.e., their comparison, is very difficult. For this area of pre-Tang linguistic studies, we therefore have no studies comparable to those of Dobson, who could compare Late Han Chinese with the preceding stages, as he had texts and paraphrases of the same contents at his disposal. A rather introductory attempt in this field was presented by two Russian scholars, Isabella Samoĭlovna Gurevich (d. 2016) and Irina Tigranovna Zograf. In 1982, they published a short Russian book of 200 pages, whose title can be translated into English as A Chrestomathy on the History of the Chinese Language from the 3rd to the 15th Centuries AD. The authors preceded each period they distinguished with a summary of its characteristic features. These periods are: 1. the 3rd to 5th century AD; 2. the Tang period (618–907); 3. the Song period (960–1279); 4. the Yuan (1279–1368) and the beginnings of the Ming period. The authors define the first period as concluding in the 5th century, whereas I am inclined to place its end in the 6th century. In the first part of their book, the authors speak of Yang Xuanzhi’s Luoyang qielan ji (A Description of the Buddhist Temples in Luoyang), which could not have been written before 547 AD (Shatzman Steinhardt 1999, p. 84), i.e., in the middle of the 6th century AD. Therefore, I believe that the reference to the “5th century” may be a mere mis-

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take. It is, however, also possible that this is not an error, but something that I am unable to understand at all. The quoted book of the two authors is in reality composed of two texts previously published separately (the first by Gurevich in 1974 and the second by Zograf in 1979), and published together in one volume. The second edition is normally a good occasion to eliminate all errors. This was evidently not the case here, because the same dating errors can be found in both publications. The remarks concerning the first period, which are of the most interest here, occupy almost the first 50 pages (of the one-volume edition), eleven of which deal with the characteristic linguistic features. The two authors’ opinions will be presented below. The second part of the work, considering later times, will be discussed later. In order to be in accord with the adopted method of presentation, I must begin with some remarks on the phonetic evolution in the period from the 3rd to 5th century AD that does not appear in the book of I.S. Gurevich and I.T. Zograf. In the preceding Chapter Five, we were mainly dealing with “rhymes,” as the Chinese use to call the second part of a syllable, in particular in connection with the gradual elimination of voiced final consonants: b-, d-, g-. This change occurred in the Late Han period, and was in a sense a promise of the future evolution that will be presented in the next chapter. Hitherto, I have not spoken of the initial consonants, nor of the initial consonant groups, although this is one of the fundamental problems of the phonetic evolution of Sinitic languages. The process of eliminating initial consonant clusters was very important in the whole phonetic evolution of Chinese. Thanks to it, the Sinitic languages to this day do not tolerate consonant clusters and the elimination of clusters still follows the old rules. This may be seen by the examples of phonetic loan words taken from Western languages (e.g., Hongkongese stamp > si-tam) and in Chinese versions of foreign geographical names (e.g., Praha > Bu-la-ge). It must be also stressed that the most recent research on modern Sinitic languages contributes greatly to a better understanding of the problem, which was until now known only on the basis of reconstructions. Synchronic research is only contributing to a new interpretation of modern languages, which will be discussed later. Below, I am concerned only with the past. The problem of a reduction of consonantal groups is not new to linguistics, nor is it particularly Chinese. Let us remind ourselves only of the evolution of the Latin plenus (full) > ital. pieno and span. lleno. Various types of reduction realized in different areas are an important element of linguistic differentiation everywhere. And so it was also in the case of Chinese. The most typical initial consonant cluster in Archaic Chinese was composed of a stopped consonant (aspirated or not) and a liquid one, e.g., kl-, gl-, k’l-, g’l-, etc. Therefore, most of the examples given below will be of this type. Clusters in Chinese are mostly reduced according to the following rules: 1. by elimination of the first member, e.g., kl- > l-; 2. by elimination of the second member, e.g., kl- > k-; 3. by adding a narrow epenthetic vowel between both elements of a cluster, e.g., kl- > kul-; 4. by repeating the entire rhyme after both

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elements of a cluster, e.g., klok > kok-lok. The result was either a new monosyllabic form (1 and 2) or a new disyllabic morpheme (3 and 4), the two inseparable members of which were not linked by syntactic relations. As far as the evolution of initial consonant clusters is concerned, the following two fundamental problems must be considered: 1. the chronology of the change and 2. which groups existed in the analyzed language and what may be duly reconstructed. According to Karlgren’s reconstructions, the initial clusters disappeared before the Tang period, but Karlgren did not specify when the change occurred. Some 1,200 years separate his Archaic Chinese (i.e., the Early Archaic Chinese) from his Ancient Chinese (i.e., the Middle Chinese). This dating is certainly not precise enough, an issue that will be discussed in detail later. Let me first say some words about our second question. Modern Sinitic languages furnish many interesting materials that suggest the existence of clusters even in those cases when the reconstructions do not admit them. Do such cases carry any implications? Is one argument enough? Generally, yes: When the modern languages are indicating the existence of an initial consonant cluster, it is admitted also for Archaic Chinese, even if other sources (especially those that were the basis of reconstructions) do not indicate its existence. A good example is Karlgren’s reconstruction of the pronunciation of the AC word “horn, corner” – **kuk / jue, i.e., without an initial cluster. However, the latest dialectal research furnishes very interesting material in this respect. Anne Yue-Hashimoto (1971) remarks that in modern Cantonese “a corner” is ko: k-lo: k-t’au. The last syllable is a nominal suffix, whereas the first two may indicate an AC initial cluster **kl-. The same may suggest that the names given by Paul Yang (1972) for the word “a corner”: ka-laʔ in the language of Yangzhou, ko-lo in Changsha, and kok-lok in Nanchang. It is certainly not coincidental that several Southern Sinitic languages belonging to various groups contain analogical forms indicating the former initial consonant cluster of the same type. Moreover, I have found similar forms in Northern dialects, in both the central Shanxi keʔ-lau (a corner between two walls) and keʔ-la (a place between two walls) and the Pekinese ka-lar (corner). These modern words thus all clearly indicate that AC phonetics used **kluk (or **kruk according to Coblin) and not **kuk, as Karlgren claims. Accordingly, most scholars today accept the existence of an initial consonant cluster in this case. Additional arguments are those given by Benedict with the Burman khrui and the reconstructed Tibeto-Burman kruw. All this seems to show that examples from modern Sinitic languages are to be taken seriously, and that the comparison with cognate languages may also be instructive, as far as the reconstruction of initial consonant clusters is concerned. The situation is much more complicated when we come face to face with a single modern example that seems to testify to an older state. Yet are we authorized to construct a theory on the basis of one argument? For instance, the modern Wenshui language spoken in Shanxi contains the otherwise unknown initials mb- and nd-. Is this significant for reconstruction, or

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is it merely an exceptional or independent evolution? And what about the Japanese kan-on, which has an initial b- or d- in all such cases, while go-on regularly has m- or n-? Are these only reflections of dialectal or chronological differences without any connection to older times? It is out of the question that initial consonant clusters were not eliminated anywhere at the same time and that the chronology of this change is in dispute. Doubtlessly, the speed of the process must have varied, in some cases dramatically. Without such an assumption, it would be impossible to understand certain dialectal forms that must have developed after the splitting of the Chinese languages. The chronology of this change is in a sense linked with the Late Han period. Liu Xi (i.e., Liu Zhen, died ca. 126 AD), an eminent philologist collaborating with Ma Rong, originated from Central China. He is the author of a dictionary known as Shiming (The Interpretation of Names) also called Yiya (The Lost Erya ). Guo Pu (276–324) has written an important commentary to this dictionary and therefore the information about his work is given in the present chapter. The linguistic analysis of this dictionary was the object of Bodman’s work (1954). The main cause of linguistic interest in Shiming with commentary is that this text contains many so-called paranomastic glosses, which indicate the pronunciation of a word by giving a similarly-sounding word. A good example of such a note is quoted by Serruys (1959, p. 306): Ju gu zhe yue ju, sheng ru ju. Yan xing suo yi ju ren ye. Jin yue che, sheng jin she, che she ye. Xing zhe suo chu ruo ju she ye (Shiming 24/1). – In older times, a cart was called **kio. The sound resembles **kio; it means that it is where people are sitting during a journey. Now it is pronounced as **t’ia, which sounds like **śia. It is a place where the travelers are dwelling. It is like a house. [Translation by the author.] This note contains an indication of pronunciation as well as the etymology based on phonetic resemblance and an interpretation of meaning by analogy to other words. On the basis of all such indications, Bodman gives his reconstruction of older phonetics as **tkio (g) > thia. Analyzing the studied material, he says that the initial consonant clusters must have existed in the 2nd century AD and that a gradual elimination of initial clusters began in the 3rd century AD. As mentioned before, however, there are arguments in favor of admitting a much longer existence of clusters. To sum up, I judge that we are still rather far from a solution to the problem. Other important changes of this period included the regular transformation of palatal stopped consonants into affricates, which took place just on the eve of the Tang dynasty, and therefore will be presented in next chapter. In the meantime, another important event occurred at the end of the 5th century and at the beginning of the 6th century AD. Shen Yue (441–513), statesman, historian, and philologist, composed his Sishengpu (Tables of Four Tones), probably concluding it in 510 AD. This is the first Chinese work dealing with phonetics. However, it should be noted that this work was not inspired by the linguistic interest of the author. So why did Shen Yue write it?

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In these times, Chinese poetry entered a decidedly new phase marked by the use of tones for artistic expression. From the very beginning, Chinese poetry was destined to recitation, which distinguished it from prose. The distinction between the texts which were to be recited and those which were not was so strong that some literary works that we would consider poetic (i.e., rhythmic and rhymed) are considered prose by the Chinese (e.g., the descriptive poems). However, for a rather long time, Chinese poetry did not use tones for artistic purposes. It seems that tones were first used in rhymes (probably already in Archaic Chinese). Only much later was the sequence of tones regulated in each line used in poetry. In Shen Yue’s time, this sophisticated poetry was obligatory among cultivated people. Evidently poets of lesser inspiration have always outnumbered the few true geniuses. These first urgently needed some kind of aid to make their production easier, and Shen Yue furnished it. He divided all characters (not words) according to four tones and composed his tables according to the rhymes. To find a rhyme in a needed tone was henceforth very easy: One had only to look at the tables, find the tone in a respective box, and adjust one’s own inspiration to the given possibilities. Shen Yue was the forerunner of all future so-called “dictionaries of rhymes” that in fact were not dictionaries, but only tables ( pu). He was also the first to use systematically the fan-qie to indicate the pronunciation of characters. This method (perhaps imbued with some Buddhist influence and typical Indian interest in phonetics, although the Chinese fervently deny it) consisted of dividing the pronunciation of a character into two parts; the initial and the final, called a rhyme. The pronunciation of the initial was then indicated by a character bearing the same initial and the rhyme by another character with the same rhyme and tone. With this method, any call for homonymy was avoided. The typical formula of fan-qie runs as follows: Gong fan gu hong qie – gong: take gu and hong and cut it That is: Gong = g (u) + (h) ong. Of course, the fact that the Chinese reject any possible foreign origin of the fanqie method does nothing for us, because their theory is based on extralinguistic arguments. Generally speaking, the Chinese were not sensitive to phonetics and before the impact of Western culture, they had not invented any phonetic notation of the Chinese language. However, good examples were not far away. On the basis of Chinese script, the Koreans and the Japanese created phonetic notation. The same tendency appeared in the Vietnamese chữ Nôm, in the Xixia (Tangut) script, and in Khitan scripts. Tibetans, Mongols, and Manchurians used phonetic notation. It was used all around the Chinese, but not by them. The only phonetic notation invented in the 20th century AD in China is the zhuyin zimu, which is more a linguists’ game than a script destined to replace traditional writing. Shen Yue’s tables indicate clearly that no normalized written Chinese existed at this time and that there must have existed local variants in both segmental pho-

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nemes and the suprasegmental features. The tables were also elaborated for those who were uncertain of the pronunciation. The current variants of the spoken language of the pre-Tang period, clearly distinct from classical written language, may be studied on the basis of Buddhist texts, which were written or translated in a manner comprehensible to ordinary people and not for the cultivated elite. The two Russian scholars Gurevich and Zograf mentioned earlier analyzed the following three translations in order to contrast the chronology of these texts. However, there is no explanation of the chronology of the texts concerned. Here are these texts enumerated chronologically: a. the parable of the nine-color stag (“Jiu se lu” [A Deer of Nine Colors; the Jātaka tales]), translated into Chinese between 222 and 280 AD; b. the parable of the wish-fulfilling pearl (“Ruyi baozhu”; Cintāmaṇi), translated in the years of 386–534 AD; c. selected parables from Baiyujing (The Sūtra of One Hundred Parables, written by Saṅgasena (Sengjiasina) and translated by Guṇavṛddhi (Qiunapidi, d. 502) in 492 AD To these Buddhist texts, the authors added the following non-Buddhist texts: d. the preserved fragments of Soushenji (In Search of the Supernatural), written by Gan Bao ( fl. 315, died 336) in the 4th century AD; e. selected fragments from Shishuo xinyu (A New Account of the Tales of the World), written by Liu Yijing (403–444), containing tales from the Late Han and Jin periods; f. a fragment from Luoyang qielanji (Description of Buddhist Temples of Luoyang), written by Yang Xuanzhi after 547 AD; g. selected examples of yue-fu folk-songs of the time. Gurevich and Zograf also name a fragment of Sima Qian’s Shiji, written in Early Han Chinese. This text belongs to another epoch and should evidently be excluded from a discussion of the language of the 3rd–4th centuries. As I said before, chronology was not the strong suit of these two scholars, which gives the impression that we are dealing with something that the Chinese call luan-qi-ba-zao. Moreover, the majority of the texts enumerated as the second group of materials are taken from sources linguistically much nearer to the written literary language of that time than to the colloquial speech of the studied epoch. This has evidently nothing to do with the well-known fact that texts like Shishuo xinyu, Soushenji, or yue-fu poetry have some elements of spoken Chinese as well as some dialectal words and expressions. Yue-fu poetry has a long tradition. Some poems even date from the Early Han period, studied, e.g., by Hans H. Frankel (1916–2003). Frankel (1974) gives examples of dialectal vocabulary in poems from the 3rd century BC. Serious objections may also evoke inclusion in the analysis of a fragment of Luoyang qielanji as an example of non-Buddhist text: first, because its colloquial character is highly questionable and second, because the preserved version is very heterogenic. The transmission of this text was so complicated (see Zduń 1981) that an

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explanation would exceed the scope of this book. It is enough to remark that the text and his later commentary were so intermingled that it is today impossible to separate the two, although some scholars have tried to do so, without much effect. While the above-mentioned objections are not the only insufficiencies of the two Russian scholars’ work, a thorough analysis of that work is not the aim of this book. I will therefore give only one example below. On p. 9 (1982), Gurevich and Zograf claim that the most frequent markers of plurals of pronouns and nouns in the analyzed texts of the 3rd to 5th centuries are deng and bei, but that cao also appears with this function. They follow this with four examples that lack any reference to relevant texts (a common phenomenon in the discussed work). A dictionary at the end of the book shows that deng mostly appears in the so-called bianwen (altered texts), but the authors themselves classed such texts as part of the next epoch of the Tang dynasty. If so, then why did they discuss it in this chapter? The same dictionary shows that bei as a marker of a plural is used in Shishuo xinyu. This follows an example, but it is not taken from this text, although the previously analyzed texts from Shishuo xinyu contain such examples. Finally, cao is totally absent in the dictionary and we are thus left with no reference to its use. It is a pity that the study by Gurevich and Zograf, which seems to be the only source of our knowledge about the language of the time from the Han Dynasty to the Tang dynasty, exhibits so many shortcomings. From the point of view of the evolution of the Chinese language, the appearance of postpositional markers of plurals is very important. Archaic Chinese had no grammatical forms of plurals; plurality could only be indicated by using the following means: 1. determinant periphrasis, with the first member zhu (all), e.g., zhu-hou (all dukes > dukes); or with round numerals: shi (ten), e.g., shi-fen (ten = all parts > all); bai (hundred > all), e.g., bai-xing (hundred > all names, later “common people”); qian (thousand > a great amount), e.g., qian-li (thousand li > very far); wan (ten thousand > all), e.g., wan-wu (all things). 2. reduplication with the partitive or plural meaning of “each > all,” e.g., ren-ren (each man > all men). As we can see, the AC pronouns had no plural forms at all. According to Gurevich and Zograf, this development marks the first appearance of postpositional, suffix-like, grammatical markers of plurals. This is the beginning of an important change in the word order and grammar. The fact that none of these plural markers have survived to today and that plural suffixes used today are of different (mostly unknown) etymology is evidently unimportant. It is also unimportant that only personal pronouns and certain nouns possess regular plurals in modern Sinitic languages. Some other characteristic features of vocabulary are obviously visible at first glance, in particular those found in Buddhist texts. The vocabulary is mostly monosyllabic. Disyllabic units constructed according to syntactic principles (the older groups as well as the later periphrastic structures) constitute a minority, although they are clearly more numerous than in the Han period. This proves that

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the process of the morphologization of these structures was very slow. In linguistics, all processes lasting a very long time are difficult to describe and such is the morphologization of ancient syntactic groups. In the course of many centuries, certain structures persisted a very long time, conserving the primitive meaning and function or changing it, while others were short-lived and disappeared forever. A good example of the first group is the primitive coordination of the two synonyms wei-xian (danger) occurring in Buddhist texts as a disyllable (only in this order and thus probably already morphologized) and later also appearing in non-Buddhist literature (e.g., in the Liangshu [History of the Liang Dynasty], i.e., 502–557). Over 1,500 years later, the same word (of course with today’s pronunciation) belongs to the basic vocabulary of Modern Standard Chinese. Another example of words that originate from this epoch but have a different meaning today is zhi-shi (to know, to be acquainted with, to make a friend of). This word – still current – today means “knowledge, learning; pertaining to learning or culture,” as in zhi-shi fen-zi (intellectual, intelligentsia). The new periphrastic structures created in this time contain a relatively great number of Buddhist notions rendered in Chinese by syntactic compounds, like the verb-object structures bao-en (to repay the grace) and gei (or ji)-shi (to give alms), and other syntactic compounds like yun-ming (fate), wen-hui (knowledge acquired from hearing, from oral transmission), and many others of this kind. A part of this Buddhist terminology, e.g., zhi-hui (wisdom, learning), passed into other texts and is still in use in today. In contrast to the language of the preceding epoch, the pre-Tang language analyzed in Gurevich and Zograf’s book is full of phonetic loan words taken from various Indian languages. Most of these words are disyllabic (e.g., pu-sa – “bodhisattva”), but there are also trisyllabic terms (e.g., a-xiu-luo – “asura, a bad demon”). Monosyllabic phonetic borrowings (e.g., Fo – Buddha) are rare. All these new words brought by the new religion enriched the Chinese language, 1 including its colloquial version, and many of them continue to exist today. From the point of view of the evolution of the Chinese language, it is important to note that this foreign polysyllabic terminology brought a new category of words to Chinese, because there were no syntactic links between the syllables of these words. If we remember, this particular feature was not new at all, because such was also the structure of the above-discussed disyllables created by the division of initial consonant clusters. The Buddhist phonetic loan words joined to the earlier words sharing the same structural feature, which enforced the whole group and made such a structure acceptable. The main value of the many Buddhist phonetic loan words borrowed in the pre-Tang period and incorporated into Chinese together with multiple phonetic transcriptions of foreign names lies in the fact that they permitted the verification of phonetic reconstructions of Ancient Chinese dated by Karlgren to the beginning of the Tang dynasty. He assumed that if his reconstructions applied to the                                                              1

[M.K.: Cf. Shi Xiangdong 2015.]

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phonetic transcriptions of foreign names and thus made the whole nearer to the original, his approach would be proven to be justified. The most important texts of that kind include Faxianzhuan (The Report of Faxian; also called Foguoji: A Record of Buddhist Kingdoms), the oldest account of a journey to India, written ca. 416 AD. This text contains hundreds of phonetic transcriptions of Indian terms and names and so furnishes us with abundant material for comparison. In order to show how many foreign words this text contains, we cite below a short fragment based on Polish translation, published by Genowefa Zduń and myself (1997): Forty li to the East from the temple Abhayagiri [Anuradhapura, Sri Lanka], there is a mountain. There is on this mountain a temple called Bodhi where two thousand monks are living. Among them there is a śramaņa of great virtue called Dharmakirti … Let us omit here the name of the first temple, which was partly translated by Faxian (337 – ca. 422) and partly given in phonetic notation (Wuweishan [si]). The other three names are rendered phonetically. In Modern Standard Chinese, these names sound as follows: zhiti (Sanskrit: caitya), sha-men, and Da-mo-qu-di. In Middle Chinese, these three words were according to Karlgren’s reconstructions pronounced: *b’uat-tiei, *s.a-muen, and *D’a-mua-kiu-tiei. Is this really nearer to the original version, as Karlgren claimed? While this is a fitting subject of discussion for these three examples, I am inclined to admit that the scholar’s observation is in general right. However, the last name contains another irritating element, namely the character used by Faxian to render the first syllable of Dharmakirti. In Archaic Chinese, it was **d’ar. The chronology of the disappearance of a final -r is not known, but – as said above – it existed in the Late Han epoch. Was it still present at the beginning of the 5th century AD (at least in some regions)? Faxian was an educated man and he knew foreign languages. Thus, it seems justified to admit that he consciously used just this character in his transcription of a Sanskrit name. Gurevich and Zograf also remarked on the tendency to eliminate synonymic and isofunctional elements, in particular for empty words and personal pronouns. They also say that in the analyzed texts, only wo (I) appears; its synonym wu is practically out of use. However, this observation is disputable for at least two reasons. First, in relation to first-person pronouns, Modern Sinitic Languages may be divided into three groups, e.g., those that still use the AC wo (as for instance in Pekinese), those with continuants of the AC wu (as in Cantonese), and those with continuants that are unknown in the AC, i.e., nong (in Wu). If wu disappeared before the Tang dynasty, then how could it be appear again in the Yue period? Nong is used in “Wushengge” (Song of the Birth of a Crow), a typical ballad presenting men under the guise of animals. Thus, we have in reality three pronouns of the first person, instead of three AC forms (wu, wo and chen), of which only the last one, a dialectal pronoun from the Chu, disappeared.

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As far as second personal pronouns are concerned, Gurevich and Zograf do not see any parallel development, because both ru and er were still used. On the contrary, the authors remark that neither of the third-person pronouns – zhi and qi – are used as object. Here it is time to speak about the position of personal pronouns as the object of a negated verb. In earlier times, the following rule was strictly observed: negation – pronoun – verb. This was an archaism of syntax dating from the epoch when the object preceded the verb and the whole “object – verb” structure was negated. This rule was not in use in the pre-Tang period, in particular in Buddhist texts, such as: qie mo she wo … qie mo sha wo – “do not shoot at me … do not kill me” (“Jiu se lu” [A Deer of Nine Colors; the Jātaka tales]). There is evidence that this old rule was already ignored in the Late Han period. In the pre-Tang period, it was definitely forgotten. In the same epoch, personal pronouns were often replaced – especially in oratio recta – by honorific and/or autohumiliative expressions. In the beginning, this was a literary manner used by educated people such as Ma Rong, who in his poem “Guangchengsong” (Eulogy on the Guangcheng Park), written in the 2nd century AD, called himself chen-yu (stupid servant) and used the baroque expression xiao-chen lou-yi bu-sheng qu-qu (little servant, small ant, unimportant subject), all to simply express “I.” This manner of writing was only used for letters and had no relation to colloquial speech. Some distant reflections of this manner may be observed in Modern Standard Chinese. In the spoken language of this time, the old words qing (minister) and jun (sovereign) were used instead of honorific pronouns, with a meaning near to our “mister”; the word chen (subject) means “I.” Gradually, this system of pseudopronouns became a normal turn of speech. In Soushenji, we have for instance qing tai zhong, meaning “you are too heavy.” The above-mentioned tendency to eliminate isofunctional formal elements can be seen in interrogative pronouns: Only two are in use, namely shui (who) and he (what). Besides, there are two interesting innovations: na-ke and na-de both in the sense of “how” used exclusively as determinants of the predicate. The first syllable is an interrogative of unknown etymology. Its eventual affinity with the later na, popular in Modern Standard Chinese and other Mandarin dialects, is also dubious. In the colloquial speech of the period preceding the Tang dynasty, certain suffixes of pronouns and nouns that were not used in the Classical Chinese of that time appear for the first time. Interestingly, none of these suffixes were used in later times. Some disappeared completely, leaving no trace in the language, and were never replaced by other elements that had the same function; others had later functional continuants of other provenience. The first group is represented by such suffixes of pronouns as shen (body) which is postposed after pronouns and gives the meaning of “self,” e.g., wo-shen (I myself). This type of quasi-suffixal structure existed during the following cen-

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turies and then disappeared. The MSC word zi-ji (self), playing an analogical function, structurally has nothing in common with the old terms: The modern word is an apposition, and not a root–suffix structure. The second group is represented by the above-mentioned three plural suffixes, which disappeared later and were replaced by other elements of different etymology possessing the same function of plural markers. The fact that the same plural markers were used with personal pronouns as well as with some nouns in older times today testifies to the continuation of the grammatical concept. From a formal point of view, the MSC phrase xian-sheng-men he nü-shi-men (ladies and gentlemen) is the same structure as wo-men (we). The attributive suffix of personal and interrogative pronouns as well as of some nouns, jia – “home,” which was frequently used in Buddhist texts, also belongs to the same category. We thus have forms such as wo-jia (mine) and shui-jia (whose), but also jun-jia (yours). Such structures were part of colloquial speech for centuries, but are not present in standard Chinese. The old suffix was replaced by other attributive markers. Only some Southern Sinitic languages have structures that perhaps have something in common with the pre-Tang suffixal jia. For instance, Hakka includes words such as ngai-ke (ours), ńi-ke (yours), kie-ke (theirs), and other similar forms. The Yue languages contain ngo-ke (mine), ngo-tei-ke (ours), nei-ke (yours), and so on. It is also probable that analogical forms in Min languages have the same origin. While this problem cannot be discussed in detail here, it is important to realize that some dialectal features may go back even to the preTang period. Regarding the evolution of the Sinitic languages, it is important to note that the Late Han and the pre-Tang periods stood at the beginning of the linguistic process of suffixalization. These beginnings are attested by yue-fu poetry, e.g., Shui-jia nü-zi neng xing bu … – “whose daughter is able to go …” (“Zhuonuoge”). In this fragment, the link between the already suffixalized jia and its etymology is clearly visible (the daughter of whose home > whose daughter). In the case of nü-zi, the morphologization of zi is already accomplished. Last but not least, the predicate neng xing bu sounds quite modern with its potential verb preceding the predicate and its empty object. From this point of view, the following distich may be considered as a symbol of pre-Tang colloquial speech forecasting the future evolution and the later differentiation of the Sinitic languages: a-po bu jia nü – “[if] mother does not marry [her] daughter, na-de sun-er bao how will [she] nurse [her] grandson?” (“Zhe yangliuzhi ge”) The first line contains a-po with the prefix a-, which will later be a characteristic feature of Southern Sinitic languages; the second line contains sun-er with the suffix -er, a typical feature of Northern Sinitic languages. Besides these two features, the second line also includes an object preceding the verb, which is a trace of Archaic Chinese (or perhaps even of Pekinese) word order.

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The very old hesitation in word order may also be seen in the case of other prepositional and/or postpositional markers, such as in the use of the plural markers of nouns, like zhong (multitude). We have the prepositional zhong-sheng (pupils) on the one side and the postpositional hou-zhong (apes) on the other. However, this is not a general rule: For example, the AC plural marker zhu (all) appears only as a preposition, e.g., zhu-ren ([all] men), and in zhu-wang-chenmin ([all] kings, ministers, and people) the plural marker even refers to three nouns. The use of prepositions is also necessary to indicate degrees of adjectives. The following three markers are in use: shen (very), and two markers of the highest degree: zui and ji, e.g., zui-duo or ji-duo (many in the highest degree). Tai (too) is also used, e.g., tai-da (too great). The difference of position became distinctive in the case of indicating spatial relations: Prepositions had only attributive meanings, whereas postpositions had exclusively directional meanings. Consequently, words like shang (the upper part > on), xia (the lower part > under), and nan (south, south of ) are used as postpositions when indicating spatial relations, but appear as prepositions when used as attributes. Thus, nan-shan means only “the southern mountain(s),” whereas shan-nan exclusively means “south of the mountain(s).” As far as verbs are concerned, it is important to note the first appearance of compounds consisting of two verbs, of which the first one means the action and the second indicates either the direction of the action or its result, e.g., bi-qu (to run away in an opposite direction) and da-po (to strike [so that it is] broken). In this epoch, such compounds were decidedly closer to syntagmas (syntactic compounds) than to lexicalized disyllables. At the very beginning, these compounds were simple coordinations that gradually turned into a kind of postpositional determination, but only modern times brought the full bloom of such structures. When speaking of verbs, the problem of negation cannot be omitted. However, this field contains nothing new: As before, the domination of bu is out of the question. A rather curious feature is the more frequent use of wu as a negation, including before you (to have), as for instance here: Jian wo tou shang wu you fa mao … – “[he] saw that I have no hair on my head (“Yi li da-po tou” [To Strike with a Pear One’s Head Broken] in Baiyujing). Numerals determining nouns are prepositional, but are still used without classifiers: Wang you san zi – “the king had three sons.” Numerals referring to verbs are postpositional and often have something like a classifier: Ge da shi xia – “each has beaten [him] ten times.” The last structure is near to the object of manner, and is perhaps the reason for its continued use in later times. With the passing of time, structures more often appeared that were composed of nouns followed by numerals and words, which later became classifiers:

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Shu shi gen fa – “several tens of hair strands” Xiang wu bai tou – “elephants – five hundred (heads).” The transitory character of the language of this period is visible in the structure of sentences with a copula. Certain texts use the demonstrative pronoun shi in a double role, as both a pronoun and a copula, e.g., Xian ren zhi shi qi nü – “the immortal knew that she was his daughter.” More interesting is, however, that when shi was already exclusively used as a copula, wei – “to do, to be” – occasionally appears in the same function: Ci wei zhen jin – “this is true gold.” It has the same structure as Wu shi ru qi – “I am your wife.” Additionally, in negative sentences only fei is used; bu-shi – the negated copula – does not exist at all. Not much can be said about the conditional sentences in this period. The conditional is marked either by ruo or (rarely) by gou standing at the beginning of the subordinate or after its subject; the principal clause is unmarked, e.g., Gou yu shi she … – “If you will give alms …” Ru ruo neng de jiu se lu zhe … – “If you are the one who is able to get the nine-colour-deer” … (“Jiu se lu” [A Deer of Nine Colors; the Jātaka tales]). In light of the pre-Tang Buddhist texts, it seems like the old structure of a conditional with the main clause regularly proceeded by ze (then) has disappeared. However, this appears inconclusive, because a further evolution of Sinitic languages shows a strong tendency to mark both protasis and apodosis. In the same time, the arsenal of formal markers was enriched. Therefore, I am inclined to treat the above-mentioned situation as typical only for this epoch and manifested only in one type of text. Phonetic evolution has reduced the possibility of creating causative forms through morphologic alternations. From the late AC period onwards, the old causative was gradually replaced by periphrasis. At the beginning of this process, the new causative was created by preceding the verb with shi (to cause). In the Han period, another verb, namely ling (to order), was used in the same function. Ling was frequently used in the spoken language of the pre-Tang period, but jiao (to teach) also appears – as Gurevich and Zograf state. Unfortunately, in their book they refer to some examples in relevant Buddhist texts that I could not identify. In any case, in conditional structures these words all conserve the full verbal meaning, e.g., Dingbo ling gui xian du – “Dingbo ordered the ghost to cross the river first” (Shoushenji). Is this really a causative clause? Either way, it exhibits the typical order of causative sentence: subject (noun or pronoun) – ling – noun or pronoun – verb. Both the first and last elements may be omitted.

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In this way, a particular syntactic structure appeared in Chinese: the first element was the subject of a causative verb, which had an object, and this latter was in its turn a subject of the following verb. Thus, the middle element was simultaneously an object of the preceding verb and a subject of the following one. Therefore, many Sinologists used to call such a structure “telescopic.” 2 While this term may sound strange in grammar, it is a convenient and useful one. From the point of view of descriptive grammar, the telescopic structures stand in between the simple and compound sentences. They are composed of two parts, but these parts are inseparables and not a result of contractions. Telescopic sentences became very popular in a fairly short time, and they were used not only with characteristic causative verbs, but also with verbs such as hu (to call), or qian (to send), as well as with periphrastic structures, e.g., Ji hu ren lai – “he called people to come.” (Zhongjing zhuan za piyu). Xun ji fang xiang huan fu-mu suo – “he at once ordered the (small) elephant to be allowed to return to its parents’ place.” Passive sentences regularly include bei, a marker of verbal origin, and have similar telescopic structure, e.g., Long bei she si – “the dragon was killed by an arrow.” In the above sentence, the word she – “arrow” – is in reality the object of preceding bei and the subject of the following si. Thanks to this telescopic structure, passive sentences conserved the old prepositional object. While it is possible to interpret such a word order as a successive change of an SPO to an SOP structure, I doubt whether this is correct.

                                                             2

[M.K.: This structure is also called “pivotal sentence” (cf. Chao Yuan-Ren 1968: 125; Li – Cheng 1988, pp. 522-532).]

CHAPTER 7 The Middle Chinese or Ancient Chinese Like Archaic Chinese, the term “Ancient Chinese” is ambiguous, because it has a different meaning in phonetics than in grammar. Its first meaning denotes the phonetic reconstructions from the beginning of the Tang dynasty, i.e., about 600 AD. Its second meaning refers to the language of the entire period of the Tang rule, officially 618–907, although the 10th century may be included in this epoch. As already stated in the preceding chapter, the first rhyme tables – Sishengpu – were published under the Sui dynasty (581–618). Work on a rhyming dictionary called Qieyun (The Cutting of Rhymes) probably began around 580. The committee of scholars worked under the direction of Lu Fayan ( fl. 600s). In this dictionary, the Chinese characters were divided according to 206 rhymes. In 677, the redaction of a new rhyming dictionary was started, enlarged, and corrected. The reasons why such a new work was begun are unknown. The need for a new rhyme table is unlikely to have stemmed from important phonetic changes, as the time lapse between the two dictionaries was too brief. A further enlargement of the rhyming dictionary was undertaken by Sun Mian, who in 751 published his Tangyun (Rhymes of Tang), later known under the title Guangyun (Enlarged Rhymes). This last edition was the basis of all post-Tang rhyme tables, e.g., Jiyun (Collected Rhymes) from 1020, edited by Ding Du and others, and Wuyin jiyun (Collected Rhymes of the Initial Five Sounds), compiled by Han Daozhao about 1200. The final effect of this constant improvement of the primitive version of Qieyun was a diminishing interest in the original Tang text, which was eventually lost and forgotten. No original version is in existence today. We possess only later versions of Guangyun.1 Why is this development so important? We must remember that the first rhyme tables, such as Qieyun, are dated to 601, while the latest one mentioned here is from around 1200. Six hundred years separate the two works. The phonetic evolution of languages has no constant speed. The changes were quicker in some cases and slower in others, but living speech is always in constant change. To realize how great the phonemic changes may sometimes be, it is enough to think of the old Tibetan word dbus (speech; written centuries ago in phonetic script), which is today pronounced ü, and might be wrongly considered as cognate with the Chinese yu (speech). We must therefore remember that rhymes from 601 and those from 1200 cannot be the same! This was the great problem for Karlgren, who worked on a reconstruction of the ancient pronunciation of Chinese script. Happily, about this time considerable fragments of the original Qieyun were discovered among the Tang manuscripts from Dunhuang. Comparing these fragments with the oldest version of

                                                             1

[M.K.: There are also copies and revisions of Qieyun, one of which is almost complete: Kanmiu buque Qieyun / Acta absurdum implevit Qieyun; cf. Baxter 1992, pp. 38-40; Pan – Zhang 2015, p. 82.]

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Guangyun, Karlgren found the latter to be in accord with its earlier predecessor, and thus may be taken as a reliable source. Another important source, which served to verify the reconstructions, was Jingdian shiwen (Textual Explanations of Classics and Canons; without Mengzi, but including Zhuangzi), written by Lu Deming (556–627). This text is highly heterogeneous and thus must be used with extreme caution. Nevertheless, it is commonly believed that its language is a good representative of the Chang’an dialect (today Xi’an) in the early Tang period. These two fundamental texts – Qieyun and Jingdian shiwen – are from the same period and both contain thousands of fanqie as well as a lot of information about the rhyme classes to which a character belongs. All these are in fact equations with unknowns only. The two texts inform that the character X had the same initial as Y and the same rhyme as Z, and that it belonged to the rhyme class A. Such information, however, cannot be the basis of phonetic reconstructions. Evidently, any such reconstruction requires more detailed information. Karlgren assumed that all Modern Chinese dialects (today called Sinitic languages) evolved from the language of the capital of the magnificent Tang dynasty from the beginnings of the 7th century AD. He supposed that this language spread over the whole territory of the Empire and then gradually split into local tongues. Because the contemporary dialect pronunciation of characters is known, it is easy to compare it and restore the probable old phonetic value. The material taken from about thirty Chinese dialects was completed by using the three so-called Sino-foreign dialects, i.e., Sino-Japanese, Sino-Korean, and Sino-Annamite – the pronunciation of Chinese characters in Japan, Korea, and Annam. Karlgren treated the numerous phonetic transcriptions of Buddhist terms as a kind of touchstone of his reconstructions: If adapting them to these phonetic renderings made them sound nearer to the original Sanskrit or Pali version, then it was proof that they are good. Karlgren’s assumption that all modern Sinitic languages are a continuation of the dialect of the Tang capital is in theory correct, because such cases of linguistic unification followed by a secondary dialectal diversification are well known, e.g., from ancient Greece. Most Modern Greek dialects do not derive from local Greek speeches of antiquity, but from common classical Athenian. Why should something similar not have happened in China as well? Yet Karlgren was not the first to overestimate the role of the capital’s speech at the beginning of the Tang dynasty. In 1920, Maspero published his famous article “Le Dialecte de Tch’ang-ngan sous les T’ang.” At that time, many Western scholars shared his opinion. Many years later, things look different. The assumption that all modern Sinitic languages and dialects derive from the language of the 7th century AD spoken in what is now Southern Shaanxi is doubtlessly false. Furthermore, it is now evident that there exists neither linguistic nor historic evidence of the language unification of the country at that time. Regarding Karlgren’s hypothesis from a theoretical point of view, its most serious error is his misunderstanding of the time factor. The supposed unification and diversi-

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fication could not have occurred as quickly as he claims. Even a hundred years would have been insufficient. It is good to compare this with our times. The introduction of Modern Standard Chinese as a standard language of China as whole began in 1919. Nowadays, the government has at its disposition means – such as the mass media and public schools – that are incomparable with those of the 7th century AD. Nevertheless, anyone who has recently visited China can testify that linguistic unity remains far from a reality nearly a century later. Some new publications may even be considered as symbols of the actual linguistic situation in China, such as Hanyu fangyan da cidian (Large Dictionary of Chinese Dialects; editor-in-chief Xu Baohua, Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1999), a large dictionary in five thick volumes registering 96 variations of Modern Standard Chinese. If we ask on this basis in what direction the Sinitic languages are evolving, the answer must be: towards diversification. Karlgren’s method contains one more point that may evoke objections or be interpreted differently. It is also connected with a time factor. Karlgren compares the restored modern dialectal data of MC pronunciation from the 7th century AD with three Sino-foreign “dialects.” Sino-Korean is probably the oldest of these, because northwest Korea was already conquered by the Chinese in the 2nd century BC. At that time, the Chinese administrative and cultural center was Luoyang, which is situated to the south of Pyongyang. It is difficult to say what kind of Chinese was used by the Han-dynasty bureaucrats sent there. Strictly speaking, at the very beginning, the phonetics of this language was probably nearer to the four-century earlier Archaic Chinese than to the nine-century later Middle Chinese. With which of these two Chinese languages should one compare the SinoKorean? This is not the whole story, because Chinese was used as Korea’s only written language for many centuries. We do not know whether Chinese characters were read there in a particular way (Sino-Korean), because the phonetic writing of Korean (Hangul), which could have noted this, was created much later. It has been in use since 1446, and thus the first phonetic notations of Sino-Korean cannot be earlier. May such late notations be used to reconstruct Chinese from the 7th century AD? The same – mutatis mutandis – may be said about the Sino-Vietnamese. Northern Vietnam was Chinese in the 1st century BC. In order to colonize new territories, mass deportations of Chinese were sent to the south. As is usual in such cases, we do not know where the deported people came from and what kind of language they spoke. The structure of Vietnamese is similar to Chinese, as it is also a monosyllabic and tonal language. In principal, it should thus be easy to adapt Chinese writing to a notation of Vietnamese, but unfortunately Chinese was the only writing language in this country for centuries. Even if the characters were read in the local way, we have no information about it, or information which is relatively late. The oldest Vietnamese documents in Chinese script are dated to the 11th century AD; local writing chữ Nôm stems from the 14th century AD.

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In this respect, the situation of Sino-Japanese is quite different, because it was noted in an ideographic-phonetic script, i.e., one in which “the roots” were written with Chinese characters and “the rest” with the syllabic abbreviations of characters (a, i, u, e, o, ka, ki, ku, ke, ko, and so on). This allows the use of such notation for MC reconstruction. We must only remember that kana is later than the 7th century AD. Moreover, some syllabic systems of kana exist (hiragana, katakana, hentaigana – they all are from about the 9th century AD), but happily the rules are the same. There are also some specific names of Chinese readings, like kan-on (Han sound, i.e., Chinese sound), go-on (Wu sound [from the Wu region]), and to-in (Tang-dynasty sound). In the last case, we have an indication of the region from which the word was borrowed: the mouth of the Yangzi. This means that the word was not taken from the Central Plain (Zhongyuan) and that Middle Chinese was not spoken there. Therefore, we are authorized to believe that there was neither unification nor diversification in the 7th century AD. Many scholars state that they are concerned only with characters and not with words – however, this is another point that will be discussed later. The conclusion of the above is rather clear: Karlgren’s theory is founded on false assumptions, but nevertheless it is the most popular one. There is nothing curious in the fact that in spite of many objections we have no other reconstruction system that functions better. The odds are that Karlgren’s reconstructions proved true in the case of various phonetic transcriptions of Indian borrowings as well as in linguistic comparatistics. Necessary corrections do not disturb the system, but rather are completing it. All this does not mean that Karlgren’s reconstructions are the only ones, but only that they are presented as a dictionary giving the oldest appearance and other information. Therefore, many scholars (e.g., Dobson) use it. Other systems are often limited to a presentation of initials and rhymes and the rest must be made by the user himself. Of course, Karlgren was not the only one to make such reconstructions. The above-mentioned Serruys, who made his reconstructions in two stages (1957 and 1959), is another example. However, the most popular reconstructions seem to the system of Pulleyblank from the 1960s onwards (1962a/b) and of Dong Tonghe (1911–1963) from 1944 onwards. The system created by Zhou Fagao in 1973 (two volumes published in Hong Kong) also enjoys great popularity. Astonishingly curious is the system of Wang Li, who says that Karlgren as a capitalist scholar was unable to create the correct reconstructions and thus created his own. Now let us present the consonant system of Karlgren’s reconstructions of Middle Chinese. 1. Gutturals: k, k’, g’, ng, x, y 2. Palatals: °t, °t', d° ',ń, j, ś, ź, tś, dź’, ńź 3. Dentals: t, t’, d’, n, l, s, z, ts, ts’, dz’ 4. Supradentals: ṣ, tṣ, tṣ’, dẓ’ 5. Labials: p, p’, b’, m 6. Laryngeals: strong stop, light stop

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This system is the result of the evolution of Archaic Chinese: The main changes between 600 BC and the beginning of the Tang dynasty, i.e., about 600 AD, are the following: In Archaic Chinese, a nonaspirated g- appeared as an initial only before j-, e.g., **giwang. It changed into j-, e.g., *jiwang,2 and then disappeared. In the same position, the aspirated g’- remained unchanged, but in front of vowels it changed into the spirant y (**g’a > *ya). Big changes occurred in palatals: °t > tś, t° '> tś’, d° >dź >ź, d° ' > dź’. The change d° > dź’ was relatively late, because the phonetic rendering of dhyana is **dian > *źiän, which testifies to the existence of d-. In all cases of palatalization, a glide sound appeared first after the palatal: It was ś after a voiceless palatal and ź after a voiced one. In the same way, **ńio > *ńźiwo appeared. The dentals changed like the gutturals. The AC d- was only before j-; now it disappeared – **diu > *iu – leaving a trace in the form of a light glottal stop. In the same position, the initial z- disappeared as well: **ziang > *iang. Other dentals before j- were first lightly palatalized: t > t’, t’ > t”, d’ > d”, i.e. **tian > *tiän, **t’iek>*t’iek, **d’iang > *d’iang, and **nio > *ńiwo. A similar change occurred before some other vowels towards the end of the 6th century AD. To conclude this presentation of the evolution of consonants, let us add only that **dz > *z, i.e., **dziang > *ziang, changed into supradentals. The same process happened before the back vowels (a, e), i.e., s, ts, ts’, dz changed also into supradentals: **s > *ṣ, **ts > *tṣ, **ts’ > *tṣ’, **dz’ > *dẓ’, i.e., **san > *ṣan. It must also be remembered that no initial cluster persisted to the Tang period and that final consonants were reduced: The finals b-, d-, g-, r-, disappeared. Only p-, t-, k- and m-, n-, and ng- remained. The medials -i- and -w- remained unchanged, but they influenced the phonetic surrounding, i.e., -w- changed into -u- before -a- and -e-, as for instance in **kwa > *kua, **kwen > *kuen. In other positions they were unchanged. These apparently minor changes later caused great changes in the South Sinitic languages. These changes were all the basis of serious alternations of vocalism. The disappearance of final occlusives, which changed into j-, as in **tad > *tai, **ked > *kai, **kab > *kai, **g’wer >*g’wai, and **keg > *kai, caused an increase of dyphtongues and tryphtongues. The number of homophonic syllables was augmented. Cases of monophtongization were very rare: **d’ar > *d’a. As far as segmental phonemes are concerned, Middle Chinese differed greatly from Archaic Chinese. It was a language without initial consonant clusters, with many initial palatals, with a restrained number of final consonants, and with a large percentage of dyphtongues and tryphtongues. It is very difficult to characterize MC suprasegmental phonemes. It seems quite certain that they had three or four tones. The Chinese used to divide them into yin (dark) and yang (clear). This may indicate that the number of tones was

                                                             2

[Editor: All reconstructions of MC phonetics given here are preceded by one asterisk.]

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six or eight, but we do not know how many tonemes there were. In fact, we do not know whether the differences stated by yin and yang were tonematic or phonematic. What is more, the phonologic interpretation of the tone ru (entering) is also disputable. This tone, either yin or yang, appeared only in syllables ending with a final occlusive. We may thus ask: Was it a toneme or its variant? The only possible syllables were: Tone 1: pa, Tone 2: pa, Tone 3: pa, and Tone 4: pat. Moreover, Chinese terminology is highly imprecise, and thus it is impossible to build any theory on such a basis. Here, a general remark is needed that will be discussed at length later, when the problems of contemporary languages are presented: Only present living dialects are capable of experimental research. All tonal systems may be treated like systems of segmental phonemes in order to analyze the distinctive and relevant features. However, the following important information should be remembered. First of all, tonal systems may be limited to one register or divided into two (upper and lower) or three (upper, middle, and lower) registers. The register differences are phonological. Secondly, tonemes – like phonemes – may be longer or shorter, but the first ones do not have their time segment and their duration depends on the duration of the phonemes. The differences in the duration of vowels are very rare in Sinitic languages. Long and/or short vowels are not reconstructed for any phase of Chinese, but they exist, for instance, in Yue languages. Last but not least, the inflexion is very important for a description of tonemes, because it is always distinctive. There are four basic types of inflexion: even, raising, falling, and broken. The best notation of inflexions is that proposed by Chao Yuan-ren (1968), who used a five-point scale, numbered from the bottom: 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5. The even tone starts and ends on the same level (thus we have: 11, 22, 33, 44, 55); the rising tone starts from a lower level and ends on a higher one (i.e., 12, 13, 14, 15, 23, and so on); the falling tone starts from a higher level and ends on a lower one (i.e., 51, 41, 31, and so on), the broken tone starts from a higher level, then falls lower and turns to a higher level (i.e., 214). Of course, many types of broken inflexions exist, like rising-falling, falling-rising, evenrising, etc. The double broken inflexion is very rare; it appears in the Shangxian dialect in Shaanxi: 5231. There are two other kinds of opposition: height and diapason (the interval of an octave). Both may be distinctive. The opposition of height lies between two tonemes which are of different height but otherwise identical, i.e., 31 and 22. The opposition of diapason lies between two tonemes of the same type differing in the steps on the scale, i.e., 21 and 31. What can really be said about MC tones from the point of view of scientific description? Unexpectedly, not much. The basic two notions – yin and yang – are not clear at all. The basic meanings of these terms are very rich: The first one means dark, feminine, negative, shade, north of a hill, etc; the second means clear, masculine, positive, sunny, south of a river, etc. These terms may also refer to registers or to the difference of height within a register. Moreover, we do

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not know the status of the tone called ru (whether it was a tone or an allotone) and consequently we do not know how many tones made up the system. Other interpretations are possible, such as seeing in these tones only combinatory variants depending on the phonetic surrounding. The problem is that in this case we must define the surrounding, which is very difficult if not impossible. Let it be remembered that the pronunciation was reconstructed on the tables of rhymes and thus we have a reasoning based on the same presumption. The problem would be very simple if we agreed with Benedict’s theory (1972) that all words possessing voiceless initials were relatively high and thus were yang, while the words with voiced initials were relatively low and thus were yin. His theory was complemented by the assumption that after the change of voiced into voiceless (very soon after the MC period, according to him) the two variants changed into separate tonemes. The idea of tonemes as the recompense of lost contrast sounds reasonable, and it is in perfect accord with linguistic theory. However, it is difficult to prove. It is impossible to connect these terms with a definite type of inflexion. Therefore, all we can say about this distinction between yin and yang is that it was probably phonematic. Nothing more may be said about the terms referring to inflexion: ping, shang, qu, ru. Such a description is even ill-fitted to the scale. If we admit that, e.g., the tone shang is rising, it is impossible to say how many steps it rises, where it starts, and where it ends. More cannot be said. Benedict argues that the falling tone appeared relatively late, i.e., after the disappearance of the voiced finals -d and -z, but words with this tone containing the finals -m and -n continue to exist. Benedict’s dilemma is that he is unable to link inflexion with MC tones and the presence of segmental phonemes. Many objections are connected with the term ru. Benedict says that it was an even tone when the final was occlusive. However, it is only one of the existing hypotheses. Therefore, we do not know what inflexion was typical for it, nor whether it was a tone or only a variant of a toneme. It is difficult to find any affirmation of this theory in Southern Sinitic languages, which have preserved this tone. To end Benedict’s remarks, let it be said that there are no parallels between Chinese and Tibetan tone systems. Tones (tonemes) were thus not always a persistent feature of a language, but may be no more than transient. This question will be discussed at the end of this book. The Chinese tonal system seems to have been formed after the separation of the two groups Chinese and Tibetan. The problem is that the Tibetan tone system came relatively late, but according to some scholars, it is rather well known. Tones cannot be reconstructed in the same way as segmental phonemes. Linguistics has elaborated rather good methods of reconstruction as well as methods of comparison, but these concern segmental morphemes, not suprasegmentals. No notations of older tones are known, and contemporary notations are useless for any comparison. It is enough to look at the following notations of doubtless cognate words from chosen Mandarin languages. The yinping (dark and even) tone is in:

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Pekinese realized as /55/, i.e., high and even; Shenyang as /33/, i.e., middle and even; Jinan /213/, i.e., a falling-rising, broken tone; Zhengzhou as /13/, i.e., lower rising tone; Taiyuan as /11/, i.e., a lower even tone; Xi’an as /31/, i.e., as a lower falling tone; Lanzhou as /53/, i.e., as a rising tone; Chengdu as /44/; Kunming as /33/; Hankou as /55/; Nanjing as /32/. Under the same Chinese names, we have all the possible types of inflexion and all subtypes. If we admit that all of these are continuants of Middle Chinese (which is quite possible), then we are helpless. Finding a reasonable solution that would explain the evolution of tones is impossible. Therefore, it is understandable that we are inclined to agree with the genial opinion of Haudricourt, who stated that tones evolve independently from their old etymologic value. Thus, the reconstruction of tones is simply impossible, and such a standpoint is not far from Karlgren’s supposition of four tones in Archaic Chinese without discussing their possible nature. All the rest is guessing or divining, because even the “precise” repartition of characters according to the four tones gives no reliable information. The further evolution of tones was unpredictable and quite different in various places. Such deliberations are not fruitless, because they are very important for comparative studies of modern Sinitic languages. To finish the discussion of the phonetic side of Middle Chinese, it must be stressed once more that all our phonetic knowledge is founded on the false assumption of the existence of linguistic unity at the beginning of the Tang period, which was the starting point of the later diversification of Chinese dialects. Some linguists believe in a primary unity, but in reality there are no foundations for the possibility of reconstructing dialectal pronunciation. Many various factors have contributed to creating such a complicated situation. Chinese writing is one: The speech is diverse, but this diversity was never officially noted. The Chinese characters were in no relation to the actual pronunciation. The same lack of uniformity is to be observed on all levels of a linguistic analysis of the Tang language. The classical written language dominated. It may be compared with the role and function of Latin in Europe: Both were not uniform and had local variations. The grammar of Classical Chinese was essentially identical with the AC grammar, but it had some characteristic simplifications, like the resignation of the prepositional use of a pronoun object before the negated verb. The vocabulary was constantly enriched by all possible elements apported by social and material development. New official titles, new names, and new determinations appeared constantly. The colloquial words from different epochs and places were adopted by the official language and incorporated into the language

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of the following periods. All of these new elements – syntactic and lexical – make the Tang language very different from Archaic Chinese. The greatest works of Chinese poetry as well as the immense official literature – i.e., the historical, philosophical, and encyclopaedic works of this time – were written in this language, which may be the object of serious linguistic studies. However, it must be remembered that the language was not the predecessor of Modern Standard Chinese or of modern dialects. Besides Classical Chinese, this epoch featured many colloquial languages and dialects whose number is difficult to evaluate. Dialectal materials which are now at our disposal do not permit serious linguistic studies. The history of dialects and its classification are the subject matter of future studies. It is evident that the dialectal elements, which are very easy to find, belong to the northern area, because their continuants are to be found in modern speeches. For instance, so-called bianwen texts (i.e., Buddhist “changed texts”) feature two forms of the third-person pronoun – ta and yi; we may conclude that the first belongs to the later Mandarin and the second to the Wu area, which is typical southern territory. This means that in the Tang period northern and southern elements were intermingled and perhaps not strictly differentiated. The main sources of colloquial texts of this time are the mentioned bianwen texts. In contrast to canonical Buddhist texts, which were translations from Indian originals, the bianwen texts were prosaic and poetic transpositions of Buddhist themes in a comprehensible form accessible to simple people. There are many such texts among the manuscripts found in Dunhuang. Some of these were selected for analysis by the already-discussed Russian scholars – Gurevich and Zograf (1982). They label the analyzed texts as characteristic for semi-colloquial Chinese. This type of language has a mixture of classical and spoken elements. Another type of colloquial texts is represented by the so-called yu-lu – “noted conversations,” i.e., notes on discussions with representants of meditative Buddhism chan (Japanese zen) and the sayings of great masters. Unfortunately, the esoteric character of these texts renders them very difficult to understand even for experienced philologists and specialists of Buddhist philosophy. In 1999, Thomas Zimmer published a very important book entitled Baihua: Zum Problem der Verschriftung gesprochener Sprache im Chinesischen. Dargestellt anhand morphologischer Merkmale in den bianwen aus Dunhuang (Vol. 40 of the Monumenta Serica Monograph Series). This book contains a sketch of the morphology and syntax of Tang colloquial language. As Zimmer’s work appeared almost twenty years later than the book written by the Russian authors, it represents a better outcome in the respective research. It is evident that Zimmer’s work deserves a thorough analysis and this will be presented below. First of all, we must present the state of the research from the times preceding his book. Therefore, we must return to the texts called yu-lu. It is admitted that the most typical text of this kind is Linji lu (Notes from Linji), attributed to Linji Yixuan (d. 866 AD). This is not a new literary genre. It is also not specific to Buddhist literature. Such texts have a long tradition and are influenced by classical interferences. Taking the complicated situation into con-

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sideration, it is impossible to speak of a phonetic reconstruction of such texts. It is also methodologically impossible, because it is not in accord with Karlgren’s MC reconstruction system. As far as the lexis is concerned, this material also imposes some limitations. In comparison to non-Buddhist texts, these materials clearly contain a great number of religious words that appear with greater than average frequency. Therefore, at first glance, it is possible to think of a higher frequency of dissyllabic words in the colloquial Chinese of that period, but religious terms must be counted separately. No research in this field has been done so far. Therefore, each particular case requires a special inquiry to conclude whether it is a Buddhist term or only included in Buddhist vocabulary, whether it is used for the first time or not, etc. The research outcome given by the two Russian authors Gurevich and Zograf is not conclusive here, as this lay beyond the scope of their interest. The fact that a word is noted in a given text indicates only that it appears in the chosen fragment. Moreover, it should not be forgotten that Chinese lexicons omit colloquialisms and many specific terms. In such a situation, we must rely exclusively on intuition. For example, intuition may suggest that the word qingxin (wholeheartedly devoted; appearing in bianwen) is a primarily religious term. Yet such intuition can be highly illusory, as proven by this word’s first appearance in the biography of Yuan Shao (153–202) in Hou Hanshu, written in the 5th century AD, but leaning on Han-period materials. Evidently, the term originally had nothing in common with Buddhism. The above-quoted word is very interesting because it belongs to a relatively rare group of verb-object structures (“incline the heart”). These structures were seldom morphologized and often conserved the primitive character of compounds composed of two free elements, which may be spared (e.g., the MSC disyllabic word shuo-hua – “to speak”). In the case of qingxin, morphologization occurred very early, and this is important from the point of view of the evolution of Chinese. Only a general remark is to be made here: The colloquial texts of the Tang epoch contain far more disyllabic words than earlier syntactic groups. Some disyllabic words are preserved, while others disappeared later. The disyllabic words occurring at that time include a group which are characterized by the inverse order of elements in relation to Modern Standard Chinese and other Northern Sinitic languages. Today, this inverse order is typical of Southern Sinitic languages, and we often have an opposition of AB:BA with the same meaning. For instance, the Northern Sinitic languages have xihuan (to like), while the Southern Sinitic languages have its counterpart huanxi (using arbitrarily Northern pronunciation). The first one has a longer tradition, but the second is attested earlier (known from Buddhist pre-Tang texts). From the viewpoint of linguistic theory, the problem is complicated. The examples are specially chosen as to show that its interpretation is easy: Both parts have a similar meaning. It is the evident coordination of two synonyms. Therefore, in fact the order of the elements is in fact unimportant. Moreover, some

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languages include coordinations that may appear with a normal and inverse order. In some of the Northern languages, gongji and jigong (cock, rooster) are homonyms. Thus, the same element may function as a prefix or as a suffix. We are once more faced with an eternal Chinese battle between preposition and postposition. The situation is not always so clear: The Northern languages have keren (guest), while its Southern counterpart is renke. The first may be interpreted as a determination: “guest-man,” because ren often occurs with this function. The inverse order is impossible in Northern Sinitic languages. Nevertheless, the Southern speeches have renke. Such an inverse order is difficult to explain. Is this a trace of ancient postpositional determination? Or does it demonstrate the influence of an unknown substratum? Both seem possible. Below, we will return to the elements that are typical for Northern and Southern Sinitic languages, because this is very characteristic for the whole Chinese area, especially for the pre-Tang colloquial texts. The Tang dynasty is doubtless the period in which the multiplicity of Sinitic languages was born. However, it is impossible to treat this time as a point in history. Some languages split earlier, others later. The differentiation occurred in vocabulary and morphology, but also on other levels of linguistic analysis. Taking into consideration the texts of this period produces a strong impression that the group is composed of many elements, from which each language took other things. However, the truth is quite different: The preserved texts are highly heterogenic. The language of Buddhist texts is – as far as personal pronouns are concerned – very near to Archaic Chinese. It has elements known from the earliest epoch (with various functions), but also ones from much later times or that are of dialectal origin. The first-person pronouns are wo, wu, and sporadically mou and zhen. The first two are continuations of archaic forms. The third continues the archaic indefinite pronoun “some.” The last one – known above all from Southern archaic texts written in the Chu dialect as well as from other historical texts – is used in the function of pluralis majestatis and reserved for the ruler. This is probably a borrowing from Classical Chinese and not a direct continuation of Archaic Chinese. The pronouns of the second person are ru, rarely er, or ni, as well as prefixed forms such as ani. The prefixed form is characteristic for Southern Sinitic languages. The first is a continuation of Archaic Chinese. The second is colloquial and of Southern origin. The pronouns of the third person are ta, yi, and qu, and they all are colloquial forms. The first is today current in Northern Sinitic languages, the second in Shanghai and other Wu speeches, and the third is typical for Yue Chinese. The multitude of pronominal forms that are reminiscent of Archaic Chinese have similar causes: It is the heritage of various epochs and dialects. The attributive pronouns were the same as in previous epochs, i.e., with suffixed jia (home). We regularly encounter forms such as wojia (my) and nijia (his), but also zijia (his, own) and shuijia (whose). Plural forms were created with the suffixed deng, but also in some cases with bei. The plural form of the

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third person was not used. The already-known suffix shen (zishen: self) occurs comparatively often, probably limited to the object. Another problem is that of pronominal prefixed forms, above all those with a-. This prefix appears with the personal and interrogative pronouns (ashui: who, amo: how), but also with demonstratives (ana: that). We can find more complicated forms such as anabian (where) – here, we have a prefix, a root, and a suffix. The nascent syllabic morphology (which began in the Han time) used prefixed forms as well as suffixed ones. This morphology was fairly well established. However, it is impossible to say whether these forms were obligatory. The elements’ function is not always clear, as in the case of a- and shen-. The last term probably lost its retroflexive meaning during the Tang time. Like in the preceding period, the prefixed a- occurs before certain nouns, in most cases before kinship nouns, and it functions as a honorific prefix: aye (father), aniang (mother), ayeniang (parents). The fact that it was never used with first-person pronouns indicates that it was honorific (such an interpretation is of course impossible in the cases: ana, anabian, amo). Another nominal prefix of that time is lao- , appearing for instance in laohan (old man). All these facts testify to the developing syllabic morphology. From the point of view of the evolution of Sinitic languages, the details are unimportant; it is essential to find that basic elements of syllabic morphology were developing and that from this time on the prevailing tendency was the same as those dominating today. It is the domination of suffixalization over other processes. Another clearly manifested tendency is the monofunctionality of morphemes, as for instance when one suffix marks the attributive form ( jia in the Tang time), another – the plural (deng). On the other side, no synthetic forms are known. In this epoch, the Chinese languages made the important step to syllabic morphology of the agglutinative type (of prefixation and suffixation). A good example can be found in bianwen: hou’aniang – hou [later] > a [venerable] > niang [mother] > “stepmother.” Today, many elements of this kind occur in Southern languages such as Hakka and Yue. This is in accord with the general rule that periphery languages preserve more archaisms. The tendency to disyllabization is to be observed in the development of the demonstrative pronouns – ruci, ruoci, rushi, ruran (such as) – and interrogatives – ruhe, ruohe, hesi (what); hegu, heyi, yunhe, hebi, hexu, hexiao, heyong and also: zhenna, zhenru, zhensi (why, what for). The same may be said of indefinite pronouns; besides the classic ji (how many), these include: duoshao, jixu, jiduo (how many) and xiezi, xiaozi, shaoxu (some). The appearance of xie, a pronoun popular in the North, was an important change. In determinative groups, numerals precede the noun. However, if the numeral is used with a classifier, the group may precede the noun or follow it. The use of a general classifier dates from this epoch, but it is not obligatory. A similarity can be seen in the case of numerals and verbs: The numeral precedes the verb, while the numeral with a classifier follows it.

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The tendency to disyllabization can also be observed in the group of negations. Besides the monosyllabic general negation bu (no) and wei (not yet), and the prohibitive mo, xiu, and wu, the following disyllabic terms existed: buceng, busheng, weiceng, and weisheng (never) and the prohibitive buyao, buxiu, and buyong. A characteristic feature of the colloquial texts of this time is the prohibitive man, written with various Chinese characters (probably because of its unclear etymology). In contrast, its prohibitive function is rather clear. Wu and mei are often used in these texts with the sense of the negated verbs you (to have) and fei (not to be). The very characteristic tendency to use disyllabic formal elements is to be observed in alternative structures composed of two repeated units: weidang … weidang … or weifu … weifu … (whether … whether …), such as: jiang-jun weidang yao pin-dao shen, wei-dang yao pin-dao ye (Do you, general, need myself, or my ability? [ pin-dao is autohumiliative]). The alternative sentences do not always appear as a full scheme; the second part may be omitted. In the latter case, they end with yibu or yebu, which replace the old bu and fou. Zhi er yibu – “Do you recognize the son or not?” Wei ru xuan-yang, de ye-wu – “For you I will preach, yes or no?” (The Lotus Sūtra) The above examples of dissyllabic formal elements show the general tendency to use two syllables instead of monosyllables and that this tendency affects not only full words, but also empty units. The monosyllabic formal elements important on a syntactic level are for instance ba and jiang, which introduce the object preceding the verb. These elements rarely preserve the original meaning. Ba cao zhe mian – “He covered the face with grass” (lit.: “with grass he covered the face”; “Han Peng fu”). Often, one object precedes and the second follows the verb; however, there is no rule about the sequence of objects: jiang zhu dao gong or dao gong jiang zhu (taking the pearl, he arrived at the palace). As may be seen, the situation is not much changed: Prepositions and postpositions are used in determinative verb-object structures. Accordingly, the Chinese language still does not possess a fixed word-order. In the Buddhist texts of this time, chu (place) has both a new function and a new meaning, “where.” In this function, it also appears in negated phrases to mean “nowhere.” Surprisingly, it “cannot find its place in the phrase.” In some cases, it comes after the negated verb: Wei zhi qu chu – “I do not know where to go.” Huo feng mei chu cang – “Against fire and wind there is no place to hide.”

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It is interesting to remark that the last phrase has the pronoun of a negated verb and precedes the verb. This cannot be a reflection of ancient syntax, because the rule was neglected in older times. Rather, it signals a lack of a fixed order. Besides bei, zao and meng, de, a new element, also appeared to mark a passive. The causative sentences have the monosyllabic markers jiao, ling, qian, shi, and the disyllabic lingjiao, shiling, and others. The general structure of a causative sentence may be presented as: subject – causative marker – noun – transitive verb – object or subject – causative marker – noun – intransitive verb. The noun placed after the causative marker (as a rule derived from a verb) has the character of an object. The causative structures are etymologically “telescopic” structures in which the noun is an object of the preceding and a subject of the following element. In reality, full structures of this type are rare, because the phrase often lacks nouns or pronouns: Wang qian-huan ta ku – “The king caused (him) to return to his nest.” Nü-lang shi-wen Zhou-shi jiao – “The girls ought to listen to the instructions of Duke Zhou.” Moreover, the negation regularly comes before the causative marker, and not before the verb: Shen gong men-hu bu jiao kai – “The doors of the inner chambers should not be open.” The above phrase contains the word men-hu, which is a disyllable. Secondly, the object is not introduced by a formal marker and comes before the verb. We are faced with of another important problem of syntax, i.e., word order. Most importantly, the archaic synthetic causative (found in intersyllabic morphology) was replaced by analytic morphology, very near to affixation. The language of the Tang Buddhist texts contains the beginnings of suffixed formations, which are characteristic for later Northern Sinitic speech. These are: liao, de, zhao and guo. All these suffixes initially had a full verbal meaning: Dao-liao bian zhang – “(When) he finished to speak he beat him.” (Linji lu –“Kanbian” [Critical Examinations]). In this sentence, dao-liao is still a resultative structure. Its later suffixalization was marked by the phonetic change liao > le. The resultative structures are in fact at the beginning of many other forms, like aspect suffixes with the second element meaning “to stop,” i.e., dai-zhu (to draw) or dang-zhu (to bring to a stop). There are also various structures indicating the direction of the action. In later times, the Sinitic languages elaborated a full series of directional quasi-suffixes, such as gui-lai (to go back toward the speaker) and gui-qu (to go back in the direction opposite to the speaker). To finish these remarks, we must say something about complex sentences. Like in the preceding epoch, conditional sentences were the most important type.

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In most cases, the first part precedes the second. The conditional is introduced by formal elements meaning “if, when.” Bi-ruo lao lai he chu bi – “If the old age approaches, where should one get away.” (“Ba xiang bian”). The colloquial language contained many disyllabic forms introducing the conditional as follows: huruo, huran, hu’er, huqi, huoruo, biruo. Between the protasis and the apodosis appear the monosyllabic shi or chu, which end the protasis, or ji or ze, which begin the apodosis. The two cannot be used together, and the caesura comes after the first, but before the second: Nan jian nü shi, ru jian mei, nü feng nan chu, si feng xiong – “If the man sees a woman it is like he sees a younger sister. If a woman meets a man it is like she is meeting an elder brother.” (Fo shuo guan Mile pusa shangsheng Doushuaitian jingjiang jingwen [Buddha’s Sayings on the View of Maitreya Bodhisattva Born Upwards in Tuṣita]). The caesura always comes after shi and chu, which indicate the complement of time. This is the case in this phrase: “when a man …” and such phrase may be developed by zhi – a determination marker, known from contemporary Northern Sinitic languages. In causal phrases, yuan, wei-yuan, or yuan-wei are placed after the subject: Wo yuan bu yu, suo-yi bei-qi – “Because I haven’t seen him, I’m crying.” Last but not least, it is important to note that nominal determinants are normally ended by di (bottom; though in this function, the classical zhi was also used), while the verbal determinatives have di (earth). Both elements are the predecessors of the modern de. Zimmer analyzed eight chosen bianwen (1999, pp. 105–237) found in Dunhuang, using both the earliest and the latest texts. One of the latest texts is the “Jiangmo bianwen” (The bianwen on the Defeating of Demons), dated from 923 AD. However, its original version may perhaps be dated to 742 AD. On the whole, the latest bianwen texts chosen by Zimmer are dated between 809 and 912 AD., while the earliest ones are around 850 AD. The overall material is thus quite homogenous chronologically: It represents the period between the second half of the Tang dynasty and its decline. The texts vary in length: The longest ones have 10,882 and 9,064 characters; the shortest one 1,182 characters, the rest range from 1,701 to 4,262 characters. Zimmer is interested in the statistical comparisons of the lexis, i.e., the percentage and the number of disyllabic and/or polysyllabic compounds in the text. The percentage of polysyllables fluctuates between 15.67% in the “Damuqianlian bianwen” (The bianwen on Mahāmaudgalyāyana) to 2.09% in “Li Wa zhuan” (The Tale of Li Wa). Thus, the average number of disyllables in the texts is around 10%. This result is it difficult to interpret: Is it high or not? Besides, what does it mean for the evolution of the Chinese language? As said above, the process of polysyllabization began in AC and its results are to be seen in MSC. The modern language is characterized by a relatively large number of polysyllables. This change was described by Chmielewski many years

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ago, but Zimmer is not interested in such research (he does not mention the works of his predecessor). I feel obliged to point out here that statistics are a very dangerous means for linguistics. To start with, it is difficult to even define what should be counted: letters, compounds, etc. The same pertains to what we should be comparing. We must find out whether the texts to be compared are truly comparable. It is also important to conclude whether the texts and their entire corpus are comparable. The compared texts must be chronologically and statistically uniform. For instance, it is evident that the language of love poetry and the language of cooking books are not comparable, though both may occasionally be contemporary and of the same length. Such reliable comparability is easier to attain in synchronic studies, because the problem is much more complicated for diachrony: Comparable texts are not always accessible, not to speak of stylistic differences. The desire to fulfill all conditions of comparison often leads to absurdity, such as comparing the texts of prayers in various languages with the conviction that such a comparison would be conclusive for further religious knowledge, which is evidently not the case. As we may see, the problem at hand is very complicated and has many aspects. Zimmer analyzed chronologically and stylistically uniform material that is not thematically homogeneous. Although the Dunhuang bianwen originated in the popularization of Buddhist teachings through storytelling, this text corpus contains not only Buddhist writings, but also historical sources of Chinese history. These two kinds surely represent the same type of bianwen. Thus, they are in certain respects homogeneous. This is evidently a great step forward in comparison with his predecessors. It is difficult to impute that Zimmer analyzed only one type of texts. It is, however, true that in such a case his analysis would be incomparable with other research. To the best of my knowledge, no other works of this type exist. Therefore, there are no answers to questions such as: Is the average number of polysyllables given by Zimmer high or not? Moreover, polysyllabic phonetic borrowings are numerous in all Buddhist texts, but appear seldom in other texts. Proper names appear frequently among the phonetic borrowings and should be counted separately, i.e., Mulian – the Chinese abbreviation of Mahāmaudgalyāyana. Perhaps all proper names should be eliminated from statistics. Is the high number of polysyllables not the result of the fact that proper names such as Mulian can appear 85 times in a single text? The same may be said of other names: For example, Qingti (Nīladhi: mother of Mahāmaudgalyāyana) is used 31 times in this text. In the “Jiangmo bianwen,” the names Shelifu (Śāriputra: one of two chief male disciples of Gautama Buddha along with Maudgalyāyana) and Xuda(duo) (Sudatta: the chief lay disciple of Gautama Buddha) are used 51 and 64 times respectively. Another problem is that of other so-called “technical terms.” Words like heshang (monk) are also specific to religious literature. Appearing in bianwen, they must be treated as technical vocabulary. In the first two bianwen analyzed

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by Zimmer (i.e., “Damuqianlian mingjian jiu mu bianwen bing tu yi juan bing xu” [Bianwen on Mulian Rescuing His Mother from Hell, pp. 105–141] and “Jiang mo bianwen yi juan” [Bianwen on the Submission of Demons, pp. 142– 177]), they are used 29 and 20 times respectively; in other texts, they are not used at all. This shows clearly the differences in the statistics. A similar situation is related with the term “Han wang” (the ruler of Han), which occurs in the “Han jiang Wang Ling” (The Tale of Wang Ling, the General of Han, pp. 199–212) and is used 37 times, but this term is unknown in all other texts analyzed by Zimmer. It is evident that the precise meaning of “technical terms” is not easy to define. From a certain point of view, a term like jiangjun (general) used in historical texts is a technical term. In the five texts analyzed by Zimmer, it is used 34 times. However, it is also very much like common vocabulary, because it belongs to common speech. Various remarks of this kind may be easily multiplied here. Another problem is which two units are compounds and which are not. This demands extreme caution and threatens a repetition of the controversy between Chmielewski and Lu Zhiwei, which will be addressed below. Instead, it seems better to highlight the most important elements of Zimmer’s research. Zimmer’s research doubtlessly shows that the number of polysyllables in the Tang dynasty increased considerably in comparison with the precedent epochs. However, the process was not as advanced as in Modern Standard Chinese, e.g., in our times. Secondly, he clearly proves that polysyllabization was also made by affixation, i.e., both by prefixation and suffixation. I tried many years ago to prove the same (1994). An evident increase of the scope and frequency of the prefixed a- (primarily having honorific meanings), later a typical feature of Southern Sinitic languages, is to be observed. It is used not only before kinship terms (aniang) – “mother” appears some 50 times in “Damulian bianwen” –, but also before personal pronouns (ani – “you”) and interrogatives (ashui – “who”) as well as before honorific nouns, especially forms of address (ashi – “monk”). The analyzed material includes many examples of clear suffix use of zi, deprived of its primary diminutive meaning, like shizi (lion), baozi (incense burner), luozi (ant), niangzi (women), and even shangzi (while). The suffix function of tou is also frequent. Words like nantou (south), qiantou (front), and weitou (end) are current. The word niutou, however, means only “the head of a bull.” Another suffix having a long history, namely ran, appears frequently, e.g., huran (suddenly). Many nominal suffixes are in use, e.g., zhe: zhizhe (clever), zhangzhe (elder), xiaozhe (younger), and sengzhe (monk). The suffix ren (man) is also frequent: wangren (dead man), yuren (stupid man), and junren (army man > soldier; but also junjia). The plural of personal pronouns is sporadically marked by the suffixed deng: wodeng (we). The disyllabic structures of the syntactic type include many determinative compounds – shuiguo ([water]fruit), xifang (western part) – and coordinatives –

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ailian (love), fumu (parents). Verb-object compounds (chujia – “to go out from home” > “enter the monastery”) and verb-result compounds (bachu – “draw out”) are infrequent; the subject-verb compounds (huxing – “to go like a tiger”) appear rarely. As far as the number of polysyllables is concerned, the problem may be briefly presented as follows: The longest text “Mulian bianwen” contains about 165 determinative disyllables, 220 coordinatives (including 33 reduplications), 20 verb-object structures, and fewer than ten subject-verb compounds. No similar analysis is accessible for MSC vocabulary, but perhaps the proportions are alike, probably with the predominance of determination. As Zimmer did not analyze syntax, not much may be said about this question when looking at his work. However, one thing should be remarked: His texts include cases of resultative-directional verbs with the object between the two parts: You zhuangshi qu wuliang zuiren rulai – “The guardians drove many sinners inside” (“Damuqianlian mingjian jiu mu bianwen bing tu yi juan bing xu”). Xia ying qu – “go down to the camp.” Ruo bu de Wang Ling ru Chu lai – “If it will be impossible to cause Wang Ling to enter Chu” (Han jiang Wang Ling”). In other cases, both parts of the verb are placed before the object: Huanlai jielüe Shazhou – “they returned to plunder Shazhou” (“Zhang Yichao bianwen”; Zimmer 1999, pp. 178–186). Thus, we can dare to conclude that the structures that are typical for Modern Standard Chinese occurred at least from the Tang time onwards.

CHAPTER 8 Transitory Times In the history of the Sinitic languages, the time from the late Tang dynasty to the Southern Song dynasty (907–1127) is extremely poor in colloquial documents. This period is in a sense similar to the Former Han (206 BC – 9 AD). Both epochs lasted about two hundred years. In both cases, the differences between the literary and the colloquial language were relatively small. Moreover, they both furnish very few materials that may be considered typically colloquial. The phrase “transitory times” does not indicate a turning point, but rather a very badly documented period in terms of written vernacular Chinese. Both periods – stressing the time from the late Tang dynasty to the Southern Song dynasty – provide many great literary works of high quality, and these works represent the best of what China has produced. One very interesting document demands particular attention: Zhuzi yulei (Sayings of Master Zhu) collected by his pupils and edited by Li Jingde in 1270. Zhuzi yulei was included in Zhuzi quanshu, edited in 1722. The work’s form and conception are continuations of the Tang-period Buddhist tradition of notes and commentaries containing similar “sayings of the master.” Both carry forth the Confucian tradition that appeared in the Lunyu. A clear characteristic of this tradition is a composition with no logically recognizable order. The length of the fragment, and not the content of the saying, served as the principle of order. The parameter of the length of a piece of silk is evidently unimportant for linguistics. Gerty Kallgren (1916–2011) analyzed Zhuzi yulei in her book Studies in Sung Time Colloquial Chinese as Revealed in Chu Hi’s Ts’üanshu (1958), the most indepth study of the language of this period so far. Kallgren stressed that – like in the case of the bianwen from Dunhuang – the text is a mixture of colloquial and literary language, conserving many archaic features. Like in other similar cases, we will not give a detailed investigation of Kallgren’s study here, but only our remarks on the subject. An astonishing symmetry governs our knowledge of Chinese phonetics. Archaic Chinese and Middle Chinese are separated by about 1,200 years. This is equal to the distance between Middle Chinese and Modern Standard Chinese. Our knowledge of the phonetics of both periods is, however, very fragmentary. We know much about the phonetics of two distant points (i.e., the MC and MSC starting points), but very few details of the linguistic evolution in the intermediary phases. In view of this, it is unsurprising that Kallgren says only little about the phonetics of the Song period. In addition, she uses a rather particular transcription that differs in some points from Modern Standard Chinese and in others also from Karlgren’s reconstructions of Middle Chinese. Some elements of this transcription are evident for linguists. Kallgren notes all initial consonants that were later palatalized, for instance in Modern Pekinese, and notes the closed finals p-, t-, and k-. However, her transcription contains

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some inconsistencies. For example, I cannot remark on the use of a final -m which existed at that time. The author – instead of having to write correctly sam – does write san. Kallgren’s transcription also has a rather particular approach to vocalism (the vowel sounds used in a language), but a detailed discussion would go beyond the scope of this book. Let me remark only that it differs in some points from both Middle and Modern Standard Chinese. Taken together, these factors make reading and comprehending this work very difficult. (One example will suffice: The word for “black” – hek, which is now hei – is given as hok.) Suggesting such an evolution, Kallgren admits that the main vowel was first enlarged e>o, and then narrowed again o>e. This seems rather difficult to prove. Kallgren devotes much time to the so-called binomials, which is Sinology’s term for all compounds of two characters, independently of their structure. Thus, a binomial and reduplication are the same. She sees no problem with this imprecision. Kallgren found 163 binomials in the material she analyzed, which she divided into groups according to the date of appearance and analyzed their frequency as well the semantic changes during the ages. This produced the following: A. The binomials attested in the years between 500 and 616, of which there are ten. Nine are in the form of a coordinative; all are used in Modern Standard Chinese, some more frequently, others more rarely or even sporadically. Since she wrote her book before the period in which researchers laid an emphasis on frequency, it cannot be said that Kallgren is imprecise. However, it is clear that the very small number of examples she gives cannot be considered conclusive. B. The binomials attested in the official literature of the Tang period number 43. Most are in form of a coordinative, five are determinations (which Kallgren calls subordinations), and three are verb-object structures. C. The binomials from the Five Dynasties and the Song period number 45. Most are coordinations, one is a verb-object structure, and three are composed of two verbs, one main and one auxiliary verb (which Chmielewski called the direction). D. This group consists of 23 binomials attested in official literature from the period following the life of Zhu Xi (1130–1200). They are mostly coordinations (four). The author stresses that the proportions between the groups are different: Four are determinations, two are verb-object structure, and one is adverbialverbal. Yet the small number of examples makes it rather impossible to speak of proportions. E. This group consists of 42 binomials that cannot be dated and that are mostly coordinations. Three binomials are determinations, another three are reactions, and six may be classified as resultative. As far as the functions of binomials are concerned, Kallgren says that they are generally identical with Modern Standard Chinese. The most important result of the above-discussed book is that binomials are more frequently coordinations, and not determinations as one may suppose. If

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Kallgren’s research results are valid, it must be admitted that the Sinitic languages underwent a great change: The highest frequency of coordinative binomials was replaced by these of the determinative between the Song period and modern times. This change was perhaps caused by neologisms built on the periphrasis. If so, the change contributed to the disyllabization of modern Sinitic languages. Kallgren describes a language whose reduplications are similar to Archaic Chinese. Before having a look at some details of this problematic, let us start with the explanation of the word “reduplication.” In linguistics, “reduplication” denotes an element’s repetition on any level of analysis. Therefore, there are many kinds of reduplications, i.e., of vowels, consonants, syllables, words, roots, and many functions. In relation to the Sinitic languages (and other languages of the region), however, “reduplication” usually refers to syllables. This is a separate question from reduplication’s function. Therefore, from a methodological point of view, all reduplications in Chinese do not have to be treated equally. Full and partial reduplications were discussed in Chapter Five (cf. pp. 113114). The reduplications that do not build a structural feature were omitted, and will be examined now. Reduplication may be not only a feature of a concrete structure, but also a process aiming at a concrete result. In Chinese, the reduplication of impressive characters is a structural feature and not a process. There are no reduplicated monosyllabic elements; there are only words with a reduplicated structure. In other cases, reduplication is a word-formative process. Impressive and non-impressive repetitions are known from the Shijing and other classical Chinese texts. The Mengzi contains repetitions such as ren-ren (every man). Even in Archaic Chinese, reduplication already indicated a plural; in some cases, it was very clear. This type of reduplication was relatively frequent in the Han period: chu-chu – “place-place” > “everywhere”; ri-ri – “day-day” > “everyday.” Later, the adjectives could also be redoubled and then indicated a higher degree: xiao-xiao – “little-little” > “very small.” This was an important innovation. These two types of reduplication are often seen in the Zhuzi yulei. This later text contains another innovation, which is important from the point of view of the language, namely the “reduplication” of the type AB > AAB, such as shi-wu – “thing” > shi-shiwu-wu – “every thing” > “all”; ling-sui > ling-ling-sui-sui – “a bit of” > “every bit” > “all.” Kallgren also noticed two reduplications of an unknown type, AB > ABB-de. These are huo-po > huo-po-po-de (vivified) and hei-cui> hei-cui-cui-de (dark). The first one appears earlier, i.e., in Cheng Hao’s (1032–1085) commentary on the Zhongyong (Zhongyong yi [The Meaning of the Doctrine of the Mean]). The appearance of the suffixed de is also very important, because it signalizes colloquial language’s evolution: It is used with simple repetitions, like man-man-de (slowly) and qia-qia-de (exactly). The repetition of the ABB type is not characteristic of the Northern Sinitic languages, but it frequently appears in modern Taiwanese and Hongkongese.

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Kallgren discusses the problems of morphology with examples of three nominal suffixes that are very frequent in the Zhuzi yulei text. These are: 1. zi – “son”: Originally a diminutive suffix, it later became an ordinary nominal suffix. The analyzed text contains about 40 nouns with this suffix, but some are earlier. The beginnings of suffixalization reach back to the Han period. In the Tang era, it possessed a clear diminutive meaning, which it then lost in the Song period. The attested suffixed nouns in Song texts are used in Modern Standard Chinese. 2. tou – “head”: This is used far more rarely. Kallgren gives only eight examples. 3. chu – “place”: Although Kallgren lists this suffix in the third position, the texts contain fifteen examples of it, i.e., almost twice as many as in the preceding case. Following the problems of morphology, Kallgren presents what she rather cautiously calls “auxiliary verbs placed after the principal verb.” In fact, this problem is one of postpositions that became later verbal suffixes. Caution is certainly needed, because labelling something as a suffix requires knowing that it is inseparable from the root and is not accented, and consequently has a reduced phonetic shape (as liao > le, zhao > zhe), accompanied by a neutral tone and by the lack of accent. All this is difficult to deduce from ancient texts, whose phonetics are unknown. We are helpless even in the case of the most popular suffixed element written with the character pronounced le. The etymology of this word is clear. It goes to the meaning of “to finish.” No wonder that the suffix has the meaning of perfect aspect (not to be confounded with the past tense, because structures of this type may refer to the future). Kallgren also discusses other verbal suffixes, such as guo (much later) and de, zhuo, jiao, dao, chu, cheng, and po. The details of this discussion are unimportant here – it is relevant only that these suffixes continue to exist in Modern Standard Chinese with the same function. Kallgren devotes a special place to postpositional verbal elements with a directional meaning. The language of the analyzed text of the Zhuzi yulei has a relatively developed system of marking the direction of an action of the verb expressed by postpositional verbs. The first structures of this type appeared in Archaic Chinese. The most popular were the two verbs lai (to go in the direction of the speaker) and its antonym qu (to go in the direction opposite of the speaker), as well as other antonymic elements such as shang (to ride high), qi (to float over), and xia (to float down). This list must be completed by elements that have no antonymic counterparts: chu (to go outside) which has no opposition to the meaning of “to go inside,” which could have been ru. All of these elements are placed postpositionally in tandem to the main verb in order to create polysyllabic structures that are etymologically coordinative, as discussed above. The modern linguistic understanding of this situation seems to indicate that the original coordinations were not felt as such with the passing of time, and that they were finally understood as postpositional determinations, possessing – in

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contrast to prepositional determinations – a resultative meaning. Speaking today of modern resultative verbs, we perhaps forget that this group does not have a homogenous origin, and this is reflected in the various verbs’ different grammatical features. This will be discussed below, when presenting the current state of Chinese languages. In Zhu Xi’s epoch, the colloquial language had a rather elaborate system of indicating an action’s direction: na (to carry), but na-lai (to carry to the speaker), na-qu (to carry away), na-shang or na-qi (to carry up), na-xia (to carry down), and na-chu (to carry outside). Moreover, in the same epoch there various combinations of directional elements were also in use, like na-qi-lai (to carry up in the direction of the speaker). In this last case, this was the only order possible (nalai-qi [this is not a grammatically correct phrase] was not used). Therefore, it may be admitted that the lexicalization was advanced, because the order was strictly observed. From the point of view of the evolution of language, it is important to notice that the resultative-directional structures show that the language is approaching the agglutinative model, based on the principle of one element for one function in a definite order. The resultative-directional structures building postpositions with verbs never had an indissoluble character, which means that the verb was the main element of the structure. Therefore, the two elements – the verb and the postposition – could form a bracket with an object inside: Hu-ran de zhe xie yu lai – “(If) suddenly we got this rain.” In this example, the main verb is separated from the postposition by a direct object and its determination. The postpositional element has a clearly weakened meaning, near to the accomplished aspect. This is another important change undergone by some directional postpositions: They changed into a MSC form, ba yi feng xin xie-xia-lai, which means only “to write a letter,” and not “to write a letter down in the direction of the speaker.” Another important feature connected with these types of verbs is the possibility of placing the negation bu not only before the main verb, but also before the resulting directional postposition. This is unsurprising, because both elements of that structure have a verbal origin, and both may be preceded by a prepositional negation. It is also a remote echo of old coordination. Therefore, the two structures bu-chi-liao and chi-bu-liao (cannot eat) are both possible. In such cases, in which a language admits two possibilities, both forms are differentiated semantically. Today, the first one is a simple negation meaning “not to eat,” and the second is the potential form, “cannot eat.” The negative form seems to have developed earlier than the positive form, which depends on inserting the positive de (to be able) between the two members. In the analyzed Zhuzi yulei text, affirmative sentences have no potential meaning: Jin ren shuo de lai tai jing liao – “Today people are explaining this too curiously.”

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An additional argument is that some verbs with the suffix de have no potential meaning: ji-de (to remember), xiao-de (to know). Such verbs do not mean “to be able to remember,” etc. Compare this to shuo-chu (declare [war]) and shuo-dechu (to be able to declare [war]), and shuo-bu-chu (not to be able to declare [war]). These remarks have confronted us with the problems of syntax. Here we will return to the previous model of relation, i.e., the problem of personal pronouns. The analyzed Zhuzi yulei text contains two personal pronouns: wu and wo (I). The pronoun mou (first person) is also used in the same function, but it is otherwise unknown: Ju mou kan – “according to what I am thinking.” The problem of classifiers is in a way connected with pronouns. In modern Sinitic languages (but also in other not-cognate languages), numerals and demonstrative pronouns cannot stand immediately before nouns. They must be separated by a classifier. The system of classifiers developed from the unities of measures used in daily life: “a basket of apples,” “two bars of soap,” “a pack of cigarettes.” The difference between our system and the Chinese one lies in that we may say “two apples,” while the Chinese must use a respective classifier – liang ge ping-guo. In modern Sinitic languages, there are units of measurement and classifiers constituting separate systems. Each Sinitic language contains a general classifier and a rather complicated system of individual classifiers. This last one is semantically unclear and reveals a higher level of heterogeneity than the others. For example, anyone trying to master one of the modern Northern Sinitic languages is faced with the question: Why does a knife belong to the nouns used with the classifier meaning “a handle” (ba), which seems rather reasonable, together with the noun “the chair,” which seems to have no handle at all? The nouns believed to designate long objects belong to the classifier tiao. However, this category comprises not only “road” and “bridge,” but also “a dog” ( yi tiao gou). The system of classifiers was formed over many centuries. It may be supposed that it was fairly developed by the Tang dynasty and that the general classifier ge was then widely used. This classifier occurs with high frequency in the analyzed text of the Zhuzi yulei, because the general classifier was more often used than the others (although it was never elegant). In this text, ge is also used without a preceding “one” ( yi): Shi ge kou-kuai-de ren – “He is (a) rough man (i.e., quick in the mouth).” The material provided by Kallgren’s book (1958) renders any evaluation of the classifier system impossible while simultaneously making the comparison of various systems impossible as well. To the best of my knowledge, no further studies on this problem have been carried out, and this research field cannot develop much further without linguistic and dialectal comparisons. Kallgren gives only very limited examples of individual classifiers. In fact, she addresses only three classifiers: tiao, duo, and ba. The first appears in three phrases connected with the noun “a/the way” (lu) and once with the noun

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“beam/pole” (liang). The second classifier duo is used for “flowers” (hua), and the third one for “head” (tou). The usage of the first two classifiers corresponds to the contemporary usage. In the third case, the situation is incomparable. As far as syntax is concerned, it is good to begin with copulative sentences. From the very beginning, Kallgren implies that the copula shi is used as an ancient demonstrative pronoun that conserves its demonstrative character. There is, however, a great difference between the old and modern linguistic situation. In our times, it is almost exclusively a copula. This function is evident in the Song text Zhuzi yulei: Quan shi zui nan yong-de wu-shi – “Power (authority) is the most difficult thing to use.” In negative sentences, the negation bu is most frequently used, but it is impossible to draw any conclusion because we have only a single, unclear example at our disposal. Mei, the negation most commonly used today, appears rarely and means “not to have.” Ye mei yi-si – “also makes no sense.” It is always important to notice not only what a text contains, but also what is absent from it. Let us take the following example: The analyzed text of the Zhuzi yulei is composed of answers on various, but very few, questions. Therefore, this text cannot be a source for a study of the structure of interrogative sentences. Besides, Kallgren is not interested in syntax, but in full words and empty units. The same may be said about other kinds of sentences, because she is above all interested in elements that introduce definite structures. She studied the conjunctions uniting the structures, and the sentences lay outside of the scope of her research. For example, Kallgren also says that bei marks the passive voice and that this is evident because it has had this function for centuries. She does not say a word, however, about its position introducing the object. She only gives examples that allow one to guess the position, because it is always prepositional. It is also evident that if a sentence had no object, then bei stands immediately before the verb to which it refers and makes an impression of a pseudo-suffix of a passive. In fact, it is not a prefix at all, because an object can always be placed between it and the following verb. Discussing the passive voice, 1 let us remark that at the very beginning Kallgren stresses that many sentences without a subject are translated into English as passive, although they are not. This is a good example: Bu zhi he dai he nian shi liao (= le) – “I do not know in which generation or in which year they were lost” (n.b.: in Polish, a passive is not needed: “nie wiem, w jakiej epoce ani w jakim roku zaginęły”).

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[Editor: Professor Künstler’s own English translation stopped with this sentence (in the original Polish edition: “A skoro …”). This is line 9 on p. 202. Professor Alfred F. Majewicz’s translation begins from here.]

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Passive sentences are not of interest if their construction is not passive – a passive meaning in another language is irrelevant. This is analogically the case with elements introducing a prepositional object: For example, ba and jiang are used interchangeably: Jiang liang duan bi-jiao – “to take two segments (and) compare.” Dou ba wen yi shuo cuo le – “any interpretation of them makes it false.” In later times, this function is fulfilled exclusively by ba, while jiang appears only in literary texts. Both ba and jiang differ from bei, because they do not appear in phrases without an object and cannot come before the verb. Modal verbs are placed before the main verb. Kallgren first addresses hui (to be able to) and yao (to want to), discussing the function of these elements in connection with negation: Ni bu hui zuo-de – “you cannot do.” Readers’ attention should be drawn to the fact that the sentence quoted does not differ from its MSC counterpart, thus providing evidence that the language under discussion was the direct predecessor of the contemporary standard Chinese language. This evidence can also be found in the following sentence: Bu yao tian xu duo wu yi shuo hua – “there is no need to add verbosity,” which also supports our previous remark. Little can be said, on the basis of the work presented here, about compound sentences, except perhaps that in conditional sentences the condition was introduced by ruo or ruoshi, e.g.,: Ruo zhi shuo cun tian li liao … – “If you speak only about the heavenly principle …” Ruoshi bu hao de shi … – “If it is not good to …” The condition clause can be encompassed by ruo … shi or ruoshi … shi, in which the construction-final shi (time) brings the structure close to its MSC normative counterpart.

CHAPTER 9 The Modern Period After the fall of the Song dynasty and the enthronement of the Mongol dynasty that ruled under the Chinese name Yuan (1279–1368), an important change occurred, one which turned out to be decisive for the further development of the Chinese language. For the first time, the empire’s capital was moved to the north of the Chinese domain, not far from the Great Wall. The Mongol Khanbaliq was partially situated in the area that had previously been walled off as the center of Beijing. Beijing had been the great empire’s capital since 1279, apart from a few, short-lived intervals (at the beginning of the Ming dynasty and more recently under the rule of Guomindang). The “Northern Capital” (Beijing’s meaning) had been serving as the center of power and authority for seven hundred years. Consequently, the colloquial language of Beijing and its neighborhood prevailed and dominated over other dialects. It was not only the language of the local people, but also of the officials who sat for their highest-ranked Mandarin exams in Beijing, from where they were sent across the country to take up their offices. With time, the Beijing tongue became the language of popular literature and above all the language of the theater, stories, and epics that were disseminated by street storytellers. No wonder, therefore, that it became the basis for the standard pan-national Chinese language (MSC) in the 20th century. The Chinese empire was far more stable and durable than the dynasties that followed it; while it existed, the linguistic situation can (with some simplification) be described as a prevalence of linguistic duality. The official language was the language of the administration and the officially recognized literature. It was Classical Chinese as the continuation of the archaic language in its standardized version dated back to the Han dynasty. At the same time, colloquial Chinese was the tongue of everyday communication and gradually also became the language of literature. Although it initially lacked official recognition, it became more and more popular; it was widely read and loved. The Chinese themselves called literature in this language baihua (white, i.e., understandable speech). Classical Chinese resisted significant changes in its grammatical structure, which continued to be based on the rules established in the archaic and postarchaic periods. What was changing was the lexicon, which had to adapt to the changing reality. This book has already mentioned the specific negligence of phonetic issues in the research of the Sinitic languages more than once. This negligence also affected Classical Chinese. Unaware of phonetic evolution across the centuries, the Chinese used to read characters just as they were pronounced locally. This is comparable to the development of Latin in Europe, where locally spoken pronunciations were also established. In China, in cases of doubt one could always refer to a dictionary including information on the pronunciation (usually indicated with the fanqie method). Meanwhile, the phonetic changes that had evolved since the ancient times were significant. The colloquial lexicon underwent intensifying disyllabization,

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and syntactic alterations also could not be ignored. Classical texts became largely incomprehensible when the monosyllabic words of Classical Chinese were read aloud in accordance with the actual pronunciation of each epoch. Thus, towards the end of the imperial times Classical texts served only for silent reading and not for recitation or reading aloud. The literary mannerisms of later periods seriously contributed to the incomprehensibility of Classical texts. Chinese authors were driven to demonstrate erudition, so the works they produced were increasingly stuffed with quotations, allusions, and rare and barely comprehensible words. The texts were difficult to read and required extensive and elaborated philological commentaries, which were to be written not after ages, but contemporarily with the created texts. The very titles of works composed in those times illustrate this point: They serve not as indicators of the content, but as proof of the author’s or compiler’s sophistication. Take the title Zhibuzu zhai congshu (Compilation of Works from the Pavilion of the Insatiability for Learning; or more precisely: From the Pavilion Belonging to Someone Feeling the Insatiability for Learning): This is more a selfadvertisement than information about the volume’s content, which consisted of 207 works in 30 collections ( ji) with a total length of 823 juan, collected by Bao Tingbo (1728–1814) and released from 1776 to 1811. The title makes it impossible to conclude which particular works the collection includes. As a result, Classical Chinese literature often became incomprehensible even to educated Chinese. From 1956 to 1957, I participated in advanced classes at Beijing University’s Faculty of the Chinese Language; Professor Lü Shuxiang (1904–1998), one of the greatest authorities on Chinese linguistics, was conducting a seminar introducing students to the first Chinese grammar written at the end of the 19th century by a Chinese author named Ma Jianzhong (1845–1900) and entitled Mashi wentong (1898). We did not read the text in its original, but in a contemporary edition with punctuation and all other additional aids (like underlining and quotation marks). It still took the Chinese students many hours to plough through this text, which was printed on only seven small pages. Shortly before my return to Poland, another prominent linguist, Professor Gao Mingkai (1912–1965), presented me with a a small nephrite bowl bearing an elaborate inscription. Handing it over to me, Professor Gao (with whom I always conversed in French, as he did not know the northern variety of Chinese, while I did not understand him at all because of my lacking knowledge of Min idioms) said that he was giving it to me because he did not understand the meaning of the inscription and did not even know in what direction it should be read: from left to right or from right to left. The bowl remains on my desk till today and the inscription puzzle remains unsolved. This is only one example of the measure and degree of Classical Chinese’s artificiality at the end of the 19th century. With the coming of the 19th century and the necessity for China to gradually open itself to external influences, the need arose to coin thousands of new notions

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and terms. At that time, daily newspapers started functioning, and in this context Classical Chinese revealed its full impotence in confrontation with new subjects.1 We should now return to the problems of the colloquial Chinese of the Mongol period and the beginning of the Ming epoch. In Chinese studies, a commonly shared opinion prevails that it was the Mongols who contributed to a considerable degree to the development of the colloquial language; not knowing the Classical language, the theory goes, they began to use and propagate the spoken idiom. The Mongols are thus credited with doing much for the development of theater in the spoken language, as they did not know any other version of Chinese. Certain historical facts speak for such an interpretation. Having established themselves on the Chinese throne, the Mongols for a certain period abolished state exams, which tested knowledge of Classical Chinese literature and which were decisive for the recruitment of officials. Thus, the colloquial language was introduced into documents. To a certain degree, this contributed to the dissemination of literature in the colloquial language. However, it does not mean that such literature owed its existence to the Mongols. In his work Zdziejów literatury chińskiej (Essays on the History of Chinese Literature; 1956, p. 112), the Polish Sinologist Witold Jabłoński (1901–1957) objected to this interpretation. He argued that the abolition of state exams in the initial phase of the Mongolian rule was not aimed at abandoning the classical language, but at removing from influential positions those bureaucrats who had been educated during the Song dynasty. Ascribing everything to Mongols is an obvious oversimplification, especially in view of the fact that not only the Mongols but also the Chinese themselves did not understand theater plays performed in the Classical language. Moreover, surely the Mongolian invaders were not the addressees of the tales of storytellers wandering across the vast country. It was not for Mongols that the effort to record those tales in writing was undertaken. Instead, it seems more likely that the Mongols ruling China did not particularly engage themselves in what we would today refer to as language policy. However, they supported the classical culture in later years because they were in need of legions of well-educated scholarofficials. In a sense, the situation resembled that of the Manchu period (1644– 1911): The court not only promoted the classical Chinese culture, but even prohibited the publishing of works written in the colloquial language. The Manchus were incomparably more sinicized than the Mongols, and towards the end of their rule they practically did not speak Manchurian at all. Thus, the true reasons for the magnificent development of the colloquial language, particularly in the northern version we call Mandarin, and its literature must have been different. Personally, I am inclined to look for such reasons in the development of the urban middle class in the beginnings of modern industry. For the first time, a new elite emerged in China who were conscious of the important role they had to play and also eager to make use of literary works in the

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[Editor: On this problematic, see Michael Lackner (ed.), New Terms for New Ideas: Western Knowledge and Lexical Change in Late Imperial China (Leiden et al.: Brill, 2001).]

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language comprehensible to them. At the same time, this elite represented literary predilections that were distant from the classics. Until the beginnings of the Mongolian epoch, Chinese culture was exclusively elitist. This concerned not only the visual (plastic) arts (especially paintings of scholar-gentry), but almost the entire bulk of literary production. To be sure, popular (folk) culture existed throughout, but – with the exception of some religious creations – it rarely crossed the boundary between oral and written literature. As Classical Chinese and colloquial languages drifted more and more markedly apart, the distance between classical and popular literature grew ever wider. The latter was treated with disrespect by those representatives of classical culture who were successful in their imperial examinations. They were convinced that only individuals who failed their state exams (i.e., were under-educated) would deign to record oral traditions. Baihua literature’s roots stretch beyond the Mongolian Yuan dynasty, but an overview of that literature’s history would be out of place here. Our interest lies in the language and its history, and not in literature. Why, then, was the Mongolian dynasty period so important for the history of the Chinese language? The reason is very simple: For the first time in that history, we have at our disposal literary monuments that for certain represent the northern version of Chinese and not an unspecified colloquial idiom. Moreover, these literary monuments provide grounds for speaking about two fundamental varieties of the Mandarin language of that time – its northern and southern versions. I am fully aware of possible terminological inaccuracies and misunderstandings. Therefore, certain explications should precede the details. All contemporary Sinitic languages are divided into two large groups: northern (referred to as Mandarin) and southern (non-Mandarin). Both groups are further divided into sub-groups, which we shall return to later. The northern group (geographically expanding far to the south of the Chinese linguistic area, as far as the Burmese borderland) is split into northern languages (exemplified by Pekinese) and southern languages (exemplified by Nankinese). Similar groupings (based on geographical directions) apply to other groups as well. Terms such as “northern” and “southern” are thus ambiguous. Further discussion shall prove that other terms related to geographical directions are equally ambiguous and can lead to numerous misunderstandings. We have thus far spoken about dialectal elements appearing in various texts, indicating that some of them could later be found in Northern Sinitic languages while others belonged to Southern Sinitic languages, and this was related to the first major division into Mandarin and non-Mandarin languages. Here we have first to do with literary monuments that doubtlessly represent northern, i.e., Mandarin, languages; secondly, some among them display northern and others southern features. However, it would be difficult to relate them respectively to today’s Pekinese and Nankinese languages. In other words, both varieties are today not continuations of the differences of the Mongolian dynasty times.

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Any detailed presentation of the main groups of written monuments of the colloquial language of those times would entangle us in fairly complicated problems of a philological and editorial nature. After all, the literature had its roots in oral tradition. From the very beginning, this oral tradition existed in numerous variants, and was only later recorded in writing. Its different editions attempted to legitimize different variants. The majority of literary works from the earlier period of the Mongolian era is known to us from editions dated to the end of the Ming dynasty (1368–1644). Roughly speaking, over three hundred years passed between the beginning of the former and the end of the latter. This is analogous to, for example, the wellknown and outstanding play Odprawa posłów greckich (The Dismissal of the Grecian [Greek] Envoys), 2 published in 1578 by the Polish leading Renaissance poet Jan Kochanowski (1530–1584): We have inherited the version recorded toward the end of the 19th century from the oral tradition of an interpretation of the play that was popular among numerous travelling theater troupes. The situation was even more complicated in China, because theater plays included parts that were to be sung, often called arias (hence the notion of “Chinese opera”), frequently rhymed and composed for particular melodies, and parts to link them, usually prose texts. Editions of such theatrical plays frequently recorded only the arias, while the connecting text was treated as a matter of improvisation; on the other hand, other editions recorded the connecting prose text with precision and neglected the arias. Obviously, for a linguist the prose sections are more important, because they more accurately reflect the speech of that time. A collection of one hundred plays of the Yuan era, entitled Yuanqu xuan (A Selection of Yuan [Dynasty] Theater Plays), was published for the first time in 1616 by Zang Jinshu (1550–1620). Another collection of thirty plays of the Yuan dynasty period, preserved in a xylograph form from the epoch, was published as late as 1914 in Japan. This edition included only the aria texts. These two editions at our disposal are actually incomparable. The two Russian academicians Gurevich and Zograf (1982) drew our attention to the fact that auxiliary words occurred less frequently in the older version of the edition than in the Ming edition, but that their frequency matched that of other poetical texts of the epoch. Thus, the differences result not from diachronic changes, but from the discrepancy between the language of poetry (which is naturally more succinct) and that of prose. Similar problems concern prose creations, above all short stories and novels. They also originated as oral traditions and were spread – and expanded – by street storytellers wandering across the whole country, and only later were recorded in writing to begin their lives as literary productions. The most renowned works of this type include the adventure novel entitled Shuihu zhuan (Water Margin / Outlaws of the Marsh), probably first recorded in writing in the 1360s, i.e., at the end of the Mongolian Yuan dynasty. Its authorship is ascribed to Shi Nai’an (ca. 1296–1372), but this has almost no signifi                                                             2

[Editor: The most recent English translation of this work by Bill Johnston is The Envoys, Kraków: Księgarnia Akademicka, 2007.]

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cance for the present considerations, as the novel’s first edition has not survived to our times. Today, the 16th century edition by Guo Xun (d. 1550) is considered the earliest one, and the other Ming editions by Yang Dingjian (120-chapter edition) and Yuan Wuya of 1614 and Jin Shengtan (1610?–1661) of 1641 (70chapter edition) are considered as the basis for study purposes. Scholars, Bernhard Karlgren included, have divided the novel’s text, labeling the first seventy chapters as older than the remaining fifty chapters (this concerns the 120-chapter editions of this work; other divisions and structuring also exist). Thus, the text is known from versions recorded some three hundred (counting from the first, unpreserved edition) or four hundred years (counting from Shi Nai’an’s times) after the work originally appeared. The situation is not different for the various short story collections of this period, such as Jingben tongsu xiaoshuo (Folk Stories Published in the Capital / Popular Stories from the Metropolitan Editions). One work that is important for the history of the language of the epoch in question is the Yuanchao mishi (Secret History of the Mongols). A Chinese translation of its Mongolian original is undated, but was published in 1404, i.e., at the beginning of the Ming dynasty rule. This is a very old version that did not have an oral predecessor. The Chinese translation shows a certain influence of Classical Chinese. Some theater plays can also be linguistically classified in the same group, even though they have certain specific features alien to the Yuanchao mishi. Texts of selected theatrical plays as well as the text of the Yuanchao mishi represent the northern variety of the Mandarin language, while other texts should be regarded as belonging to its southern variety. Before the differences between these language relics can be presented, a reservation must be made: We can say nothing about the possible differences in the phonetic sphere, as a reconstruction of the northern and southern Mandarin phonetics prior to the Yuan and Ming dynasties cannot even be attempted. Of course, this does not imply that we have no texts at our disposal that could constitute a basis for observations concerning the phonetics of the language(s) of that time. The situation, however, resembles the times following the Han era – here again, an astonishing case of reiteration of similar situations can be observed. Relatively numerous texts exist for the Mongol period, including Mongolian transcriptions of Chinese personal and place names as well as Chinese transcriptions of Mongolian names of persons and places. Yuanchao mishi contains plenty in both its Chinese and Mongolian language versions, as do other texts such as Huayi yiyu, as studied (1959) by the Polish Turkologist and Mongolist Marian Lewicki (1908–1955). The difficulty here boils down to this: Making proper use of the linguistic data contained in such texts requires a profound knowledge of Mongolian philology as well as equally good qualifications in the field of Chinese studies – a rare combination. The data constitutes perfect material for a close cooperation between a Mongolist on the one hand and a Sinologist on the other hand, both interested in the same problems – which is also rare.

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Besides, all possible new data extracted from these texts would exclusively concern the northern variety of Mandarin and not the southern variety, and they would accordingly be of no use for comparative studies. However, their importance for problems of dating and the chronology of particular linguistic changes in the northern variety of Mandarin could be enormous. As the following chapter shall show in detail, we are well aware of what phonetic changes took place between the early Tang era and the twentieth century, but we do not know their chronology. We know only that the changes occurred gradually and not simultaneously, i.e., that some of them occurred earlier and others later. These difficulties are exactly the same for the epoch preceding the Tang dynasty. Since we will return to the phonetic evolution in the following chapter, we can now pass to the fundamental differences between the northern and southern varieties of the Mandarin language during the Mongol period. As indicated, these differences are most clearly reflected in the system of pronouns. The Northern Variety

The first-person pronouns were wo (I, we), an (we), and za (I, we). These three pronouns appear in Yuanchao mishi and the pronoun za with the plural meaning also implies the inclusive meaning (i.e., it includes the person spoken to, in contrast to the exclusive wo, which excludes him or her). This feature has remained characteristic of the northern variety of Mandarin until today. In Chinese stage plays, which belong to the northern variety of the Chinese language, one finds also zan (we), zijia (I), and mou (I). For the attributive function, the suffix -de was used after the pronoun wo, and very rarely also appeared with the pronoun an. In the case of the pronouns wo and za, the plural was expressed exclusively with the suffix -mei < “every.” In stage plays, -men also appeared in the same function and attributive forms were marked with the suffix -jia < “home, house” (cf. zajia, wojia, anjia [I, my]). The second-person pronouns were ni (you: singular and plural) and nin (with varying notation). Stage plays also contained yi (singular: you), and only the pronoun ni had its attributive and plural forms. In Yuanchao mishi, nin had its plural form, while the plays’ language contains the form ninjia (you: singular). The only third-person pronoun was ta (he, they) with its attributive form tade (his, their) and its plural form tamen. The third-person function was fulfilled by zhi (usually as the object) and qi (associated with the noun, but also functioning as the subject of an attributive phrase). They are both probably of a Classical origin. In the language of the plays, the form tajia (he, his) also occurred. The Southern Variety

The first person pronouns were mainly wo and an (I, we), but also wu and mou with the same meaning, as well as wojia (I, my) and anjia (I, we, our). In the case of wo and an, their attributive forms resulted from the suffixation of -de.

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Plural forms resulted from the suffixation of -men or -deng, and in certain texts (or in some longer parts of other texts) also -mei. The lack of inclusive pronouns is characteristic. Coordinations with or without conjunctions were used in their place, such as ni wo or wo he ni, or wo tong ni (I and you), or simply plural forms such as women or wodeng with the inclusive meaning. For the second person, we have only the pronoun ni (you: singular and plural) occurring with the attributive suffix -de or plural suffixes -men, -deng, and more rarely (only in certain parts of Shuihu zhuan) -mei. Shuihu zhuan (14th c.) also still contains ru (you: singular and plural) and its plural-only counterpart rudeng, but both without the attributive -de attached – one could therefore conclude that they were borrowings from the Classical language. In addition, one finds the form nijia (you: singular and plural). For the third person, we have only ta (he, they), which can occur with suffixes such as tade (his), tamen (they), and in some texts tamei with the same meaning. The form tajia (they, theirs) also occurs. Sporadically we can find the pronominal forms zhi and qi, which were obviously borrowings from Classical Chinese. One can conclude that the differences between the two varieties of the colloquial language of that epoch consisted in a greater predilection for some forms at the cost of others. While the plural suffix -mei is preferred in the northern variety, for the southern variety it is -men, and so on. In the northern variety, the attributive function of the suffix -jia (wojia and zajia implied simply “I” or “my”) gradually faded, its function taken over by the suffix -de. The same phenomenon also occurred in other situations – for instance, the interrogative pronoun shuijia meant “who” or “whose” (although shuide appeared in the latter function). The spread and popularization of the interrogative pronoun shenme, which completely replaced the old pronoun he, is characteristic of the language of that epoch. The demonstrative pronouns similarly diverged from Classical Chinese: Zhe and zhege (this) as well as na and nage (that) occurred almost exclusively. In the southern variety, meanwhile, the forms wude/wudi and wuna can be found, which are alien to the northern variety. The regular forms zheli (here) and nali (there); beside the interrogative nayi, nage, nayige (what … [like]) emerged. In the northern variety, zhebi (here) and nabi (there) were frequent occurrences. These latter examples draw our thoughts to what in modern Sinitic languages is closely connected with demonstratives, namely with the classifiers. Modern Chinese demonstrative pronouns cannot directly precede nouns with which they form a syntagma (i.e., for which they are determinants or attributes); a classifier must be inserted between the demonstrative pronoun and the noun. In the meaning of a plural, it is exclusively the classifier, e.g., xie (< several), while in its singularity it is either a “general” classifier or a classifier corresponding to the nature (size, shape, measure, etc.) of the object or phenomenon meant by the noun. The development of classifiers is particularly significant for the evolution of the Chinese language. The preceding chapter discussed the widespread use of the general classifier ge as well as weak foundations in the material studied for the

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description of individual context-dependent classifiers. Naturally and logically, one could expect linguistic evolution to proceed from a multitude of classifiers (resulting from a great number of measure units) to one general classifier. However, the contrary is the case. As scholars including Zograf and Gurevich have observed, the widespread use of one general classifier retracted under the pressure of context-dependent classifiers. Many more individual dependent classifiers can be found in the colloquial texts of the Mongol epoch than in those of the Tang and Song periods. At the same time, only xie could occur in the classifier position following demonstratives to imply plurality, which resulted in the opposition singularis–pluralis, conveyed by the opposition between the general ge or individual classifier and the plurality classifier xie. Such a course of linguistic evolution allows a better understanding of the discrepancies between classifier systems in different dialects and languages: These systems did not result from common ancestry heritage, but rather from a more or less independent development. Although the number of elements shared in classifier systems obviously constitutes an important indicator for the closeness of ties between particular languages, I am unaware of any scholar who has approached this aspect of Chinese’s diachrony; no studies have been conducted about the problems of glottochronology in the case of Sinitic languages. With such an approach to the study of classifiers, one must certainly take into account not only the various classifiers, but also possible differences in the semantic range, as particular dialects and languages can also differ in this respect. This is evident from the data collected by Gerty Kallgren (1958): The semantic range of the classifiers tiao and tou in these data obviously differs from the semantic range of the same classifiers in Modern Standard Chinese. We shall return to these issues in the presentation of contemporary Sinitic languages in the next chapter. Before passing to a description of other features of the language of the period under discussion, we must point to another important feature that differentiates the northern from the southern varieties. According to the results obtained by the two Russian specialists Zograf and Gurevich (1982) and those presented in other publications by Zograf (e.g., 1979), an important feature differentiating texts from the Mongol epoch and texts from the beginnings of the Ming epoch are sentential imperative particles in a sentence final position. In the texts of the northern variety of Sintic languages, the particles zhe, za, and zhuo occurred with this function, and the particle ba and its variation bo (alien to the text of the Yuanchao mishi) appeared in theatrical plays. Interestingly, ba is today the only imperative particle in both in Pekinese and Modern Standard Chinese as well as in the northern Nankinese variant. This is why the northern and southern variants described here cannot be identified with the present-day northern and southern variants of the Pan-National Chinese language. The particles zhe and zhuo already appeared in the same function in the bianwen from Dunhuang, cf.:

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Qian wo chu zhuo yu fan yi pan shi zhe – “Allow me to go out (from here) and allow (me) to eat” (“Shunzi bian” [Miracle Tale of the Son Shun]). Thus, the northern variant of the language of the Mongol epoch manifests evident ties with the colloquial language of the epoch following the Tang and Song periods. One should mention for the completion of the overall picture that certain compound interrogative particles very rarely occurred in the so-called northern texts (both the theater plays and the Yuanchao mishi). However, this problem is irrelevant for the present discussion. Apart from the sporadic occurrence of the particle ba (but not its variant bo), the compound particle zege, which is of unknown etymology, dominated the socalled southern texts of the period in question, although it is completely alien to the northern texts. Its character notation seems to be phonetic -ze, a conditional postposition interpreted at times as a conjunction, plus the general classifier ge, cf.: Kai-men zege – “open the door” A-jiu, jiu wo zege – “Uncle! Help (save) me.” A brief digression to Chapter Two, which was devoted to the relation between language and writing, is now necessary: As stated there, the Chinese writing system reveals its complete helplessness when it comes to writing down anything with unknown etymology. In the case of words with a lexical meaning, attempts were usually made to invent new characters or apply folk etymology. Such was the case with the notation of the phonetic borrowing putao (grapes) – new characters were created, and centuries later also used for the phonetic notation of the proper name Putaoya (Portugal). Hence, the Chinese today associate Portugal with grapes – which seems reasonable – even though this association lacks any relation to etymology. The method is also being applied today: To note the English loan word “laser,” characters reading leishe (resembling the English pronunciation; Mainland China translated it as jiguang) and meaning “thunder shot” (making the word easy to remember) have been selected. In combination with periphrasis, the latter is a widespread method of word formation. Trouble starts when a formal (“empty”) word is to be written that does not easily succumb to etymologization (nor can be explained in terms of folk etymology). Again, a new character can be created (which is avoided as much as possible in Mandarin languages) or any character with a similar pronunciation can be used for a phonetic notation, regardless of its original meaning. In view of the notorious Chinese disregard of phonetic nuances, the latter can be quite distant from the word to be written (remember the varying allomorphs of personal pronouns in Archaic Chinese). The northern imperative particles zhe, za, and zhuo doubtlessly constitute variations of the same source, but no conclusion about the imperative particle’s etymology can be drawn from these notations. Only one thing, worthless for etymological considerations, but important for the phonetic evolution of Mandarin languages, is worth observing – namely that if something is noted at one time with zhe and at another time with za, then this difference can

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signal the disappearance of phonetic differences between the affricates and fricatives in the initial position (a process of sibilance, i.e., sibilantization). This phenomenon (also known as “mazuration”3 in the case of Polish) is widespread in Mandarin languages, and it is accordingly important to notice its occurrence as early as the Mongol epoch. Nothing can be said today about the etymology of the southern imperative particle zege, beyond a supposition that its first component can be related to monosyllabic imperative particles in the northern variant of the colloquial language of the epoch. The compound forms of interrogative pronouns are also important, as they have survived until today. Apart from the pronoun shui (shei: who?), which has existed since very ancient times, there were also the compound shenme ren (lit.: what/which man? > who?) and synonymic expressions, such as shenren, shuiren (also the possessive shuijia), heren, and wuren. Only the first of these compounds is still in use in today’s national language across the country, cf.: Ni shi shuijia ban-dang – Whose partner/servant are you? In questions related to objects, only shenme (what?) is used. The animate–inanimate opposition is more evident in the contemporary language than in its earlier phases, when the interrogative he could apply to both these categories, while shui was limited to the animate category. The interrogative pronoun shen-me, which was extremely widespread in that epoch, frequently occurred with an attributive function, cf.: Shen-me guan-si gan lai jin da yu-xian – “What-which officer could prohibit us from fishing?” (Shuihu zhuan). This interrogative pronoun also took the syntactic position of an object, cf.: Ni-men nao shen-me – “Why are you creating an uproar?” As early as in the Mongol epoch, shenme entered still other compounds like weishenme (why?) or zuoshenme (for what reason? > why?). The emergence of compound demonstrative pronouns like zheli or zhebian (here) and nali or nabian (there) was equally important. Numerous other synonymic compounds also existed at that time. From the standpoint of linguistic evolution, it is important that from this multitude of “competitive” forms only the ones mentioned here have survived until today. The evolutionary mechanism was thus the same: Of many initial forms, only one remained. We have so far left adverbs out of our consideration. As we are now approaching modern times, a few words must be said about them, with the reservation that these remarks are not intended to present their overall characteristics.

                                                             3

[Translator (A.M.): The Polish regional pronunciation of sibilants characteristic of dialects spoken in the regions of Masuria (hence the Polish name for this phenomenon), Mazovia, Little Poland, and Silesia; Standard Polish [ð] (written ), [þ] ( or ), [è] (), [ý] ( or ), are spoken respectively with [s], [z], [ã], [ê]; e.g., szkoła (school) is pronounced as “skowa” instead of the standard pronunciation “ðkowa.”]

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The modal adjective ke (may, can; it is difficult to find its adequate translation) was known from antiquity and began to also appear in interrogative and imperative sentences; cf., e.g.: Ni ke shu-yi-shu tou – “Give your hair a (quick) comb!” In my opinion, this is an important extension of the function of the word, possibly developed from its original meaning: “you can comb your hair” > “comb your hair.” Jie was also in frequent use in the imperative marker function, cf. e.g.: Jie man zhe – “Slow down!” (i.e., do it more slowly). Both these cases manifest the same tendency to make use of many various elements in the same function. The frequent use of ze (known to us as an element introducing the conditional clause) with the meaning “only” and – in negative sentences – “not only” is of particular interest, cf., e.g.: Ze jian ta shang qiao – “We have just seen him climb the bridge.” Bu-ze shi xiang-gong, wo ye wu qi –“Not only the lord, but also I do not have a wife” (Li Haogu [d. 1300], Shamen dao Zhang sheng zhu hai [Śramaṇa’s Island Where Student/Mister Zhang Boils the Ocean]; theater play from the Yuan dynasty) Since ze in this function occurred interchangeably with zhi (only), we have solid grounds to assume that ze in this case was a phonetic notation of a dialectal variant of zhi and had no relation with the conditional ze. This example is provided here in the first place in order to show certain particular kinds of complications in the analysis of baihua texts. One has to remember that it was a notation of the language in which many elements occurred for which there was no tradition of writing them with characters, so they were noted absolutely arbitrarily. The two examples of notation that can be interpreted as signaling sibilantzation have not been quoted incidentally here. One of these examples was taken from the corpus of texts considered northern, the other is known also from southern texts. This does not imply that any conclusions as to the territorial range of the phenomenon can be drawn. The notions of the northern and southern varieties of the colloquial language resist identification with any concrete area. Even the possible conclusion (and we are far from it) of this phenomenon being widely spread could not be relevant for the entire territory of the Mandarin languages and dialects because, both the varieties highlighted here were not the only ones existing in the epoch in question and could not be treated as homogeneous. Indirect evidence for the heterogeneity of both text corpora reflecting the northern and southern varieties of the colloquial language of the epoch comes from the fact that the same negative exponents appear in both varieties, such as bu, wei, buceng, weiceng, mei, meiyou, xiu, mo, buyao, bubi, wu, bushi, and fei. Some of them occur more often, others more rarely, but they cannot unambiguously be ascribed to one or the other particular variant. Since most were synonymous and isofunctional, the impression of heterogeneity – after all, not rare in China – arises.

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One more phenomenon associated with adverbs is worthy of our attention, i.e., the emergence of the suffixal shi, known as the old demonstrative pronoun that later turned into a conjunction. It appeared in alternative interrogative sentences forms like haishi, queshi, zhishi (or), yeshi (also), and keshi (but); cf. e.g.: Shi jie-fa hai-shi zai qu – “Is this your first wife, or are you marrying again?” (“Feng Yumei tuanyuan” [Reunion of Feng Yumei]), in: Jingben tongsu xiaoshuo [Popular Stories from the Metropolitan Editions]). Much seems to indicate that in those times, and at least in the northern variant of the colloquial language, the suffix was quite expansive, appearing even in such compounds as zaoshi (earlier, before) or duoshi (certainly, surely), and others. Today, it is one of the most frequent and active adverbial suffixes (see Chmielewski 1954). The period under description witnessed a general and significant increase of disyllabic formal elements, including the disyllabization of adverbial forms (the former shen is replaced by shenman, the former hai > haishi, etc.). Formal elements like ba and jiang as markers of the reversed position of the object in a sentence seem to have been influenced by this trend only to a certain degree and with no consequences for the language’s further evolution. The forms ba-lai and jiang-lai (with the verb lai meaning “to go in the direction of the speaker”) as well as the rarer forms with the verbal element qu, meaning of “to go away from the speaker,” are known from this period; cf., e.g.: Ba lai chuai zai huai li – “… and he put it [the dog’s leg that he had not finished gnawing the meat off] in his bosom” (Shuihu zhuan). As far as compound sentences are concerned, it is worth mentioning that the first phrase was consistently marked only in conditional compound sentences, usually with ruo or ruoshi (here we have again the suffix mentioned above). At the same time, constructions also occurred in which the first phrase was bracketed with the confixes ruo … shi (time) or, in the texts of theater plays, ruoshi … shijie, see, e.g.: Ruoshi zhen-ge you zhe ren shi ke shi hao li – “If indeed there exists such a woman, one has to regard her as wonderful!” The above sentence is obviously taken from the Jingben tongsu xiaoshuo. It also exemplifies a demonstrative pronoun preceding a noun without any classifier, because classifiers were still not obligatory, cf., e.g.: Ruoshi zai lai tao zhai shijie jiao wo zen-sheng jian ta – “If [she] comes again demanding the repayment of a debt, how – this may be implied – will I be able to look at her?” (Act Two of the Yuan-dynasty play Dou E yuan [Injustice Done to Dou E], written by Guan Hanqing [ca. 1241– 1320]).

CHAPTER 10 The Contemporary Pan-National Language Chinese society did not reject Classical Chinese immediately after the fall of the Manchu dynasty (1912). The rejection took place a few years later, in principle after the May Fourth Movement of 1919, although the leading progressive intellectuals had long realized that maintaining the fossilized literary Chinese as the only official means of expression would be impossible. The change was not an instantaneous act, but rather a process spread out over years and accomplished in several milestones. The first Commission on the Unification of Pronunciation (Duyin tongyi hui) came into existence as early as 1913. Following the May Fourth Movement, the government recognized and accepted contemporary Chinese language as the standard. It recommended its teaching all over the country, and the Ministry of Education founded the Committee for the Unification of the National Language (Jiaoyubu guoyu tuixing weiyuanhui) in 1928 – but the government did not accept the northern pronunciation as official until 1930. In 1933, the Committee acknowledged the Beijing pronunciation as a model to follow. While the legislature was one issue, the other issue was the formulation of obligatory language norms and the dissemination of such a language across the country as vast and multilingual as China. Accomplishing such goals is the work of many years – and, to be frank, they remain unaccomplished even today. Moreover, there are solid grounds to suspect that China as a country speaking – even if only officially – one uniform language is more a fantasy, a chimera, than a real possibility. At this stage, it is important to remember that the implementers of linguistic uniformization could always refer to a source: the literature in colloquial language that represented various mutations of northern Chinese, with its longlasting traditions and relative abundance. What was lacking, however, was a concrete and ready-to-use pattern. The national language was to emerge through premeditated construction. Even today, almost one hundred years after the famous May Fourth Movement, we do not have an established, promulgated, and overwhelmingly accepted language norm at our disposal, but rather a norm in constant statu nascendi, in the process of formulation. This feature of Modern Standard Chinese should be considered dominant, and it motivated Paul Kratochvil to title his 1968 book The Chinese Language Today: Features of an Emerging Standard. Such a situation naturally results in a much greater tolerance for various alternant forms – it is difficult to define them as deviations from the norm when the norm itself is, at best, still being formulated. This greater tolerance – or perhaps elasticity – facilitates the intrusion of phonetic, morphological, syntactic, but above all lexical and dialectal elements into Modern Standard Chinese – and the Chinese writing system creates favorable conditions for it. It is enough to write a dialectal word with Chinese characters and then read them in accordance with the

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MSC phonetics to make the word undistinguishable from others. No wonder, therefore, that a considerable number of loans from other Sinitic dialects and languages can be found in Modern Standard Chinese and that different local varieties of the standard language (it is high time to stress their existence) each have individual features resulting from the influence of Sinitic and non-Sinitic substrata. Nowadays, people are increasingly defining Continental (Mainland) Standard Chinese (CSC) as different from Taiwan Standard Chinese (TSC), both as different from Hong Kong Standard Chinese (HSC), and all three as different from Singaporean Standard Chinese (SSC). One must therefore remember that this “Standard Chinese” is not a monolith, and that it manifests clear differences depending on where it is spoken and written. A demonstration of the basic differences between these variants of the language lies beyond the framework of this chapter. In order, however, to limit this discussion to theoretical considerations, let us point to some distinctions in the lexical domain. For example, Singaporean Standard Chinese contains phonetic loans from Malay (like, e.g., ganbang [village] < Malay kampong) that are naturally absent in other varieties, while Taiwan Standard Chinese contains loans from Japanese (like, e.g., abasang [grandma] < Japanese obāsan) that are also unknown elsewhere. Particularly astonishing – but actually quite logical – are phonetic loans from Russian found in the north-eastern (Manchurian) variety of Continental Standard Chinese (cf., e.g., lieba [bread] < Russian khl’eb [хлеб] – the CSC word is mianbao or mashen [sewing machine] < Russian mashina (машина) – the CSC word is fengrenji). Similar examples could be multiplied, since it is obvious that the Continental Standard Chinese used in Tibet (where it is a superstratum) absorbs local lexical items and other features of languages in everyday contact with it (see remarks on the Qinghai Province Chinese in Chapter 11). A few remarks on language normalization (or standardization) in general are necessary. As far as we know, the majority of the world’s languages developed naturally, with no standardization efforts imposed “from above.” The norms of language correctness developed naturally, i.e., they evolved with the language itself. Language standardization imposed and supervised by linguists is in fact a 20th-century invention. Linguistics could be classified as descriptive and prescriptive only as late as the 20th century. While the former describes languages as they are, the latter attempts to order languages in accordance with some postulated principles. Both standpoints are needed, so neither should be condemned due to academic preferences or inclinations. Nevertheless, different research attitudes frequently lead to misconceptions or a lack of mutual understanding. The resulting differences are at times significant indeed. Oversimplifying, one can say that descriptivists are pleased with deviations from the norm because for them they indicate development tendencies, while prescriptivists try to uproot such deviations because they violate the normalized order.

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There is, of course, no space here for a detailed analysis of such problems. It is worth stating, however, that language standardization efforts often play significant cultural and even political roles by effectively supporting the formation of social and national unity. Were it not for the standardization endeavors of linguists, we would probably not have the Vietnamese nation today – or at least the process of its formation would lack one of its decisive factors. Doubtlessly, the unity and homogeneity of the national official Chinese language (Modern Standard Chinese) positioned above local differences and aspiring for the unchallenged position of the only means of expression on the national level is one of the pillars of the political (state) unity of China. Practical ups and downs are another matter. Let us now get down to the facts, namely to a discussion of the essential phonetic changes taking place in the period between the Middle Chinese of the Tang epoch to Modern Standard Chinese. These changes were in due time characterized by Bernhard Karlgren, who in his Grammata Serica (1940) labelled it the evolution from Middle Chinese (in his usage: “Ancient Chinese”) to Mandarin. The reader should remember that the term “Mandarin languages” refers in principle to the northern Sinitic languages. Therefore, certain changes Karlgren described in the said work did not exclusively concern the Mandarin linguistic area, but went beyond it to also include southern non-Mandarin languages, while certain other changes did not occur in the entire Mandarin language territory. His description thus requires some additional commentary in any case. Within consonantal changes, Karlgren put the devoicing of formerly voiced consonants in the initial position. This change involved a considerably large area of Chinese, including the majority of the southern languages (even if with varying consequences). This devoicing phenomenon did not take place only in the region of the Wu languages. The guttural voiced g’- and γ- became k’- or k- and x-. Thus, in the period’s early phase the Middle Chinese inventory k-, k’-, g’-, ng-, x-, γ- was reduced to k-, k’-, ng-, x-. Over time, this inventory underwent further modifications. The initial backlingual ng- first underwent reduction before certain vowels (i, u, ü), and then much later also disappeared before other vowels (a, o). Traces of the initial consonant (weakly articulated y) survived until quite recently in the Beijing dialect – and not in the entire Mandarin language area (e.g., it did not take place in the Xi’an dialect). Next, k-, k’-, x- underwent palatalization in front of i and ü to transform into tś-, tś’-, ś-. This change also did not affect all Mandarin languages, although the range of the change was considerable. For the chronology of the phonetic changes, it is important to remember that the palatalization of gutturals took place after the vowel inventory expanded to include ü, because the very process of palatalization was exactly the same before i and ü. These phonetic changes clearly show that establishing the relative chronology of these changes is crucial and has nothing in common with absolute chronology, as we are today unable to determine the exact epoch in which the described changes took place.

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Even more complicated changes affected the series of palatal consonants in the initial position. Middle Chinese had the following soft consonants: t-, t’-, d’-, tś-, tś’-, dź’-, ś-, ź-, and ń-, ńź-, j-. Under the influence of the devoicing laws, d’-, dź’-, ź- disappeared. First, soft stops turned into palatal stops: t- > tś-, t’- > tś’-, d’- > dź’- (i.e., t-, t’-, d’disappeared from the inventory). Later, under the influence of the devoicing laws, the voiced consonants (dź’- and ź-) disappeared from the system (dź’- > tś’ and ź- > ś-). Later still, all the tś- turned into the supradental tṣ-. These changes expanded homophonization, which can easily be exemplified with the Middle Chinese t’iang, d’iang, ts’iang, źiang, which were all reduced to tṣ’ang (t’iang, d’iang, ts’iang, źiang > tṣ’ang). One important remark needs to be added to this very simplified information on the evolution of the consonantal system: The course of the evolution was the same with different tones. Thus, the Middle Chinese d’iang in level tone became tṣ’ang, but in contour tone it resulted in the regular tṣang; dź’ieng in level tone became either tṣ’eng or ṣeng, and in contour tones always ṣeng. To avoid complicating matters, the reader is spared any further details. I will limit myself to stating that such differences do exist and that they affect more than the category of consonants in the initial position. Differences in tone, generally, decided whether or not a consonant would become aspirated or not through linguistic evolution. Of the remaining three palatal consonants, ń- lost its palatalization (> n-), jremained unchanged, and ńź- underwent an extremely complicated process of evolution that can best be illustrated with the Middle Chinese syllable ńźi > żi > żi > ż > eż > er. The latter change is above all characteristic of the northeastern areas of the Mandarin language. The development of dental consonants was parallel to that of the palatal consonants. From the Middle Chinese series t-, t’-, d’-, ts-, ts’-, dz’-, s-, z-, n-, l, the devoicing law eliminated d’- > t’- or t- (depending on tone), dz’- > ts’- or ts- (depending on tone), and z- > s- or ts’- or ś- (also depending on tone). Next, all affricates underwent palatalization, ultimately forming the series tś-, tś’-, ś-. This process of palatalization – similarly to that involving the gutturals mentioned above – is characteristic for a certain territory, primarily the Beijing neighborhood, but it did not take place at all in other vast Mandarin language territories. The series of Middle Chinese supradentals tṣ-, tṣ’-, dï’-, ṣ- underwent two changes: First, the voiced consonant was lost (dï’- > tṣ’- or tṣ-, depending on tone), and second, supradentals preceding a narrow e (independently of its origin) underwent dentalization (tṣ- > ts- and ṣ- > s-). The reduction and simplification of the system is evident when we realize that twelve Middle Chinese consonants of this category in the initial position were in Modern Standard Chinese replaced by only three: tṣ-, tṣ’-, and ṣ-. One further phenomenon must be mentioned here that, although it does not belong to the standard pan-Chinese language, is quite typical of relatively large areas of northern Chinese: the complete dentalization of supradentals (with the

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exception or r-). The phenomenon is closely related to the one described above and continues the same course of development. It is possible that it will become a norm in the future; even today, it is not being treated as erroneous or incorrect. It is a further step towards the simplification of the phonological system of northern Mandarin Chinese – by elimination of the oppositions – z : zh, c : ch, and s : sh, reducing the number of consonants from six to three. From the formal point of view, it is currently a dialectal feature. A similar reduction can be observed in the case of labial consonants: The devoicing of b’- > p’- or p- (depending on tone) reduced the series to three consonants: p-, p’-, m-. Simultaneously, the influence of the palatal -i- and the labial -wproduced various labiodental consonants that ultimately resulted in the MSC initial f- and w- (*piwang > fwang > fang; p’iwang > f’wang > fang; b’iwang > vwang > fang; miwang > mvwang > wang). Middle Chinese also had two glottal stops preceding the initial j- and i-. In some cases, these stops disappeared; in others, they remained in the form of strong preiotization (the appearance of the /j/ sound before a vowel at the start of a word). These were not all changes in consonantism that took place in the period between the Tang dynasty and the 20th century. Others important changes included the disappearance of the final -p, -t, -k, which was related to the rusheng tone and caused many changes in the tonal system leading to its simplification. Another, later change caused less confusion – the replacement of the final -m with -n (-m > -n). It was a fragment of the general tendency to eliminate nasal liquids in the final position. This change also did not take place in the entire territory of the northern ethnolects, although in some areas it went further than in Pekinese, leading to the reduction of final consonants to only one, -ng (for example in the Taiyuan language). The numerous other changes in the vocalic subsystem included the emergence, as the result of many processes, of the vowel ü (cf., e.g., *iwo > ü, *iu > ü, etc.). As an overall result of these vocalic alternations, the inventory of MSC vowels today is a, e, i, o, u, ü (plus a number of their positional variants), with a limited number of diphthongs and triphthongs. All these processes and changes shaped a relatively simple system, one of the simplest among modern Sinitic languages. The inventory of MSC initial consonants is as follows (the presentation follows the traditional order with phonetic notation found in literature, while the widely used pinyin transliteration equivalents are provided in bold in the parentheses): p (b), p’ (p), m (m), f (f), t (d), t’ (t), n (n), l (l), ts (z), ts’ (c), s (s), ts (zh), ts’ (ch), s (sh), z (r) tś (j), tś’ (q), ś (x), k (g), k’ (k), h (h).

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It is a system without voiced consonants (apart from oral and nasal liquids and r) and, instead, with a regular opposition between non-aspirated and aspirated consonants. This opposition functions parallel to the voiced/voiceless opposition of many other languages; the Chinese voiced r is not equivalent to the voiceless sh, and all liquids are voiced. The application of symbols as a rule noting voiced and voiceless sounds to imply, in this case, non-aspirated and aspirated sounds to the pinyin transliteration, now widely in use, was motivated by typographic simplicity (the use of the apostrophe to denote aspiration was considered more complicated). It should be added, however, that non-aspirated consonants are phonetically (but not phonologically) slightly voiced (and so defined by some authors as “semi-voiced”) and in certain, e.g., intervocalic, contexts they are subject to strong voicing. These circumstances result in their frequent (and obviously incorrect) voiced pronunciation in all positions, even among Sinology students. Only two nasal liquids – n (n) and n (ng) – and the retroflex consonant r (r) preceded by a prothetic e (i.e., only in the syllable er) can appear in the final syllable position. Phonetically, the final -r is not identical with the initial r-. We have to correct here a misunderstanding resulting from the transliteration. The initial r- is articulated a little higher than the Polish ż ([þ]) and also higher than the Chinese sh- (which is why it is not considered a voiced equivalent of sh-). The final -r is articulated with the entire mass of the tongue trilling, particularly intensively in its back part. It actually is a liquid that has nothing in common with the initial r-. Since -er is a frequent suffix in Pekinese, the language features many words and forms ending in -r and consequently, so does Standard Chinese. A detailed presentation of the problem must be left out, however, from this discussion. Nevertheless, it may be of interest that a dictionary of formations ending in -r in Pekinese (which is not the same as Modern Standard Chinese) published in 1990 (Beijinghua erhua cidian) constitutes a volume of 646 pages. The MSC vowel inventory is as follows: a (a), i (i), ü (ü or u), o (o), e (e), u (u). In the initial position, all vowels (except for a) are diphthongized, i.e., preceded by a weak semivowel – an iota in the case of i and ü (preiotation), u (written w) in the case of u and o (prelabialization), and a sound close to the Polish y ([ɨ]) in the case of e. Diphthongs, i.e., sequences of two vowels in one syllable, are as follows: rising: ia, ie, ua, uo, üe, falling: ao, ai, ou, ei. Besides, there are two diphthongs that are pronounced like triphthongs because the transitional vowels -o- and -e- are regularly inserted between the two diphthong vowels. Hence we have: iu > iou and ui > uei. Not every diphthong can precede final consonants, but it would be a little difficult to provide details in this concise description.

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There are only two MSC triphthongs: iao and uai. An important property of both the triphthongs as well as triphthongized diphthongs is that they never precede final consonants, i.e., they occur only in open syllables. The suffix -er, originally a diminutive marker borrowed from Pekinese and later used and overused in many situations, is characteristic of the continental variant of contemporary Chinese. This suffix merges – in accordance with established principles – with syllables preceding it, resulting in derivative (“secondary”) syllables ending in -r. While this considerably increases the number of 420 “model” syllables recognized for the language, it does not affect our line of argument. The merger of -er with particular syllables occurs inside the syllable, cf., e.g.: gai + er > gar, men + -er > mer, kuai + -er > kuar, xi + -er > xier. Thus, both the root and the suffix are recognizable within one syllable – and this precludes the argument about the exclusively syllabic nature of the contemporary Chinese language. The frequency of this phenomenon in turn precludes treating it as marginal or of secondary importance. Therefore the opinion of some specialists, Chmielewski included, that the archaic internal syllabic morphology was replaced by pure syllabic morphology simply does not hold true. What changed were proportions, and not only in this case. Phonetically, the merger with the suffix -er leads not only to the origin of a whole series of syllables ending in the consonant -r, but also to the origin of strongly nasalized vowels (e.g., a, e, u), the nasalization originating in the dropped -ng. This phenomenon is important, because in the entire history of the Chinese language there were no nasal vowels, or at least no phonological oppositions involving nasality. They have only recently appeared in Pekinese, and under its influence also in the continental variant of Modern Standard Chinese, cf.: far (< fa + er) : fa+r (< fang + er) or ger (< ge + er) : ge+r (< geng + er) or still gur (< gu + er) : gu+r (< gong + er). Hu Bingzhong drew our attention to this aspect of nasalization (though not in terms of phonological oppositions) in an article published in 1983 (pp. 56-60). This process of “er-ization” (i.e., suffixation of a nonsyllabic r to nouns and sometimes verbs) shall be left out of our discussion, although I will refer to it on various levels of this analysis. A few words more must be said about the tones prior to reaching the conclusion on MSC phonetics. Modern Standard Chinese has one of the simplest tone systems of all contemporary Sinitic languages. Phonologically, there are only four of them, and they are clearly and sharply contrasting. Some theoretical information, however, is needed because other tone systems are much more complicated. As is well known, each syllable of the contemporary Chinese language (as in ancient times, the middle ages, and all other Sinitic languages in existence today) carries its tone – and only in this combination (i.e., syllable plus tone) does it constitute a unit of the language. From the point of view of linguistic analysis,

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tones are suprasegmentals, i.e., elements without “their own” time segments, sharing this time with the phonemes constituting syllables. It is not the peaksonority syllabic vowel but the entire syllable (minus the initial consonant) that constitutes the tone carrier (vehicle). A fairly complicated problem results from this tone property that was just mentioned – that of the tone length. It is obvious that since syllables are of a different length, the length of co-existing tones must also vary. The triphthong iao is naturally articulated longer than the vowel -i- alone, so the same tone with this triphthong is realized in a longer form than when it occurs only with the single vowel. There is actually some reciprocation here, since certain tones are realized in a longer form than others. Phonetically, these relations are of importance, although they are phonemically irrelevant. The fact that most contemporary Sinitic languages do not have the phonological opposition of length (short–long) simplifies the matter. From this point of view, e.g., languages of the Yue group in which the vowel length contrast does exist (cf.: fan4 [sleep, go to bed]: fa:n3 [peddle, trade, deal in] or fat1 [no (neglect)]: fa:t3 [law]), are complicated; this problem will also be left out of this discussion. Furthermore, in many Sinitic languages shortened tones appear alongside “normal-length” tones. Among Mandarin languages, such tones can be found, e.g., in languages of Nanjing (5) or Taiyuan (2). In languages in which two identical tones differing only in length exist, it is this length difference that is phonologically relevant. This is the case in the Meixian language of the Hakka group, which features the level tones /44/ and /4/, and /11/ and /1/. The tonal system of a language in which one register includes all the tones is relatively easy to describe. However, some languages possess two registers (or even three, but not in Sinitic languages), like those of the Yue group. In such cases, both registers do not have definite pitch limits – after all, it would be difficult for different voices to adhere to them. Instead, the upper and lower registers are separated by “an empty belt” spreading between definite frequency values, usually about 120 Hz. In each register, tones are noted on a five-grade (pentatonic) scale that is consecutively numbered upwards; this notation was proposed by a prominent Chinese linguist who was active in the USA, Chao Yuen-ren (Zhao Yuanren [1892–1982]; 1968). For the notation of level, the rising and falling tones as well the initial and final positions on the scale are provided. For example, the notation 55 implies a tone that starts and ends on the highest level. This makes it a level tone – a tone that starts and ends on the same level. The notation 35, in turn, implies a tone that starts on the middle level and ends on the highest level. It is a rising tone – a tone that starts on a lower level than the level on which it ends. Finally, the notation 51 refers to a tone that starts on the highest level and ends on the lowest level. It is a falling tone. The notation of contour tones (also called “waving” or “broken” tones) also requires the “turning point” to be indicated. Thus, the notation 214 first falls from Level Two to Level One, then rises to end on Level Four. Tones of this

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type are called falling-rising tones. Contour tones occur in an abundance of types. Apart from falling-rising tones, there exist also rising-falling (e.g., 151), levelfalling (e.g., 331), and other subtypes. The four tones of Pekinese and Modern Standard Chinese are well structured, for they differ by inflection, which plays the fundamental function of differentiation in the phonological plane. Therefore, it is sufficient to refer to them as level, rising, falling, and contour tones. Apart from tone, there exist two more suprasegmental features, namely the stress accent and sentence intonation. The former emphasizes (or does not emphasize) a syllable, the latter is a layer imposed on a longer segment constituting a unit of utterance. In Modern Standard Chinese, the stress accent is not limited to the opposition stressed–unstressed. At least three degrees of stress exist: strong, weaker, and the weakest. In addition, syllables can, of course, occur in an unstressed form. In the tri-syllabic word huashengtang (peanuts in sugar), the first syllable is weakly stressed, the second syllable bears the weakest stress, and the last syllable is marked with the strong stress. Where the stress falls depends on the etymology of individual words. In some marginal cases, the strong stress differentiates words that are otherwise identical as far as sound sequence and tone are concerned, cf., e.g., xíngli (salute) versus xíngli (luggage). So far, I have hardly addressed intonation. Doubtlessly, however, in speech it can play a distinctive function differentiating between statements, interrogative, and imperative sentences. Both intonation and stress (or their absences) do influence the production and course of tones (or rather tonemes). The space limit again does not allow any detailed discussion or description of these complicated interrelations. In Modern Standard Chinese, one of the results of the stress accent is the appearance of the so-called neutral tone in unaccented syllables. However, one must be aware that this neutral tone does not imply the lack of tone or its shortness: In fact, it is a strongly reduced tone with a determined degree of highness depending not on the tone specific to the syllable in question, but on the tone of the preceding stressed syllable. This is far from simple and the nuances may be hardly perceivable to the ear of the average European. For a Chinese person, though, it is obvious that the neutral tone in MSC is produced on Level Two of the pitch of the neutral tone when it follows the even tone, on Level Three when it follows the rising tone, on Level Four when it follows the fall-rise contour tone, and on Level One when it follows the falling tone. In addition, there exists a tonal sandhi, an assimilation of neighboring tones; e.g., in the case of two consecutive syllables with the same falling tone, the fall in the preceding syllable reaches only half of the fall, while in the following syllable the fall is complete. Thus, the MSC expression zaijian (goodbye) includes two falling tones: 51 + 51 > 53 + 51. As seen, the tonal variant 53 occurs in the first syllable, although it does not appear with this particular syllable when uttered separately. The fall-rise contour tone also has certain contextual (combinatorial) variants: When preceding the level, rising, and falling tones, it is realized as 21, and when

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preceding a syllable with the same tone, it changes into the rise 35. From the phonetic point of view, we detect that the tone 21 does not occur in isolation at all. One can thus conclude from the above that tonal assimilations in contemporary Chinese are regressive in character (what precedes is influenced by what follows). This rule of regressive assimilation also concerns sounds (cf., e.g., ganbei [drink a toast] > gambei). The phenomenon of progressive assimilations takes place exclusively in the case of neutral tones depending on the tones in preceding syllables. The system of MSC tonal sandhi is one of the simplest, especially in comparison with other known Chinese languages: From the phonemic point of view, there are only four tones in Modern Standard Chinese (55, 35, 214, and 51), but phonetically the number of tones is six, since two more falling tones have to be added: 53 and 21. The system contains a total of three falling tones – 51, 53, and 21 – but they are strongly contrasting, because each runs through a different number of scale positions and thus differs by its diapason. In order to conclude the discussion of the problem of describing tonal systems, it should perhaps be added that there exist also systems in which contrasts between tonemes are limited to their highness, as in the case of the level tones 55 and 33, or the rises 35 and 13. More complicated systems also exist in which, apart from inflection, certain elements differ in diapason, others in highness. After these extended phonetic commentaries and remarks which sprang up out of necessity and will be referred to in a further discussion, the time has now come for a concise characterization of the morphology of the language under description. It is a morphology that includes certain elements of intrasyllabic morphology. However, as this morphology does not consist of remnants of the past structure of that type, one can justifiably speak of the new intrasyllabic morphology. In spite of its ancient roots (the diminutive suffix -er is known to us from the pre-Tang times), this morphology is a relatively recent phenomenon. It differs from that ancient one in our awareness of its origin in the contraction of syllabic units. The same cannot be said about the ancient morphology. For example, the opposition activum–causativum (see examples on p. 72) cannot be interpreted in the same way, even though clear cases of syllable contraction (the merger of two syllables into one) existed even in the most ancient epochs of the language (cf. examples on p. 76). Nevertheless, it seems irresistible to formulate a (very tempting) theory according to which two contradictory forces, namely a contraction reducing two syllables to one and dimidiation breaking one syllable into two, played the decisive role in the history of Chinese language morphology. The intermittent influence of these two forces led to the constant renewal of morphological processes in accordance with eternal principles, existing despite the “victory” of the syllabic morphology. No fundamental differences exist between morphology sensu stricto, i.e., the formation of dependent grammatical forms, and word formation, i.e., creation of new words. It is a heritage of the most ancient past: There was no such differentiation in Archaic Chinese and the gradual transition to syllabic morphology did

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not alter anything in this respect. In contemporary Chinese, the burden of morphological processes (above all, but not exclusively, the sensu stricto) rests with the morphology of the agglutinative type based on single-function syllabic affixes, units which in compounds succumb to established rules of consecutiveness. A simple example suffices to demonstrate this: The plural form of a personal pronoun is formed with the suffixal -men (wo > women, ni > nimen, ta > tamen); the possessive form is formed with the suffixal -de (wo> wode, ni > nide, ta > tade). The plural suffix, however, must always precede the possessive suffix; hence, the only possible forms of the possessive plural forms are womende, nimende, and tamende. This morphology is based on suffixes but prefixal forms also occur, though in a smaller quantity. Prefixes are the basis for adjectival comparison, cf. hao (good) > henhao (very good) > zuihao (the best) or the formation of ordinal numbers, cf. yi (one) > diyi (the first), er (two) > di’er (the second). The entire aspectual-temporal system of verbs is based on suffixes. The majority of these suffixes originated from resultative exponents of old resultative structures, cf. chile (have eaten), in Polish “zjeść” (< eat + “complete” [eating]), or chiguo (used to eat), in Polish “jadać” (< eat + through certain time). The kinship of such forms with postpositional determination (a different interpretation of resultative structures) becomes fully evident in expressions of the type chi yici (eat once) and chi haojici (eat many times), in which resultative interpretation is impossible. And the question of whether infixes exist or not depends only on the interpretation of the structures in which one could look for them. Potential forms could be of resultative construction. Such structures consist of a verb and following it a verbal or adjectival element implying the result, cf. dasi (to kill; lit.: to strike so strongly that someone dies in consequence) or chibao (to eat one’s fill; lit.: to eat so much that one feels satisfied). The affirmative potential forms of such resultative structures are formed with the insertion of -de-, and their negative correspondents – with the insertion of -bu- between the two components of the compound, cf. dasi > dadesi or dabusi (to kill > to be able/potent to kill > cannot, to be unable to kill); chibao > chidebao or chibubao (to eat > to eat one’s fill > to be/not to be in the position to eat one’s fill). In such contexts, it is possible to treat both inserted elements as infix exponents of potential forms (i.e., of potentiality). If, however, the so-called resultative elements are interpreted as postpositional determinants (considerably simplifying the description), one can deny the very existence of infixation – and I am inclined to accept this interpretation on the grounds of the methodological superiority of simplicity. This general characterization of the syllabic morphology of the contemporary Chinese language seems sufficient for the aims of the present discussion. A few words should, nevertheless, be devoted to word formation also being based on affixes, predominantly suffixes, although an important role is played here by the compounding of, usually monosyllabic, semantemes (elements with independent non-categorical semantics).

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The compounding of monosyllabic, meaningful elements is the source of the major part of the contemporary lexicon (in which disyllabic compounds are statistically dominating). The rules of this compounding are of a syntactic nature because the oldest disyllabic compounds preserved to our times constituted syntactic groups (syntagemes) in Archaic Chinese (cf., e.g., yishang: clothes, garments in general < upper [yi] and lower [shang (chang)] garments – a coordination of two archaic independent words occurring already in ancient texts). Other words that lack such a long history were – and continue to be – coined on the same principles of coordination, determination, government (rection as the relationship between a word and its dependents), etc. Statistically, determinative structures prevail today, and contemporary words containing suffixes also have their origin in determinative structures. It is hardly possible to discuss here all the types of words constituting the contemporary Chinese lexicon, but certain typical examples should be provided, starting from the lexemes coined by means of coordination that can be synonymic as well as antonymic. The typical examples of synonymic coordination include the following: xiongdi (brothers: < elder and younger brother), jiemei (sisters: < elder and younger sister). Antonymic coordination often results in abstract notions, cf.: daxiao (size: < big and small), changduan (length: < long and short). Examples of determinative structures are abundant and easy to find: wendu (temperature: < degree [of] warmth), daxue (university: < big school), feiji (airplane: < fly[ing] machine), huoche (train: < fire vehicle). Government structures include ones in which the degree of mutual adhesion of both elements is lower than in the examples provided above. In these, the constituents are absolutely inseparable. The language’s tendency to use disyllabic units of expression is, however, so strong that many verbs occur with “empty” objects, i.e., ones that are deprived of meaning and whose only function is to complement the structure to become disyllabic. Such “empty” objects can, if need be, be replaced with regular “full” objects, cf.: Xiezi (to write: < write [Chinese] character[s] – where the word “character[s]” is an “empty” object); xiexin (to write a letter – where xin is the object, here with the meaning of “a letter”). It is worth adding that both “empty” and “full” objects can be separated from the verb with a related determinant. Thus, if the inseparability of a structure’s elements were to be accepted as a condition for treating it as a whole (i.e., as one

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unit), one would have to admit that such structures are not words, but syntactic formations. It is clear, however, that such rigorous treatment of this issue is methodologically unnecessary. German prefixed verbs, for instance, can also be separable (cf. einsteigen [to get in / to get on / to step in etc.] > steigen … ein), but they are treated as one unit. Since all disputes around this matter result from a misunderstanding, they deserve no further comment. Roughly speaking, many seemingly disputable issues can easily be solved by differentiating between completely free units and units with separable bound morphemes for either of these two functions in a different way. Much more significant is the fact that basic structures can accumulate (to tower, pile up) within the framework of one word, as this feature is also very important in other planes (or on other levels) of linguistic analysis. In word formation, it is the “towered” determinative structures that prevail, as seen in the following examples: wendubiao (thermometer; the determinative structure wendu in which wen [warmth] determines the du [degree] as a whole serves as a determinant for biao [indicator]; thus, the entire word literally means “an indicator of the degree of warmth”); reshuiping (thermos flask; the determinative structure in which re [hot] determines shui [water], and both as one whole constitute a determinant for ping [bottle, flask]; thus, literally, “a bottle/flask for hot water”). There are also other structures, such as: nuanhuoping (hot-water bottle for warming up; the determinative structure in which nuan [warm] and huo [pleasant] in coordination serve as a determinant for ping [bottle], hence – “warm and pleasant bottle”); wanichuan (scoop dredger; the determinative structure in which wa [dig] and ni [mud] form a government structure to serve as a determinant for the noun chuan [boat, vessel]). Among words constructed in such a way, some structures have prefixes while others have suffixes. The most popular prefix-like elements in use today include fan- (anti-, counter-; e.g., fangeming [counterrevolutionary]), chao- (over, super-, ultra-; e.g., chaoxianshizhuyi [surrealism], and chaoyinsu [supersonic velocity]). This last element frequently occurs in the disyllabic compound chaoji, as in chaojishichang (supermarket). The examples above include the Chinese word for surrealism, which contains not only the prefix-like element chao-, but also the suffix-like element -zhuyi (-ism), constructed with genuine Chinese elements, but by the Japanese. Foreign language borrowings today play a significant role in contemporary Sinitic languages in general. Borrowings from Japanese take a special place, because they enter Sinitic languages through the medium of the script and, read with Chinese pronunciation, they interblend with elements of the target language and become unnoticeable.

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The majority of nominal affixes are simply suffixes and constitute a significantly large group, although they are very heterogenic. They differ between themselves in the first place by the degree of their formalization, which became the object of study of the Czech scholar Zdenka Heřmanová-Novotná many years ago (1969). Assuming a strictly rigorous point of view, the group should be quite small since only such elements that have been deprived of their basic meaning and certain other important properties like stress accent and, consequently, also tone, could be classified as affixes. However, Contemporary Standard Chinese, contains many such elements whose degree of formalization or morphologization is much smaller: Their function is almost formal, but they are often stressed and preserve their particular tone. Therefore, the Czech scholar refers to them as “affix-like” and precisely differentiates between the degrees of their morphologization. Thus, what we have is a spectrum of affixes and “affix-like” elements, starting from typical affixes such as -zi, which are always produced with the neutral note and are inseparable from word roots, through elements such as wu- (without, un-, in-, non-, -less; e.g., wugui dianche [trolley bus, lit.: “without rails streetcar,” tram], a term patterned on words like wubi [incomparable] or wuming [nameless]), with the prefix derived from the old verb with the meaning “not have,” to elements like biao – a monosyllabic independent word (with nominal meanings “model, pattern, list, meter,” etc.), which appear as pseudo-suffixes in terms such as wendubiao (thermometer; pronounced with its particular tone retained) and in many other compound words in which they function as categorical exponents of the meaning “-meter.” Further details would take up too much space – a mere list of this type’s word formation elements would extend over many pages. It suffices to conclude that from the point of view of linguistics one has to do with the process of the emergence of word-formation morphology based on syllabic formal elements. This emergent phase is particularly valuable for a linguist and is observable and easy to document. It is, of course, impossible to write about the morphology of the contemporary Chinese language while only marginally mentioning the category of verb, as I have done so far. The verbal system has at its disposal a number of suffixes that are aspectual or temporal-aspectual, as it is sometimes said, in nature. The most characteristic of these is -le, descended from the verb liao (finish, end, complete) and functioning as the exponent of the perfective aspect which must by no means be confused with the categorical past tense. For a Chinese person, the perfective aspect can well be used in describing future situations, if such a certainty takes place, cf.: Wo mingtian laile – “I shall have come tomorrow” (the perfective aspect expresses the certainty that the act will be completed).

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The imperfective aspect, close in character to the optative, is marked with modal verbs meaning “wish, want,” such as yao. As a rule, these precede the main verb: Ta mingtian yao lai – “He will come tomorrow” (i.e., he wants to come tomorrow). Thus, on the one hand one has to deal with a system of suffixes – apart from the -le mentioned above, there exist also -zhe to mark durativeness, -guo to mark iterativeness, and others. On the other hand, one is faced with a relatively large group of prepositional modal verbs – such as yao [want], yuanyi [wish, desire], xu [must, have to], and keyi [may, can]. All this mingles with a specific system of negation (with its exponent preceding the verb) that is based on the opposition between bu, used in relation to the present or future, and mei, used in relation to the past, cf.: Ta yiding bu lai – “He will surely not come,” but Ta dangran mei lai – “Of course, he did not come.” In addition, a system indicating the direction of the action described in relation to the speaker should be here mentioned again. It is complicated for us and based on postpositional directional verbs, both simple and compound. Here are some examples: The verb jin (enter) is in its basic form negative as far as direction is concerned. The use of the postpositional -lai categorically implies direction “toward the speaker,” while the use of -qu implies the opposite direction. Thus, jinlai means “enter toward the speaker” and jinqu means “enter in the direction opposing the speaker.” The latter equals, from our point of view, the meaning of the verb “go out,” but a Chinese speaker would consider it important not that someone left, went out (i.e., disappeared from our sight), but that he “entered the place where the speaker is not present at the moment.” Interestingly, this often corresponds to the use of prefixes in Slavic languages, cf.: nalai – Polish: “przynieść” (to bring): naqu – Polish: “wynieść” (take, carry away) and paolai – Polish: “przybiec” (to run to): paoqu – Polish: “odbiec” (to run away). Nevertheless, one must remember that these are chiefly directional constructions. Postpositional directional elements, however, frequently merge into disyllabic clusters specifying direction more precisely, cf.: paoshang (run upward) can be modified into paoshanglai (run upward toward the speaker) paoshangqu (run upward away from the speaker), and similarly paoxia (run downward) can be modified into paoxialai (run downward toward the speaker), or paoxiaqu (run downwards away from the speaker).

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As a result, we obtain a complicated and simultaneously precise system of indicating the direction of the described action, that is crucial and obligatory, not facultative, for a native Chinese speaker. Moreover, certain indicators of direction in particular contexts also assume aspectual meanings, neglecting directional meanings, cf.: Qing ni ba zhege zi xiexialai – “Please, write this character” (not: *“Please, write downwards and towards the speaker”). To conclude this discussion of morphology and word formation, let us reach a higher level of generalization and observe that a detailed study of the processes occurring in Modern Standard Chinese presented here is insofar important as this language has certain peculiar features that do not occur (or occur to a lesser degree) in other Sinitic languages spoken today. These features include the neutral tone resulting from the developed stress accentuation. Modern Standard Chinese thus presently bears a harbinger of future developments, or at least one important path for future evolution. It is on the path towards a further development of syllabic morphology – a path that the Sinitic languages stepped on a very long time ago and, as can be seen, follow slowly but consistently. Below I will make a concise presentation of contemporary standard Chinese syntax. It is surely an extremely complicated matter, because generalizations concerning tendencies in syntactic development are much more difficult. Scholars traditionally maintain that Modern Standard Chinese is a language with prepositional determination and a fixed word order in simple sentences based on the Subject-Verb(Predicate)-Object (SVO) sequence of basic sentence constituents. While this is true in a sense, the problem lies not in linguistic facts, but in linguistic interpretations. The very initial stage confronts us with the basic question in the sphere of interpretation: Is the grammatical object really an independent and basic element of a sentence, i.e., the third one, or is it not so, i.e., it constitutes only a part of the verb/predicate. Thus: Is a simple sentence with a verbal predicate bipartite or tripartite? Strictly speaking, only sentences with transitive verbs as predicates can be interpreted as tripartite. Meanwhile, sentences with intransitive or adjectival predicates resist tripartite interpretation. In the latter case, one reason for this is that in Modern Standard Chinese the copula is etymologically a demonstrative pronoun and thus has nothing in common with the verb. Is it, therefore, worth complicating a description by introducing the tripartite scheme of sentences only to conclude that this scheme does not apply to many basic sentence types? Such is the practice. On the other hand, if the conclusion be that the interpretation of simple sentences as bipartite is methodologically more correct (because it is simpler), the following question remains: What is then the grammatical object? The simplest answer – although one that is perhaps unacceptable to traditionalists – is postulating that the object constitutes a sort of determinant in relation to the verb. This conclusion is supported by the fact that every determination narrows whatever is

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determined. The same applies to the sentence object: It limits the described situation to focus on the object in question. Therefore, the object following the predicate constitutes a determinant for the latter, and in this light the contemporary Chinese language appears to be a language with the basic constituent order Subject-Predicate and with the prepositional and postpositional determination with the determination order fixed. In this respect, it is a mixed language, i.e., one that cannot be classified either among those with prepositional determination or among those with postpositional determination. This conclusion distances us even further from the possibility of seeking kinship ties between Chinese and other languages of the region – as I have signalled elsewhere in this book. Confining this discussion to the object, one has to observe that in Modern Standard Chinese its position after the verb is not obligatory. Putting the existence of various cases of inversion (e.g., for emphatic purposes) aside, one has to admit that Modern Standard Chinese contains some objects that can be positioned only before the verb. Others, meanwhile, can precede or follow the verb. Cf. some simple examples: Wo ba zheben shu maile – “I (have) bought this book” – here the object, introduced by the formal element ba, must precede the verb; wo yijing gei ni maile or wo yijing maile gei ni – “I bought already for you” – here the indirect object introduced by gei can precede or follow the verb; Wo maile yiben shu – “I bought one book” – here the simple object (i.e., not preceded by any element introducing it) follows the verb. The majority of such constructions can be explained on historical grounds: Formal elements introducing the object in the examples quoted above have a verbal origin, so the objects following them were originally objects to these verbs and the entire construction is the coordination of two predicates (etymologically, “I took this book and bought [it]”) which can also be interpreted as a determinative structure (“I taking this book bought [it]”). The present state is thus the result of a relatively long evolution that exceeds the present scope. At this point, the logic of this argumentation would require a discussion of simple sentences followed by one concerning compound sentences, especially those including subordinate clauses. In order to refer to what was said about MSC word order, however, we will reverse this procedure, i.e., begin with compound sentences, since what must be said about subordinate compound sentences is directly related to the problem of ordering. In MSC syntax, the shaping of the entire system of compound sentences is particularly important. As mentioned above, the predominance of parataxis over hypotaxis was characteristic of the AC language in the first place. The sentences interpreted by us as coordinate or subordinate occurred most frequently without any formal exponents of these relations, thereby remaining sequences of simple sentences. Basic types of subordinate sentences (conditional, purposive, causal,

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concessive, etc. – and this is but a very simplified classification of compound sentences) were in the past occasionally only marked with formal exponents that either preceded the subordinate clause or introduced the main clause. The contemporary national language has developed a consistent system of the formation of compound sentences. Such sentences appear much more frequently in texts than in times past. Thus, one has to deal both with a larger number of formal (often isofunctional) elements and with the more frequent occurrence of particular constructions, especially in the language’s written form. The same difference concerns formal exponents: Not all formal exponents that appear in the written language occur also in the colloquial idiom. From the viewpoint of the general characteristics of the language (which is our aim), the order of the subordinative and main clauses is of particular importance. Both orders – subordinative-main and main-subordinative – turn out to be possible among the basic types of subordinate compound sentences. The MSC specialist Vladimir Ivanovich Gorelov, who is little known outside of his country of Russia, sees no room for doubt here. It is from his grammar of Chinese (1982, pp. 199, 201, 206, 209, 213, 221, 230, and 234) that the examples below are quoted. 1. Purposive clause: a. Weile shi dajia chedi liaojie, rang women zai juchu liangge lizi – “So that everybody understands, let me allow myself to give two more examples.” The subordinate clause introduced by the two formal exponents weile and shi precedes the main clause. b. Zhidaoyuan guyi ba shengyin tigao, hao rang dajia tingjian – “The instructor purposely raised his voice so that everyone could hear.” The main clause here precedes the subordinate clause introduced by two formal elements hao and rang. When the subordinate clause precedes the main clause or when the subordinate clause follows the main clause, the formal elements that are used can be different or only partly identical. The formal aspects of such linguistic co-occurrence of the former with the latter also differ. However, we must leave such details out of our discussion. 2. Causal sentences: a. Yinwei jintian tianqi henhao, suoyi women dao chengwai qu – “As the weather is nice today, we will go to the countryside.” The subordinate clause introduced by yinwei precedes the main clause introduced by suoyi. b. Women jintian bu dao chengwai qu, yinwei tianqi buhao – “Today we will not go to the countryside, because the weather is bad.” The main clause precedes the subordinate clause introduced by yinwei. 3. Conditional sentence:

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a. Ruguo dajia dou tongyi, name women mashang jiu dongshen – “If all agree, we’ll start immediately.” The subordinate clause introduced by ruguo precedes the main clause introduced by name. b. Ni bian bu neng bu qule, ruoshi ta bu qu – “You have to go, the more so because he does not go.” The main clause precedes the conditional clause introduced by ruoshi. 4. Concessive sentence: a. Suiran huanjingde guanxi henda, dan huanjing ye shi renzaode – “Although external conditions are important, they also are created by men.” The subordinate clause introduced by suiran precedes the main clause. b. Ta bu gan kan fuqinde yanjing, suiran na yanguang yijiu shi wenhede – “He did not dare to look at his father’s eyes, even though these eyes were looking as mildly as in the past.” The subordinate clause introduced by suiran follows the main clause. A similar situation is found with other types and subtypes of compound sentences. Even if it is obvious that one order can be more frequent than another – one being characteristic of some particular subtype of the language and another typical of another variant of the language – the most important point is that, as far as the compound sentence structures with subordinate clauses are concerned, Modern Standard Chinese allows both prepositional and postpositional constructions. Thus, the language cannot be classified as one with a strict word order. Furthermore, it is equally obvious that neither it is a language with a free word order (whatever this notion could imply). Accordingly, my understanding of the Chinese language – in its ancient or contemporary form – as a language with a mixed word order is not due to the lack of a better label, nor to any desire to dissociate myself from the existing habits or a reluctance to coin new terminology. One more issue remains that it is important for the general characteristics of the MSC syntax. The language preserved a peculiar ability, so typical of its past stages of evolution, to treat certain compound structures as parts of structures of higher ranking, which results in situations when such a higher-rank structure, which is syntactically a simple sentence, includes – as one of its constituents – a structure that by itself is actually a simple sentence as well. Such sentences, as a rule, become compound sentences in translations, cf., e.g.: Ta bu lai shi yijian guaishi – “[The fact] that he does not come is strange.” The subject of this copula-including sentence (of the type A shi B [A is B]) is ta bu lai, a simple sentence with ta [he] as its own subject while the intransitive verb lai preceded by the exponent of negative bu is its predicate – bu lai [does not come]. At times, a relatively long and structurally complicated sentence can serve as a subject:

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Zhongguo renmin jianlile renmin gongheguo shi you lishi yiyide shibian – “[The fact] that the Chinese people founded the People’s Republic [of China] is a development of historical significance.” Here, the subject of the sentence is in fact a sentence consisting of its own subject preceded by a determinant followed by its own predicate and its own object also preceded by its determinant. This does not concern solely the subject: the object can also be a sentence, cf.: Tamen bu mingbai ta zai zuo shenme – “They did not understand what he was just doing.” Here, the object of the whole sentence is a sentence consisting of its own subject (ta), its predicate (zai zuo), and its object (shenme). Thus, within the framework of a simple sentence one often has to deal with “piled-up” (stowed, stratified, concentrated) structures – which is an important feature of Modern Standard Chinese. Near the boundary between simple and compound sentences, there exist sentence structures, known from past epochs, in which the object of the preceding clauses simultaneously functions as the subject of the clause that follows; as mentioned previously in Chapter 6 (p. 142), researchers of Chinese studies often refer to them as “telescopic sentences.” Historically, these sentences are not the result of a contraction of two sentences, since not a single example to support such a stand is known. In my opinion, the structure of the telescopic sentences is related to the phenomenon of the “piling up” (stacking up or nesting) of structures within the framework of a simple sentence and constitutes a particular case of the more widely spread phenomenon of such “piling up.” Here is a typical example: Zai jiali mei you yige ren liaojie wo – “There is nobody at home who would understand me.” In this sentence, yige ren (lit.: one man) simultaneously serves as the object for the predicate you (to be) and as the subject to the predicate liaojie (to understand). In sentences of this type, the function of the subject of the first sentence often assumes something considered to be an adverb of place (as in the sentence above), but not necessarily so, cf., e.g.: Wo you ge pengyou hui changxi – “I have a friend who can perform operatic arias.” Here, wo (I) is the subject of the first sentence, and ge pengyou (a friend) simultaneously functions as the object of the first sentence and the subject of the sentence that follows. To conclude this rather lengthy chapter, it is necessary to return to the problem of the unity of today’s contemporary Chinese language or, perhaps, its lack of unity. It is worth paying attention to the heterogenic nature of Modern Standard Chinese. From the very beginning of the linguistic formation, it was the language of the Beijing region and of Nanjing – both cities were the capitals of vari-

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ous dynasties and governments. However, both languages represent different varieties of Mandarin Chinese. The language of Beijing represents the northern variety of Mandarin languages and dialects and the language of Nanjing its southern variety. Both differ by many phonetic properties. It is enough to say that supradentals underwent an almost complete dentalization in Nankinese and that while no neutral tones exist in the language, it does possess the fifth tone (rusheng); in turn, there is no opposition of short–long tone in the north. Besides, Nankinese does not have the phonemic opposition /n/: /l/ in the initial position. Differences also occur on other levels of linguistic analyses. After the victory of communism in Mainland China, the language of Beijing was accepted in its official version, now called Putonghua (universal language – common speech). It gradually distanced itself from past standards, retaining certain Nankinese elements that have been preserved in Taiwan. The Mandarin Chinese in Taiwan, previously referred to as Guoyu (national language; this term was used to denote the nationwide Chinese prior to communist rule), was from the very beginning characterized by the dominance of Nankinese elements, and understandably so, as it was officials from the Nanjing-based central administration who took refuge on the island of Taiwan before the fall of mainland China to communism in 1949. On the phonetic plane, the following characteristics of Nankinese stand out: 1) its lack of the neutral tone (which results in a different type of stress accent); 2) its different tone system, with obvious traces of the old rising tone; 3) its lack of differentiation between [n] and [l] in the initial position; 4) [N] () in the final position; 5) frequent nasalization. With the passing of time, different cultural and economic developments backed by the strict political isolation of the two areas considerably deepened the discrepancies between these two variants of contemporary literary Chinese. Thus, the two – today basic – varieties of Modern Standard Chinese continue the legacy of the two different foundations of the national language. The lexical differences between the CSC and TSC varieties of Modern Standard Chinese are particularly sharp. Maximally simplifying, the following TSC elements are of importance: 1. In Taiwan, the old political and cultural terminology, which underwent total communization in Mainland China, was retained. These differences apply not only to the names of central and local administration offices or political party lexicons, but to the names of the state(s) and the transcription (and pronunciation) of the names of many politicians. They also apply to such common words as xiansheng (Mr.) and nüshi (Ms.; lady; madam), which on the continent were replaced exclusively by the term tongzhi (comrade). The word xiansheng is used more reluctantly today and is being replaced by shifu (master, maestro). Other lexical differences include terms such as libai (week), which was replaced with xingqi on the continent, because the old word was related to a religious custom.

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2. Taiwan’s independent development, untethered from continental China and following a half-century of Japanese occupation, resulted in abundant borrowings from Japanese, including many phonetic borrowings that were absolutely absent on the continent. Their first layer consisted of phonetic loans from Japanese. When the Qing dynasty ceded Taiwan to Japan in April 1895, Japanese kept – via local Chinese languages – the Minnanhua (Taiwanese) and Hakka (Kejiahua) – its influence, reaching the population, predominantly simple folk, without the Chinese script as a medium. Hence words like oubasang or abasang < Japanese obāsan (grandma; above in this chapter), oujisang or ajisang < Japanese ojisan (uncle), tatami < Japanese tatami (mat), and even shayounala < Japanese sayonara (goodbye) or tianbula < Japanese < Japanese tempura (a Portuguese dish brought to and popularized by Japan), and many others, found their way to the language. It is worth observing that the departure of the Japanese from Taiwan did not end the influx of borrowings of this kind, even though their number considerably diminished. More recent borrowings include kala OK < Japanese karaoke (a social or solo entertainment with or without a video game developed in Japan, in which an amateur singer sings with the help of recorded music using a microphone). The Taiwanese term originated in quite a tricky way. The Japanese word consists of two elements: kara ([kong] empty) and oke < English orchestra. The “empty orchestra” allows a singer to perform his or her favorite hits. The Taiwanese borrowed the first part phonetically (replacing r-, absent in their language, with l-), the other part identifying with the well-known American abbreviation OK – and it is written half with Chinese characters, half with Roman transcription! With the latter example we have entered the most recent times, in which phonetic loans from English, or more exactly, from American English, dominate – loans such as pai < English pie, used instead of the native bing, and indirectly, via American English, from other Western languages, such as pisa (pizza; earlier called Yidali cuibing; lit.: Italian shortcake/cracknel). There were and are phonetic loans not only as names of Western firms (like Benchi [Mercedes-Benz; actually there are many other phonetic translations], Fute [Ford]), but also the names of new products and activities, including implements of everyday life. Such borrowings are steadily growing in number, nearing an obvious exaggeration and producing linguistic riddles, especially when they assume a very unexpected notation in Chinese characters. The frequently seen street sign mashaji (lit.: “a horse kills a hen”), in fact the phonetic rendering of the English massage, is certainly one of them. A similar tendency of phonetic borrowings can be observed in the Chinese standard of Singapore, which includes items taken over from Malay, such as ganbang < Malay kampong (village), and even in certain varieties of the standard language used in Manchuria, which contains terms such as mashen

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< Russian машина (mashina; a machine) or lieba < Russian хлеб (khlyeb: bread), as previously mentioned in this chapter. The Mandarin of Hongkong was the first among these mentioned to have tight contacts with, and be influenced by, English, so it should be unsurprising that it is abundant with hundreds or even thousands of phonetic borrowings like bashi < English bus. The word is also known in Singapore, also occurring in its variant bashiche (bus vehicle), and in Taiwan, but not in continental Chinese, where “bus” is called gonggong qiche (public vehicle) or its abbreviated form: gongche. Today, the TSC variety is differentiated from the CSC variety by its easily observable tendency to eliminate semantic borrowings and skillfully coined periphrastic neologisms in favor of phonetic borrowings. Thus, instead of xifajing (lit.: liquid for hair washing), xiangbo < English shampoo is used, and similarly, words like yingyin (lit.: shadow [im-]print; technically photooffset or photographic reproduction) and the synonymic fuyin (lit.: a secondtime or once-more [im-]print) are gradually replaced by the phonetic loan kaobei (copy). Meanwhile, reverse processes take place on the continent: Loans that were originally phonetic are eliminated in favor of periphrastic neologisms (cf. for example the old term delüfeng [telephone] replaced by today’s dianhua, a character compound borrowed from Japanese denwa [lit.: electric speech]). 3. Apart from numerous phonetic borrowings in use in Taiwan, Taiwan Standard Chinese contains loans from Japanese, used with Chinese characters (like dianhua < denwa; cf. above), that were not originally used on the continent. These include words such as the Japanese kamban > TSC: kanban (signboard; CSC: zhaopai), Japanese shashō < TSC: chezhang (ticket inspector, conductor; CSC: shoupiaoyuan), or Japanese kihatsuyu > TSC: huifayou (gasoline; CSC: qiyou). Some such borrowings adopted in Taiwan assumed meanings that differed from their original Japanese sources and sometimes also from their original semantics in Classical Chinese, from which they had been transferred to the Japanese language. For instance, the Classical Chinese expression liaoli (to care, to take care) was transferred to Japan as ryōri with the meaning of “dish,” “meal,” and “cuisine.” This, in turn, was transferred to Taiwan with the general meaning of being “related or denoting edible products” – so Taiwan uses the TSC word liaolidian (grocery store), which is completely unknown on the continent. Let us add, without further discussion, that Japanese was the source of quite numerous word-building morphemes, such as fū, TSC: feng, with the meaning “way, style” (cf. TSC: Bei’oufeng [Northern European style]), or kata, TSC: fang, implying “person” (cf. TSC: daifang [creditor, lender]). 4. The largest group of Taiwanese words that are different from their continental equivalents (or have no equivalents on the continent) consists of notions related to technology and abundant terminology created in relation to the extremely fast development of contemporary civilization. Hundreds of neologisms,

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primarily based on periphrasis, are quickly created to meet the demand. Of course, similar situations occur on the continent, in Hong Kong, and Singapore. The problem is that very frequently different neologisms are coined to denote the same thing, so there are several various terms used in different variants of standard Chinese.

CHAPTER 11 The Chinese Tower of Babel The biblical tale of the Tower of Babel offers a rather simple scheme: The world’s languages diversified at one defined moment, and before that moment everyone spoke one language intelligible to all. A similar simplicity seems to have seduced Karlgren, who assumed that the language spoken in Chang’an, the capital of Tang dynasty China, first spread over the whole territory of China, and that therefore all contemporary dialects without exclusion must have descended from this language, dating back to the beginnings of the 7th century AD. The biblical story was thus to be repeated – this time in application to Chinese. All Sinitic languages are descendants of one protolanguage, and they all parted with it at approximately the same time, although the moment of that split is difficult to pinpoint. It was, the argument goes, closer to the end than to the beginning of the Tang dynasty. Linguists today still do not doubt that all Chinese languages descend from one protolanguage, although nobody would insist that the oldest Chinese protolanguage was monolithic. Actually, what most of the Chinese ancient texts reveal to us are dialects of this language. None of the Modern Chinese languages seems to be a continuation of some particular archaic dialect, even if influences from old dialects on the formation of modern languages or dialects cannot be excluded. An important digression should be made here. Studies on the different varieties of the Chinese language – be they ancient or existing today – are considerably hampered by the fact that at every stage (i.e., from the most ancient times) one has to deal, first, with languages remaining in close mutual contacts, and, second, with languages that never developed on “no-man’s land,” that is, languages that always remained under the influence of their substrata (about which little is usually known) or were vulnerable to various influences from adstrata (again, about which little can be said, especially in the older periods). One is, however, entitled to extrapolate conclusions from contemporary research, because certain linguistic phenomena of the past were most probably based on the same mechanisms as the ones observed today. We begin with some simple examples. If we can observe today lexical borrowings from one dialect to another even when these dialects are not neighbors, and at times are very distant from each other, there is no reason to assume that similar processes of borrowing did not take place in the remote past. Moreover, such processes did not necessarily consist of the infiltration of literary language elements into dialects – the reverse direction was also in force. Once more the Modern Cantonese word matai (water chestnut, eleocharis tuberosa) can serve as a good example: In the period of a few recent years, its form mati1 was completely replaced by the northern Mandarin word biqi with the same meaning.

                                                             1

[Translator (A.M.): This word written with two characters mati means literally “horse hoof,” which must go back at a kind of popular etymology; this word was once borrowed

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The modern Mandarin language, spoken in the province of Qinghai, includes phonetic lexical borrowings from modern Tibetan, e.g., zanba (zamba) < Tib. rtsan-pa (fried noodles; a MSC word: chaomian) or guoba < Tib. bskod-pa (attention, manner; MSC vocabulary: zhuyi, banfa). On the opposite peripheries of the Chinese linguistic area, we find many phonetic borrowings from English as well as from Japanese in the Mandarin language of Taiwan, and thousands of other borrowings from English in the Yue language of Hong Kong. Thus, there is certainly good reason to believe that the same type of processes also occurred in older times, wherever the Chinese language was in contact with non-Chinese languages. To finish this digression, we may only add that similar types of borrowings are to be observed in both phraseology and syntax. Our main question is, however, that of the dating of the diversification of Chinese languages. Almost no one would today maintain that the split took place at one single point of time. Researchers first guessed that it must have been the group of dialects or languages referred to in Chinese as “Min,” which is now spoken in the southern province of Fujian, in adjacent areas of Guangdong, and in Taiwan, which separated from the common Chinese stem earlier than any other Sinitic tongues. An opinion began to prevail that the split must have occurred during the Han dynasty, i.e., some four to five hundred years before the enthronement of the Tang dynasty. Such was the interpretation that Robert A.D. Forrest (1893–?) presented in the first edition of his book The Chinese Language (1948). As always in such cases, the main arguments are of a phonetic nature, i.e., concerning the phonetic development of the languages of the group under research. What is of interest for us here is that the scheme of the development of Chinese languages provided by Forrest postulated the separation of the Min tongues from the common stem midway between Archaic and Middle Chinese. The decisive feature in Min pointed to by Forrest was the change pjw- > p- in the initial position, in contrast to other Chinese languages in which the equivalent was pjw> f-. At the same time Forrest stressed that the tradition dated back to the end of the Tang dynasty also influenced the Min languages. Later, when the stem Chinese languages (i.e., those that continued as northern Chinese) underwent the change mjw- > w-, the language of Fuzhou, a late variety of Min, split from the main stem. A very important argumentation supporting the hypothesis of an early detachment of a part of the Min languages from the common Chinese stem was provided by Mei Tsulin (Mei Zulin, b. 1933) and Jerry Norman’s (1936–2012) Chinese article from 1971. They studied the four Northern Min dialects Jianyang, Jian’ou, Shaowu, and Yong’an.

                                                                                                                                                 by Yue languages from some Modern Thai language (probably Zhuang) and etymologically it means “the fruit (ma or mak) of a plant called tai” and it has a typical Thai postpositional determination” (quotation from Künstler’s 1999 English typescript entitled “The Chinese Tower of Babel,” evidently a draft of a planned article based on this chapter of the Polish book; wherever needed, the text of the typescript has been used in translating this chapter.]

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In these dialects, they found seventeen cases of words bearing the initial swhere other dialects of the same group use the initial l-, both initials corresponding, in the majority of cases recorded, to the AC initial consonant clusters of the Cstopl-type (a stop + l-). Therefore, they assumed that the initial s- descended from the AC consonantal cluster, which must have first undergone a reduction to the voiceless l- (at times noted as lh-, which, although potentially misleading, turned out to be quite handy to use). The tonal development of the Min languages explicitly indicates the existence, at a certain phase of the group’s development, of regular oppositions between voiced and voiceless liquids: l- : lh-, m- : mh-, n: nh-. Thus, the initial voiceless lh- in certain cases developed into s-, while in other cases it underwent voicing, resulting in l-. This interpretation can be supported with data documenting corresponding developments of similar clusters in Vietnamese, Thai, and Tibetan, cf., e.g., the Tibetan klung “river” (Siamese klong, Cham kraung) and the Vietnamese song (corresponding to the Chinese kung, e.g., Fuzhou Min [køyN] – “big river”). Thus, Chinese/Sinitic languages reveal the following phonetic development: Cl → lh- → s- (in the four dialects in the above-mentioned research) → l- (in other languages of the Min group) → l- (in other Chinese languages) Therefore: Jian’ou su, Jianyang so, Fuzhou lu, Beijing lu, all meaning “dew.” Such an evolution could take place only when consonantal clusters in the initial position were still in existence. Accordingly, the separation of Min languages from the common stem must be dated to the period preceding the disappearance of those clusters, i.e., more or less to the late Han dynasty period. In view of the presented arguments (which are not comprehensive), it is impossible to regard the Min group as descending from the nation-wide spread language of the early Tang epoch.2 Let us return once more to Forrest’s theory of the diversification of Chinese languages. Forrest argues that the Sino-Korean readings of Chinese characters and numerous loans from Chinese should be dated back to the era after the sepa-

                                                             2

[Translator (A.M.): “Here I would like to make another marginal remark notwithstanding that fact that I am sure that all linguists are aware that not all what apparently seems to be the same is really the same. In some Min and Yue dialects, we have today the initial voiceless l-, where other dialects have s-. In Southern Min there are dialects having for instance li (Beijing si [four]), li (Beijing shi [poetry]). In a Yue dialect from Taishan, there is a singular voiceless l- corresponding to Northern s- (palatal or not): lim (Beijing xin [heart]), lam (Beijing san [three]). Moreover, this dialect has a voiceless l- as a second element of aspirated and non-aspirated ts-; thus tli (Beijing zi [a Chinese character]) and tl’i (Beijing ci [word]). Both changes are evidently later and have nothing in common with those discussed above. As far as the Min languages are concerned, it seems obvious that the change could occur only after s- and sh- > s- and that was relatively late. The new consonant clusters in Taishan dialects are also relatively late, because the diphthongisation of ts- and ts’- must have occurred before s- could change into a voiceless l-” (the remark comes from the 1999 typescript, cf. note 1).]

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ration of the Min languages, but earlier than the Tang epoch; moreover, the SinoJapanese kan-on (Han sound) readings are earlier than the split of the Chinese/Sinitic languages toward the end of the Tang dynasty (in any case earlier than the change pjw- > f- in other Chinese languages). Consequently, reconstructors should neglect not only the Min languages, but also the Sino-Korean as well as Sino-Japanese kan-on readings. Another important phonetic change took place prior to the end of the Tang dynasty, namely the afore-mentioned mjw- > m-. This change was characteristic of the Yue group of languages; in all other Chinese/Sinitic languages. The regular mjw- > w- took place. Yet another important change, according to Forrest, was the development of initial voiced stops into aspirated ones (with all tones) typical of Hakka and retaining the voiced consonants unchanged in the Wu group. Forrest thus argues that the Min languages were the first to separate, followed by Sino-Korean, then Sino-Japanese (kan-on), and – in the middle of the Tang dynasty – Cantonese, then Wu and Hakka, and concluding with Sino-Vietnamese and the Fuzhou version of Min. The evolution of Chinese languages as presented by Forrest is considerably simplified when regarded with our current state of knowledge. Nevertheless, it was significant progress from research results that date back to the beginning of the 20th century. In this context, Karlgren’s Études sur la Phonologie Chinoise (beginning in 1915) has to be mentioned. In his work, Karlgren enumerated 33 Chinese dialects which constituted the basis of his reconstructions. From among these, Karlgren marked out 24 dialects that were known better to him. His selection was thus based on completely subjective criteria determined by his acquaintance with individual dialects. Apart from dialects referred to as Mandarin (cf. below), Karlgren picked up three Wu dialects (namely, Shanghai, Wenzhou, and Ningbo), three Min dialects (Fuzhou, Amoy [Xiamen], and Swatow [Shantou]), and two dialects from the Yue group (Cantonese and Hakka, the latter of which is today considered a separate dialect group). Karlgren complemented this set of Chinese dialects with the Sino-Korean, Sino-Japanese, and Sino-Annamite (i.e., Vietnamese) readings of Chinese characters, treating the three “dialects” as coming from the Tang dynasty. Forrest, on the other hand, considered Sino-Korean as pre-Tang, SinoJapanese kan-on as late Tang, and Sino-Vietnamese as decidedly later than the end of the Tang dynasty. From among Mandarin dialects, Karlgren enumerated eight dialects from Shanxi Province (Guihua, Datong, Taiyuan, Wenshui, Taigu, Xingxian, Pingyang [present-day Linfen], and Fengtai), three from Gansu Province (Lanzhou, Pingliang, and Jingzhou), three from Shaanxi Province (Xi’an, Sanshui, and Sangjiazhen), three from Henan Province (Kaifeng, Huaiqing [present-day Qinyang], and Gushi), a Central Sichuan dialect, and dialects of Hankou, Nanjing, and Yangzhou – in all 21 Mandarin dialects confronted with eight southern dialects. The significantly larger amount of northern Chinese linguistic material is evident, but it would be unfair to criticize Karlgren for this – such was the knowledge of his time, reflected also in such facts as his grouping northern dia-

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lects geographically (the classification was based on the provinces in which particular dialects occurred) or his negligence of south-western Mandarin dialects of Guizhou and Yunnan, and of the entire territory of Manchuria (particularly interesting as an example of the later linguistic colonization of the area predominantly by Shandong dialects). I have quoted these facts primarily in order to demonstrate that significant changes do take place, even if slowly, also in the humanities, and that today’s completely different opinion concerning the evolution of Sinitic languages is one of them. The most important differences in respect to southern Chinese languages are the extraction of the separate groups of Xiang (mainly in Hunan Province) and Gan (above all in Jiangxi Province), and the separation of Hakka from the Yue group. One of the most extensive discussions of Chinese dialects is Yuan Jiahua’s (1903–1980) Hanyyu fangyan gaiyao (Outline of Chinese Dialects; 1960). 3 He classified the Chinese linguistic area as follows 1. Northern languages 2. Wu languages 3. Xiang languages 4. Gan languages 5. Hakka languages 6. Yue languages 7. Southern Min languages 8. Northern Min languages. A detailed sub-classification of these groups will be provided below with a presentation of the respective languages. One should be aware that these (sub-)classifications are of a tentative (“working”) rather than definitive nature. This is particularly evident from scholars’ struggle with problems while trying to sub-classify ethnolects in individual groups. Proposals to neglect certain classifications or replace them with others concern not only southern Chinese languages, but also seemingly far better studied Mandarin languages. For example, a Chinese scholar of the Min linguistic field proposed, on the basis of fieldwork results, to replace the Northern-Southern dichotomy with the Eastern-Western dichotomy. Researchers still tend to differentiate further between particular languages within the Min grouping. Chen Zhangtai and Li

                                                             3

[M.K.: More recent classifications of Chinese dialects/languages exist. One of the more widely accepted in China and abroad is the one proposed by Li Rong (1989, p. 241; Australian Academy of the Humanities – Chinese Academy of Social Sciences 1988), which divided the Chinese dialects into ten groups (Mandarin, Jin, Wu, Hui, Gan, Xiang, Min, Yue, Pinghua, Hakka). Ethnologue (Simons – Fennig 2018: https://www.ethnologue .com/country/cn/languages) classifies Chinese as a macrolanguage and lists 13 Chinese languages (including five Min).]

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Rulong (1983, pp. 25-81) proposed the following classification of the Min languages: Eastern Min, Southern Min, Central Min, Northern Min, and, isolated in the group, the Puxian language spoken in only two counties. On the basis of research conducted in the 1950s, Kratochvil wrote The Chinese Language Today: Features of an Emerging Standard (1968), in which he suggested the following classification of the Mandarin area: 1. Northern, 2. North-Western, 3. South-Eastern, 4. ((lower) Yangtze) River Mandarin. A few years ago, a scholar4 suggested a separation of the area including Shanxi Province and certain regions of Anhui Province from Northern Mandarin dialects on the grounds that the dialects spoken there manifested features – mainly related to the evolution of tones – that were non-existent in neighboring dialect areas. None of these solutions are definitive. The Republic of China Yearbook published in 1998 in Taipei repeated, from previous editions, the classification of Mandarin into three groups: Northern Mandarin, Southern Mandarin, and South-Eastern Mandarin (Anhui and Jiangsu Provinces). This situation results from a very limited knowledge of contemporary Chinese dialects and languages in spite of the unquestionable research progress made in this domain in recent years. The lack of reliable descriptions of particular dialects is, however, a fact, and dictionaries of Chinese dialects and languages are rare. Under such circumstances, a generally acceptable classification of Chinese ethnolects cannot be expected in the near future.5 It is also a fact that in contemporary Chinese studies whatever is said can simultaneously be true and false, and the opinion on the lack of dialect dictionaries expressed above is a good example of this. The opinion is true because in over 90% of bookshops across the vast territory of China inquiries concerning such dictionaries invariably meet with negative responses and no bibliographical information is available (except, of course, in Taiwan). Thus, if one lacks “just a little bit of luck” or that extraordinary flair for book hunting that should characterize a proper philologist, one may agree with the description of the situation just provided in the certainty that nobody would question it. Meanwhile, it turns out that the reality can be completely different. During one of my recent stays in China, I discovered that a local publishing house from Nanjing named Jiangsu jiaoyu chubanshe had been publishing a series of dialect dictionaries under the editorship of an aged linguist – Li Rong (1920– 2002) – since the early 1990s. It was difficult to establish how many volumes had been published, but my own estimation is about 25 by 1995, and by today this number may have surpassed 40.

                                                             4

[M.K.: The scholar must be Li Rong, who extracted the Jin language from the area of the Mandarin group (id. 1989).]

5

[M.K.: The Language Atlas of China (Australian Academy of the Humanities – Chinese Academy of Social Sciences 1988) was published in 1988, offering a thorough description of the varieties of Chinese. A second edition of the Atlas was published in 2012 (Zhang – Xiong 2012).]

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Thus, linguistic data that will make comparative research possible in the near future are already available, and a new chapter in the study of contemporary Chinese languages, forcing a new understanding of their genetic interrelations, can be expected. Although their phonetic evolution will most probably remain the foundation for their classification, it is clear that data pertaining to word building, morphology, and lexica will considerably widen our knowledge of relations between the languages in question.6 The most recent attempts at establishing genetic relations between Chinese languages include the classification provided by Zhou Zhenhe and You Rujie in their book Fangyan yu Zhongguo wenhua, republished in Taipei in 1988 (after a first edition in Shanghai in 1986). Zhou and You classified Chinese languages into seven groups (contrary to Yuan Jiahua, they treated Min languages as constituting one group). Their classification is worthy of quoting here since the percentage of language users of individual groups, a relatively new data point, has been provided.

Chart 2: Varieties of Chinese (introduced from Künstler 2000b, p. 251)

                                                             6

[Translator (A.M.): The project aiming at a compilation of a great dialectal dictionary of Chinese started in 1991 and the first two dictionaries of local languages/dialects appeared in print in the autumn of 1992; with the publication of the Jixi dialect dictionary in 2003, the total number of volumes is 42. Cf. Li Rong et al. (eds.) 2002. For details, the reader is referred to Kurpaska 2010, particularly pp. 5-56, 63ff., 128ff.]

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1. Mandarin languages are spoken by over 70% of the Chinese population, in the entire northern territory of China and the following provinces south of the Yangtze River: Sichuan, Guizhou, Yunnan, and Tibet (Zhou and You most probably had in mind the recent intensive colonization of the territory), and partly in the territories of the provinces of Jiangsu, Anhui, Jiangxi, Hubei, and Hunan. 2. Wu languages – about 8% of the Chinese population: the southern part of Jiangsu Province and a major part of Zhejiang Province, as well as several counties along the Jiangxi and Zhejiang border. It remains unclear whether ethnolects used in certain areas of Anhui Province and in the western part of Zhejiang Province belong to this group. 3. Gan languages – about 2% of the Chinese population: the northern and central parts of Jiangxi Province. 4. Hakka languages – about 4% of the Chinese population: the southern part of Jiangxi Province, the northern part of Guangdong Province, the western part of Fujian Province, and some areas of Taiwan. According to Zhou and You 1989, the Gan and Hakka languages are very close, hence they could well be considered as two sub-classifications of the same language. 5. Xiang languages – according to tradition sub-classified into “Ancient/Old Xiang” and “New/Modern Xiang” – about 5% of the Chinese population: the majority of Hunan Province south of Dongting Lake. Zhou and You were of the opinion that “New/Modern Xiang” should be classified as South-Western Mandarin languages, while only what they referred to as “Ancient/Old Xiang” should be considered as a true Xiang language. It is a language spoken in seven or eight counties of the south-western part of Hunan province and in neighboring counties of Guangxi Province. Thus, maintaining that Xiang is spoken by about 2% of the homogenous population does not make sense when the glottonym (glossonym: the name of a language) covers two different languages, one classified among Northern, and the other among Southern Chinese tongues. 6. Min languages – 4% of the Chinese population: Fujian Province (except for the western Hakka-speaking areas), in the eastern part of Guangdong Province, on the island of Hainan and on the Leizhou Peninsula, in the majority of the territory of Taiwan, and on a small borderland area between the provinces of Zhejiang and Fujian. 7. Yue languages – about 5% of the Chinese population: the major part of Guangdong Province and the south-eastern part of Guangxi Province.

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Chart 3: An Evolutionary Classification of Sinitic Languages (according to Zhou – You 1988, p. 52; introduced from Künstler 2000b, p. 253)

We will also quote an important scheme presenting genetic relations between the Chinese languages provided in Zhou – You 1988:

Chart 4: Affinity of Sinitic Languages (according to Zhou – You 1988, p. 10; introduced from Künstler 2000b, p. 254)

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As this concept of the evolution of Sinitic languages differs from what has been so-far presented here, let us examine its basic postulates. First, Zhou and You maintained that three language groups – namely Min, Yue, and Wu – succumbed to Old Vietnamese influences. This would suggest that the three groups developed in constant contact with Old Vietnamese (substratum or adstratum), which is not just possible but very probable. However, this development must have occurred in different periods for each of the groups (becoming separate tongues in different periods), which Zhou and You did not address. The problem is that nothing is known about Old (Ancient) Vietnamese. Its history remains entirely speculative, since no records of the language exist. Zhou and You did not provide even a single example of the postulated influence of Old Vietnamese upon any of the three groups of Chinese languages involved and situated the Vietnamese language on the same level (chronologically) as Archaic Chinese. We find ourselves in the sphere of purely theoretical constructs and unsupported guesswork. One of the best specialists on Min, the late Hashimoto Mantaro (1932–1987), had provided evidence for the Miao-Yao substratum in Min, but Zhou and You did not mention it. Thus, they first postulated some purely theoretical influence from Vietnamese, but at the same time neglected the demonstrated Miao-Yao influence. Secondly, Zhou and You suggested that the Wu and Xiang (i.e., “Old Xiang”) at one time constituted one group that split due to later migrations, and considered it obvious that the two ethnolects later evolved differently. This hypothesis is also difficult to be accepted in view of the arguments provided. The closeness between the Wu and the Old Xiang groups was also mentioned by Yuan Jiahua. He pointed out that the language of Changsha (the capital of Hunan province) was close to Min as far as the evolution of initial voiced stops was concerned, while the language of Shuangfeng was in this respect close to Wu – which does not necessarily imply that they have different origins. Zhou and You, nevertheless, classified the former as Mandarin and the latter strictly as Wu. Thirdly, they maintained that the Wu-Xiang group was the first to separate from the stem, and that Yue became separate languages later, followed by Min, and only finally by Gan-Hakka. It should be repeated that what they referred to as “New Xiang” in fact constitutes a branch of South-Western Mandarin, which was the last to separate. As mentioned above, the differentiation between the two strata in Xiang – “Old” and “New” – also appeared in the work by Yuan Jiahua, who regarded the Changsha language as a typical example of New Xiang; Zhou and You’s opinion was the same. Yuan Jiahua, however, considered the Shuangfeng language typical of Old Xiang, even if he admitted also taking into account the vocabulary and grammar of the Huangqiao language, situated in Dongkou County in western Hunan. Zhou and You, however, instead selected the Dongkou language (cf. Tang Zuofan 1960, pp. 83-133, who studied it), and did not even mention the language of Shuangfeng.

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To conclude this section, I would like to mention the research on Xiang languages conducted by a Japanese scholar, Motoki Nakajima (b. 1942), who published the first part of his results in 1987 in Tokyo as Shō hōgen chōsa hōkoku (Report on Xiang Dialects). Nakajima studied four dialects: Yuanling, Huitong, Pingjiang, and Chenxian, and completely neglected the differentiation between Old and New Xiang. Accordingly, his research makes it all but impossible to learn whether the studied dialects should be classified with one group or the other. The locations he selected covered the entire area under investigation. The question of Xiang dialects and their possible kinship with Wu dialects is worthy of further consideration, allowing also observations on certain typical phenomena pertaining to the methodology of research on Chinese languages. Zhou and You’s arguments in support of their theory are as follows: They stated, with true Chinese grace, that the two languages “differed by their form,” but “were similar in spirit” – the latter feature referring to the close contact of the populations in territories where they were spoken in antiquity. This “close contact of populations in certain territories” does not constitute any evidence for the common origin of both languages in question and can be of use only in attempts at explaining existing similarities, loans, influences, etc. Zhou and You evidently meant that the languages originated from the same stem. They maintained that Wu and Old Xiang featured the following similarities: 1. voiced stops in the initial position were retained; 2. a similar development of rusheng and the tones were retained in both groups; 3. lexical similarities; 4. and syntactic similarities. It is important that Zhou and You did not restrict themselves exclusively to phonetic properties, but also expanded their interests to include lexica and syntax. This was a significant step forward in the research field, in which the opinion prevailed that Chinese dialects differed only in phonetics. Emphasizing this, one has to admit that Yuan Jiahua also used comparisons on different levels in his linguistic analyses. Zhou and You considered retaining initial voiced stops as the most important feature. Their existence in Wu dialects is beyond question. Yuan Jiahua also mentioned them in his description of Shuangfeng dialect, but Motoki Nakajima admitted their existence exclusively in the Yuanling dialect – they did not occur in the remaining three dialects he investigated. Thus, the situation is not as clear as scholars have claimed. The problem of the preservation of the ru tones in Xiang dialects is even less clear (their existence in Wu languages is beyond doubt) and their preservation in Old Xiang, as postulated by Zhou and You, does not constitute evidence for the latter’s common origin with Wu, since the ru tones have been retained in all of the groups of the southern languages (Gan, Hakka, Min, and Yue). Returning to Xiang languages, it turns out that these tones do not exist in the Shuangfeng dialect. One tone of this type has been preserved in the Yuanling dialect, and another in the Pingjiang dialect; in the remaining dialects, tones of this type do not occur.

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It is not important to state that there is a ru tone, but to explain how this ru tone is actually realized. In the Wu languages, the appearance of the ru tone turns out to be related to the occurrence of the final glottal stop, which is a remnant of ancient voiceless stops occurring in the final position. One finds it, for example, in the language of Suzhou, which has two ru tones, namely the old yinru, realized as a short level /4/, e.g., syʔ (Pekinese shi) < **Middle Chinese śiek, and the old yangru, realized as a normal length rise /23/, e.g., zyʔ (Pekinese shi) < **Middle Chinese dz’iek. In Xiang dialects, the situation is different. First, rusheng has been preserved in the Changsha dialect and regarded as representative of New Xiang, i.e., of a dialect to be neglected in the present discussion. It is realized as a rise /24/ and is unrelated to any specific type of the final position in the synchronic plane, even if it surely occurs also in syllables which had a final consonant in the past. Second, the tone in question does exists neither in the Shuangfeng dialect considered typical of Old Xiang, i.e., the stratum with a relationship to the Wu languages (which Zhou and You regarded as obvious), nor in the Chenxian and Huitong dialects described by Nakajima. Nakajima pointed to a ru tone in the tonal system of the Yuanling dialect realized as a fall-rise /213/ and independent of any phonetic context, similarly to the Shuangfeng dialect. Third, it is only in the Pingjiang dialect that a rusheng regularly occurs realized as a level /33/ and associated with either a final glottal stop or a final -t (in the case of three rhymes: -et, -uet, -jet). This – and only this – case can be interpreted as a remnant of an old ru tone evolving parallel with its equivalent in Wu. Nevertheless, it does not prove a close affinity between the Xiang and Wu languages. The evolution of the Polish ł into u is analogical to the evolution of the Latin al into the French au > o, but this does not imply any evidence for the direct kinship between the two languages that would allow us to classify them into the same group. The same tendencies can often be observed in different languages, especially related ones, but one isogloss cannot be regarded as decisive. As far as lexica are concerned, Zhou and You compared seven “Northern” words with their equivalents in the Tongkou and Wenzhou dialects. The latter represents the Wu group, although usually the languages of Suzhou, Shanghai, and Ningbo, possibly also Shaoxing (together with Hangzhou), are considered the most typical of the Wu-speaking area. It is, however, the selection of words rather than the selection of dialects that triggers reservations, since in order to secure the force of evidence one should choose words that exist only in the two languages in question and do not exist in other languages – and this is not the case. The juxtaposition of the “Northern” xiayu and the Tongkou and Wenzhou dialectal luoyu, both with the meaning “(it is) raining,” does not allow any conclusion concerning any particular genetic ties of the latter two, because expressions with the same etymology are common throughout the southern languages, including the Min and Yue languages, which are also neighbors of the Old Xiang group.

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One may wonder why Zhou and You treated the word yueguang occurring in both the Wenzhou and Old Xiang languages (Pekinese yueliang [moon]) as evidence that the two languages shared a common past and were later separated by migrations, when one finds the same word also in the Gan language (ńjot-kuong: moon) and the neighboring Old Xiang as well, whereas it is not included in the most recent dictionary of the language of Ningbo, which is one among the most representative languages of the Wu group. The term is also missing from a rather large dictionary of the language of Yangzhou, in which “moon” is liangyeʔ tse. If similarity, or closeness, of systems of empty words (function words; form words) and/or the words that are at the borderline between these and those with lexical meanings, such as pronouns, can be found, this is of great support for an argument. Personal pronouns usually serve as particularly strong evidence. Zhou and You neglect the issue, and it would be extremely difficult to find common elements for Xiang and Wu languages in this respect. The pronominal system of Wu languages considerably differs from that of Old Xiang. Moreover, systems of personal pronouns differ between themselves within the Old Xiang group: In the language of Shuangfeng, the singular pronouns are ang, n, to; in the language of Huangqiao, they are ngo, n, tśy, and the plural suffixes are, respectively, nin (ngunin, ninin), nga (angnga), nię (nnię, tonię), and tsi (ngotsi, ntsi) or n (tśyn). It turns out that these systems resist comparison with the pronominal systems of Wu languages, particularly when the considerable differences between the languages of Suzhou, Shanghai, and Ningbo are taken into account. Cf.: sing.

plur.

Suzhou 1. ngeu, neu, ng, ńi 2. ne, n 3. li, line, nne

ńi nto, neto lito

1. ngu 2. nong 3. i

ńi nguni na ilaʔ

1. ngo 2. ng 3. dźi

ngoʔ, neu, aʔlaʔ ngeu, ngnaʔ dźineu, dźieʔlaʔ

Shanghai

Ningbo

This can also be seen in three modest examples of the syntactic similarities between the Xiang and Wu languages provided by Zhou and You (for this comparison, they selected the Shaoxing language to represent the Wu languages, but provided no appropriate explanation). In all three examples, they focused on the position of personal pronouns in the function of the object, different from that characteristic of the northern languages of China. These examples also hardly provide grounds for conclusions concerning the degree of closeness of both

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groups of the languages under discussion. Nevertheless, they do differ in negations and in verbs with the meaning “give, hand over.” It seems that particular attention should be paid to formal and quasi-formal elements in comparing contemporary Sinitic languages. Their similarities can indicate common origins of the languages studied or interesting structural and evolutional parallelisms. There are reasons to expect interesting data obtained from the comparisons of systems of classifiers in different Sinitic languages. It is known that the system of classifiers developed relatively late in colloquial speech and generally evolved from a general (“default”) classifier to specific-object-related classifiers. Hence, the degree of similarity between two systems of classifiers can lead to conclusions concerning a genetic closeness, or the lack of one. The issue has not been studied so far and there is an enormous task awaiting anyone who would wish to deal with it. It involves approximately 130-150 classifiers in every tongue, and researchers should not only investigate their closeness, but also analyze the closeness of the functions of particular elements from every set. A statement of the kind “there are so and so many similar classifiers in the two languages investigated” (phonetic differences aside) is far too little. The degrees of the overlapping of their functions must also be established. Assuming the availability of dictionaries for some forty languages, 40 times 150 equals 6,000 classifiers that require investigation, together with their functions (i.e., what are they related to) and the mutual relations between all systems. It will probably take long before someone decides to confront such an enormous challenge. One of my students, Igor Arutyunov, actually attempted to compare the systems of classifiers in Putonghua and in the languages of Luoyang (Northern Mandarin) and Guilin (South-Western Mandarin). He analyzed 146 classifiers and their functions. The so-far unpublished study reveals similarities in function and form in only 42 cases, i.e., about 30% in all three languages. This means that the degree of similarity in this respect between the two North-Mandarin languages, Putonghua and Luoyang, is only 30%, and it was astonishing to find out that in the case of the comparison of Luoyang and Guilin this figure was as much as 57%! Such results cannot be a matter of coincidence, and it is probable that further comparisons between various classifier systems will shed an entirely new light on the relations existing between modern Mandarin languages and bring forth a completely new classification of them. A – much simpler – comparison of the formation of names for the males and females of particular animal species in the Wenzhou (Wu) and Shuangfeng (Old Xiang) languages convincingly shows the said probability. In the Wenzhou language, male and female names are created by means of quasi-prefixation: The former includes as its first element the word hyong, etymologically “hero,” and the latter the word ts’eʔ, which is etymologically unclear and written with the character for “grass.” We thus get the following: tsei (pig) hyong tsei (boar) ts’eʔ tsei (sow) ngau (cow) hyong ngau (bull) ts’eʔ ngau (cow)

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mu (horse) hyong mu (stallion) ts’eʔ mu (mare) kau (dog) hyong kau (dog) ts’eʔ kau (bitch) mo (cat) hyong mo (tomcat) ts’eʔ mo (she-cat). Structurally, this formation process is parallel to the one found in Modern Standard Chinese, in which the sex markers are respectively gong (prince; therefore “male”) and mu (mother; hence “female”). All Mandarin languages have the same type of quasi-prefixes. The situation in dialects representing Old Xiang is different: Here, one finds the quasi-suffixation typical of southern languages. This suffixation also occurs in the Changsha language, which is typical of New Xiang and said to be a Mandarin language. The Huitong language studied by Nakajima, in turn, clearly manifests its relations with Mandarin languages. In the Shuangfeng language one finds the following forms: ńiu (cow) ńiu-keu (bull) ńiu-bu (cow) kie (dog) kie-kang-tsi (dog) kie-bu-tsi (bitch) tsi (chicken) tsi-kang-tsi (rooster) tsi-bu-(tsi) (hen) The male name is formed with keu (bull) or kang-tsi < “prince” + suffix, and the female name with the suffixed bu < “(old) woman.” The names for male and female animals are formed in the same way, but it happens even more regularly in the Gan language in which the male name is almost exclusively formed with the word ku: (etymologically identical with Shuangfeng keu) and the female name with p’o:, both following the species name. The same pattern appears in Hakka languages, with ku~kung marking maleness and ma marking femaleness. In Yue languages, the same opposition is obtained respectively with kung and na markers, and this formation also applies to certain plants, e.g., mok-kwa-kung and mok-kwa-na, which imply “male papaya tree” and “female papaya tree.” In Southern Min languages, the same functions are played by the quasi-suffixes kang and bu. In Northern Min languages, quasi-suffixes in this function are more numerous: Apart from the female muo < etymologically “mother,” the following words mark the male sex: key < etymologically “horn”, koeung – “prince,” and xyng < etymologically “hero.” In some Min languages, such as the Quanzhou language, the picture is more complicated: Apart from the regular quasi-suffixation of the type presented above, certain prepositional elements are also involved, which we neglect here to concentrate on the main lines of development. As seen from this survey, there are two basic formal ways of coining names for male and female sexes in Sinitic languages. Certain languages make use of quasi-prefixation, others of quasi-suffixation. The former is characteristic of Mandarin and Wu, the latter is found in the so-called southern Sinitic languages. The fact that the Wu languages and the Old Xiang languages under discussion in this respect belong to different groups seems to constitute an argument against the opinion that these languages are not closely related, i.e., that they are not two direct branches (“immediate constituents”) of the same stem.

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Both types of quasi-affixation for sex taxonomy have the same origin in principle: They are both of a determinative nature. It is obvious that the ordering of constituents in structures based on concordance, especially synonymic ones, does not influence their meaning. However, the situation may be similar also in the case of determinative structures, however strange this may sound. If a language does not include a separate word with the meaning “rooster,” does a structure like “male hen” imply something different from “hen male”? Northern Chinese and the Wu names discussed originated from structures of the former type, while such formations known from other southern Chinese languages originated from structures of the latter type. A more general conclusion can also be drawn from structural differences in the formation of the names of male and female animals: The fact that Wu and Northern Chinese languages share the same feature is neither incidental nor exceptional; rather, it is the very classification of all Chinese languages into northern and southern divisions that is dubious. The already quoted Hashimoto Mantaro was of the opinion that the Wu languages should be treated as a transitional group between the Northern and the Southern languages. He expressed this opinion in his 1979 article and characterized Wu typologically as monosyllabic-tonal (similar to Yue, Vietnamese, or Thai). Because of the strong Miao-Yao substratum, Wu languages manifest numerous features shared with languages of the latter group. Among these features, Hashimoto indicated the reduction of triphthongs and diphthongs to monophthongs typical of Miao-Yao languages, parallel series of demonstrative pronouns based on the opposition deixis–anaphora typical of Wu, Tibetan, and Yao, and pairs of demonstrative pronouns indicating objects close/near versus distant/far, up(per) versus low(er), and inside (i.e., invisible to speakers) versus outside (i.e., visible), and occurring only in Wu and Miao. One may wonder why Chinese linguists publishing their work on Chinese dialects in the mid-1980s did not even mention these hypotheses, which were formulated by a internationally renowned scholar and published in Chinese in one of the most important linguistic journals. One should perhaps add here that the same scholar also argued for the existence of the Miao-Yao substratum in the Min linguistic area. The true answer is brutal: For many years, Chinese scholars have neglected ex definitione everything concerning their language written by foreigners, making exceptions only for theories they compulsorily criticize in political campaigns that have no relation to scholarship. As a result, two different kinds of Chinese linguistics co-exist today – internal Chinese and foreign – and these are two different worlds, the former being almost hermetically sealed from the latter. It is not my intention here to analyze this phenomenon historically and sociologically, and I have written the following remarks above all pro domo sua. Under “real socialism” a theory was propagated by Soviet scholars (and I could also name faithful Polish apologists) claiming “the end of Oriental studies” on the grounds that indigenous specialists with their acquired knowledge far surpass foreigners, who are unable to conduct any true and valuable research. Foreign scholars, the theory goes, should not even try to express opinions on many is-

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sues, and “foreign” Oriental studies should restrict themselves to preparing service persons, i.e., it should be limited to educating interpreters and translators rather than academicians. This “theory” does not even merit discussion, but one should be aware of Chinese linguistics’ lacking connections to any external contacts, which doubtlessly led to serious methodological deficiencies. The ignorance of Chinese authors on matters that were for decades considered standard and obvious outside China, such as differentiating between writing and language, is astonishing, and the technical shortcomings – such as chronically lacking bibliographies, missing references to works and other scholars’ findings, and even to authors’ own previous publications – abundant. This all is irritating – to say the least. We can now return to the main subject of discussion by pointing out that the problem of the prepositional or postpositional formation of the names of the sexes of animal species can be expanded to cover other structures and semantic fields. It is commonly known that the order of many disyllabic words with coordinative or determinative structures is reversed in Southern languages in comparison to that typical of Northern languages. It seems, however, that the phenomenon covers a wider area than the quasi-suffixal animal sex name formation, including also the Wu language region and, in particular cases, southern edges of the Mandarin language region (cf., e.g., didao [place of origin] as opposing the Northern daodi). This means that animal name isoglosses do not correspond to isoglosses of the “reverse order” of binominals. Consequently, in further research scholars will have to cross over conventionally established borders between languages and study phenomena across these borders or independently of them. Such procedures could throw some new light on genetic relations between particular Sinitic languages and clarify the nature of these relations. Similar research methods should also be applied to the study of syntax, in which a few selected examples are still routinely used without producing any overall picture of the actual situation. Evidently, we are far from any “definitive” classification of all Sinitic languages, and perhaps the task is still ahead of us. The most challenging aspect will be disciplining scholars (above all, Chinese ones), forcing them to provide comparable data. Previous experience, however, does not provide much ground for optimism. The quarterly Fangyan (Dialects/Local Languages), published in China since the end of the 1970s, printed in its 3/1981 issue (pp. 161-205) “a word list for the survey of Chinese dialects,” aiming at collecting and organizing linguistic material applicable to comparative studies. After over twenty years, this enterprise turns out to have failed. I have come across not even a single dialect description that strictly follows the proposed scheme, including those descriptions published by the journal Fangyan itself. One description neglects certain issues, another description ignores other issues, and the result invariably remains the same: The data are incomparable.

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The scheme proposed by the journal started from the expressions of astronomical phenomena, but it did not secure the appearance of an established list of local names for, e.g., solar eclipse or lunar eclipse. Accordingly, only the former or only the latter appear in the data – and sometimes neither. This also concerns the Jiangsu series of dictionaries mentioned above. Such materials make it all but impossible to write a thesis concerning, for instance, the nomenclature of astronomical eclipses in Chinese languages. To head off criticism that I am unfairly singling out Chinese scholars, I should add that the specialists of other nationalities may act in a similar way. Motoki Nakajima, referred to above, accepted Fangyan’s scheme. However, in the first volume of his work (1987), devoted to the Huitong dialect, he provided incomplete data for only 25 entries out of 105 (organized under 32 chapter headings), i.e., less than one quarter of what one would expect. One has to admit, however, that Nakajima, contrary to his Chinese colleagues, pointed out the gaps in his work. Still, the fact remains that in such a situation comparability remains in the realm of fantasy. Frankly speaking, it looks as if Nakajima first investigated the dialects and only later arranged his data to fit the scheme suggested by Fangyan. Taking into account the vastness of China and the efforts of hundreds or rather thousands of researchers necessary to describe all Chinese languages, expectations must be low. I will therefore complete the present volume by providing concise information about particular groups of languages with the reservation that the data provided can be subject to change in the light of further studies, and with hopes that my linguistic experience will prevent me from making statements that may, in the near future, prove outdated or simply erroneous.

CHAPTER 12 Mandarin Languages1 The area occupied by Mandarin languages constitutes the prevailing part of the territory in which Chinese is used, and Mandarin speakers make up the largest linguistic group of the Chinese population; according to Zhou and You (1986), they comprise over 70% of all ethnic Chinese. Western linguists refer to the most important language of the group as Modern Standard Chinese. In continental China, it is known as Putonghua, i.e., “the common speech,” and in Taiwan labelled as Guoyu, i.e., “the national language,” which is also spoken by many Chinese whose mother tongue is a different Chinese language. Since Putonghua is the official language of the enormous state, it is used – out of necessity or compulsion – by very many citizens who are ethnically distinct from the Chinese. No other Mandarin language has gained a comparably high status, and this means that all other varieties of Mandarin are local languages that are written languages only to a very minor degree. In their majority they are, at the utmost, languages of oral literature confined to the area in which they are spoken. In fact, only one Mandarin language, namely Pekinese, is also a language of written literature. This language constitutes the basis for Modern Standard Chinese and differs considerably from the official Chinese language, predominantly in its lexicon. On principle, dictionaries of Pekinese record solely those words and expressions that are absent from Modern Standard Chinese, and they are today impressive volumes with over 500 pages of print. The dictionary Beijing huayu cihui shi (A Glossary of Beijing Lexicon), compiled by Song Xiaozai and reviewed by Ma Xinhua, was published in 1987 and extends over 857 pages, including much more content than a book with the same number of pages printed in Western languages. Obviously it is hardly reasonable to estimate differences between languages based on the thickness of their dictionaries, although such dictionaries largely depend on the solidity (or lack thereof) of the research data on which they are based. Nevertheless, even such a criterion, no matter how subjective and unscientific, can provide at least some idea of how strong lexical and phraseological differences between languages can be. Whenever I am contemplating the problems of the language of Beijing, I recollect the words of Aleksander Brückner (1856–1939), which he formulated over one hundred years ago about the relation of Kashubian to Polish: Kashubian represents an extremely rare phenomenon in the life of languages when one language gradually transforms itself into another language by slowly adding up deviations; Kashubian is still Polish, but has ceased to be a Polish

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[M.K.: For a description of Mandarin see Shi 2016; Chappell – Li 2016, pp. 608-611.]

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dialect; one who insists on separating Kashubian from Polish and one who insists on treating the two as one and the same – they both are mistaken.2

In my opinion, this statement ideally describes the contemporary relation between the language of Beijing and the literary standard of Chinese (MSC). Below we will present the classification of the Mandarin languages formulated by Yuan Jiahua (1960; his book is in fact the ultimate source for detailed information available today). Yuan classified these languages into the following four groups: 1. Northern languages, also referred to as Northern Mandarin languages, spoken areas including Hebei (the Beijing region included), Henan, and the Shandong provinces, three provinces of Manchuria (Liaoning, Jilin, and Heilongjiang), and a part of the Autonomous Region of Inner Mongolia. The language of the Jiaodong Peninsula and the language of the coastal regions of Liaoning are characterized by phonetic features unique to these two tongues. It is the most homogenous language group within Mandarin, often regarded as a group of dialects of the official language – groundlessly so, because the latter is an artificially created language that can hardly be treated as possessing its own dialects. 2. North-Western Mandarin languages – in use in Shanxi, Shaanxi, and Gansu Province, as well as in certain parts of Qinghai Province, Ningxia, and the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Regions. The group is significantly diversified, and differences are particularly perceptible between the central and northern parts of Shanxi Province. 3. South-Western Mandarin languages – in use in Hubei (except for its south-eastern part), Sichuan, Yunnan, Guizhou, as well as the northwestern part of Guangxi and the north-western part of Hunan provinces. This group is also significantly diversified and the languages classified here markedly differ from those classified in Group (1); theatrical performances in the language of Chengdu (a provincial capital), for instance, are not understood by the users of Northern languages.

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[Translator (A.M.): The quotation comes from Stefan Ramułt’s Słownik języka pomorskiego, czyli kaszubskiego (Kraków 1893), which is also to be found in a review by Brückner published in Kwartalnik Historyczny 8 (1894), pp. 667-669. The review concerned the first bigger dictionary of the Kashubian ethnolect from northern Poland (Gdańsk region) published in Cracow in 1893, in which Kashubian was classified as a “language” separate from Polish, in direct opposition to the commonly shared opinion that it was a dialect of Polish, albeit the most distant from the Polish literary standard. The issue was the bone of contention in Polish linguistics for a hundred years until Kashubian gained the official status of a regional minority language genetically closely related to, but independent from, Polish. The author of the dictionary entitled Słownik języka pomorskiego czyli kaszubskiego was Stefan Ramułt (1859–1913), a linguist, ethnographer, and essayist; he managed to prepare the second volume of his dictionary with newly recorded data, but it was published as late as 1993. Aleksander Brückner was a prominent Polish philologist, Slavicist, and historian of culture.]

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4. Jianghuai languages, i.e., languages of the lower River Yangtze regions spoken north of the river in parts of Anhui and Jiangsu Province (except for a strip of land between Xuzhou in Jiangsu to Bengbu in Anhui, which belongs to the Northern Mandarin area), and south of the River Yangtze but north of the River Zhenjiang. Yuan Jiahua took into account the following eleven tongues for his comparative analysis of Mandarin languages: 1. Beijing, 2. Shenyang, 3. Jinan, 4. Zhengzhou, 5. Taiyuan, 6. Xi’an, 7. Lanzhou, 8. Chengdu, 9. Kunming, 10. Hankou, 11. Nanjing. From the above, it is clear that Yuan Jiahua treated the groups he himself had established unevenly – in his exemplification, certain groups are better represented than others. In 1985, Li Rong (1985a) proposed the following alternative classification of Mandarin languages: 1. South-Western (xinan) languages: Chengdu, Chongqing, Wuhan, Kunming, Guiyang, and Guilin; 2. Central-Plateau (Zhongyuan) languages: Xi’an, Yuncheng, Luoyang, Zhengzhou, Xinyang, Qufu, Xuzhou, and Fuyang; 3. Lanyin languages: Lanzhou, Wuwei, Zhangye, Jiuquan, and Yinchuan; 4. Northern (beifang) languages: Jinan, Cangzhou, and Xianxian; 5. The language of Beijing: the area covering Beijing and the three provinces in Manchuria (Liaoning, Jilin, and Heilongjiang); 6. Jiaoliao languages: Qingdao, Yantai, and Dalian; 7. Jianghuai languages: Huaiyang, Nanjing, Hefei, Anqing, and Huanggang. The criterion for this classification was the tone(s) of language units articulated in languages that in the past possessed the so-called rusheng tone. Thus, e.g., in the languages of the first group, all the units that had been articulated in the rising tone in the past now occur with the tone called yangping. In all the remaining groups, their development differed depending on whether they had initial voiced or voiceless sounds. Other factors were also at play, but I believe that there is no need to go further into details that would unnecessarily complicate a description that is intended to be as simple as possible. It is important to notice that rigorous classification according to one phonetic feature produces a completely different classification of Mandarin languages from that proposed by Yuan Jiahua. Li Rong’s classification allowed for the separation of compact language areas – and this cannot be considered accidental. Besides, other features also support the classification. This does not mean, however, that such compact language areas are homogeneous. Li Rong’s inattention in view of the separation of the languages of Shanxi Province (the dialect of Taiyuan was not even mentioned) with features peculiar only to these languages is a weak point in his classification.

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Nevertheless, it is obvious that no matter which plane of analysis (be it phonetics, phonemics, morphology, or syntax) is selected, not every peculiar feature is sufficient to argue for classifying a language into a separate group or subgroup. Rather, it is a set of features that should be decisive in such a grouping. No feature should be neglected, but it does not follow that every feature should become a basis for classification. The language of Xi’an and its cognate languages of Baoji and Linyou (also – according to certain data – the languages of Lanzhou and Tongguan as well as the languages of Puzhou and Yuncheng in Shanxi Province), are the only ones in which pf- and pf’- occur in the initial position. Observe that – with the exception of quite distant Lanzhou – the enumerated locations are all situated on a narrow strip of land between Baoji and Yuncheng. Thus, one has to deal with a phonetic phenomenon confined to a particular area. This phenomenon also goes beyond provincial borders, which constitutes an argument against classifying languages on the basis of provinces, as Karlgren did in the past. As far as the abovementioned exceptional initial clusters are concerned, there are many reasons to treat these doublets as monophthongs, similarly to the treatment of equivalent clusters existing in contemporary German. Thus, in accordance with such an interpretation, pf- and pf’- are but labial equivalents of ts-, ts’, and other affricates. Comparisons with Pekinese reveal that the clusters in question simply correspond to ts- and ts’, cf.: Xi’an: pfu (Pekinese tṣu) “pig”; pf’u (Pekinese tṣ’u) “get out”; fu (Pekinese ṣu) “book”; vu (Pekinese ẓu) “get in”, and Xi’an: pfãe (Pekinese tṣuan) “brick”; pf’ãe (Pekinese tṣ’uan) “go through”; fãe (Pekinese ṣuan) “tie, bind”; vãe (Pekinese ẓuan) “soft.” These examples doubtlessly demonstrate a significant phonetic distinction compared to standard Chinese, while other features force one to classify these languages into a larger group of Mandarin languages rather than create a special sub-group for them. Furthermore, they are of great interest to linguists, because (regardless of their systemic “monophthongic” nature) they exemplify a (rather rare) tendency to the emergence of “new” initial consonant clusters. This phonetic phenomenon is important, because various spoken languages in Shaanxi and Shanxi Province force one to confront the problem of newly emerged consonantal clusters in the initial position. They result from the appearance, between the initial consonant and the vowel that followed, of certain intermediate sounds. This phenomenon is known from numerous languages, dialects of Polish included (cf., e.g., the Kurpiean Polish psiwo and bziały corresponding to the literary standard piwo [beer] and biały [white] respectively). In the Western part of Shanxi (Pingyang, Wenshui, Taigu, and other counties), one regularly hears mbu (Pekinese mu) “mother,” ndu (Pekinese nu) “slave,” ńdü (Pekinese ńü) “woman,” and even nggo (Pekinese wo) “I,” and a similar tendency has been noticed in a part of the southern Mandarin language area, e.g., in Chongqing, and in Hanyang in Hubei Province, as well as sporadically in other locations (like the vicinity of Wanquan in the north of Hebei Province). A similar phenomenon of the hiatus developing into a full consonant being the second component of bi-consonantal clusters has been observed in central and

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northern Shanxi Province (Taiyuan, Datong) but also in the vicinity of Xi’an; cf.: Taiyuan pxa (Pekinese p’a) “be afraid,” txa (Pekinese t’a) “you” (sing.), Datong tṣxa (Pekinese ts’ang) “long.” In the vicinity of Xi’an, even tri-consonantal clusters are formed in the manner of pfxu (Pekinese c̣’u), “go out.” Moreover, the assimilations of such consonants under the influence of the preceding consonant can be sporadically observed, cf.: Xi’an pçi and Lanzhou psi (Pekinese p’i) “skin” or Taiyuan tçi (Pekinese t’i) “body.” Consonantal innovations are not confined to the initial position. In the language of Qijiaxian (Qixian), a relatively small settlement in the south-western part of Shanxi Province, Xu Tongjiang (1984, pp. 1-9) found the existence of new consonantal finals -m and -β. “New” – because they are not continuations of any past finals. To be sure, Mandarin languages in the past featured -m in the final position, but the Qijiaxian -m developed from the past -n or -ng and had nothing in common with the former. It is sufficient to compare the standard Beijing pronunciation – typical of Shanxi – of Taiyuan, Yuci, and Taigu (all located in the vicinity of the provincial capital) with the pronunciation of Qixian to see it, cf.: Pekinese k’un, Taiyuan k’ung, Yuci k’ueng, Taigu k’uong, and Qixian k’om (elder brother), and further regularly jun: tc̣in, tcyng, tcyong, tcyong versus tciom (even, equal); dong: tung, teng, teng versus tom (east), and yong: yng, yeng, yong versus iom (eternal). It seems not out of place to comment here on the phonetic evolution of the word for “wind” in this area: In Archaic Chinese, the word was *pium, but the primitive final -m developed into -ng and became **piung in Middle Chinese. In Mandarin languages, the word further developed into feng and still further into xom in the Qixian language. Thus, after two thousand years of evolution, the word “regained” its past -m. The origin of the strongly labialized -β following -u- is a little more complicated, cf.: Pekinese pu: Qixian p’euβ (shop), Pekinese tsu (zu): Qixian ts’euβ (hire), Pekinese gu: Qixian t’euβ (aunt); -β here does not constitute any remnant of an old final consonant, but results from a strong labialization of the final -u. No other language phenomena could be both more and less important for a linguist. Since, however, a linguist looks at the evolution of the system as a whole (e.g., as the system of oppositions), not every phonetic change is equally significant in, or for, the system. Putting it simply, changes that occur across larger areas influence the whole system, and changes that allow some ordering of the studied phenomena and that lead to a classification are more interesting. Such a classification, based on phonetic criteria, allows for the conclusion that Mandarin languages are characterized by the lack of voiced consonants in the initial position, which in turn makes the contrast of aspirated versus unaspirated the basis phonemic opposition in these languages. Initial consonants thus constitute the following pairs: p- : p’-, t- : t’-, ts- : ts’-, tṣ - : tṣ’-, tç- : tç’-, k- : k’-. Sonants m-, n-, l-, ng-, ń- and fricatives f-, s-, ṣ-, c-, x-, ż- in principle do not have corresponding consonants to create minimal pairs – except in languages with the voiced v- (like Pekinese).

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In larger parts of the Mandarin linguistic area, the following development tṣ- > ts-, tṣ’- > ts-, and ṣ- > s- can be observed, which implies the shift of articulation frontward. The phenomenon, today considered dialectal and incorrect, is so widespread that all potential efforts of standardizers to eliminate it seem doomed to failure. The above depiction is only a general characteristic of Mandarin consonants, because particular Mandarin languages have their own individual features, and some of them occur across a considerably large area or areas separated from each other. Such features include, for instance, the merger of the initial l- and n- into l-, typical of the languages of Nanjing and, partly, Lanzhou, as well as a number of Mandarin varieties spoken in Manchuria (such as Shenyang). There are languages in which the initial n- replaced l-; in other languages (e.g., those of Beijing, Shenyang, partly Jinan, Zhengzhou, and Nanjing), the initial ng- disappeared. Both these changes, along with others, are characteristic of a later evolution of Mandarin languages in the sense that languages retaining the n- : l- contrast and languages with the initial ng- retained represent the older, more archaic, stage of development, while other languages represent the later stage. In some Mandarin languages, the palatalization of consonants did not occur in all positions. These include the languages of Chengdu and Hankou, cf. Pekinese tçie ( jie) “street” = Chengdu kai, Hankou kai, Pekinese çie (xie) “shoes” = Chengdu xai, Hankou xai, but Pekinese tçie (qie) “to cut / to incise” = Chengdu tciai, Hankou kai and Pekinese cie or tçie (qi) “tool / utensil /device” = Chengdu tçiai, Hankou kai. Among the features appearing only in some languages is the “mixing” of the initial f- and h-. This is also a feature of a more recent origin and its detailed discussion lies beyond the scope of this book. In its extreme development, the change took place in Macheng, northeastern Hubei, where the initial f- occurs while hdoes not appear at all. As a matter of fact, this feature also occurs beyond the Mandarin language area, being characteristic of some southern languages. As this book is not meant to give a detailed presentation of the consonants of all Mandarin languages, we can here give some conclusive remarks about their phonetic characteristics. The only final position consonants in all Mandarin languages are -n and -ng, and only some of these languages (like those of Nanjing or Taiyuan) have retained a final glottal stop, as a remnant of some ancient consonant. The pattern is, thus, very simple in this position. The final -n and -ng in certain languages (e.g., of Xi’an, Taiyuan, Lanzhou, Kunming, Yanzhou, and Nanjing) manifest a partial tendency toward disappearing, resulting in the nasalization of the proceeding vowel. In some languages (particularly that of Nanjing) in certain positions -n > -ng; in others both nasals disappear. The vocalism of Mandarin languages, in turn, is relatively rich: Apart from vowels, there are large inventories of diphthongs and triphthongs, with tendencies to diphthongize simple vowels and to triphthongize dominating diphthongs. Diphthongiszation, typical also of Pekinese, consists in placing semivowel elements before vowels (e.g., o > uo, i > ji) and triphthongization consists in in-

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serting vocal elements between the two constituents of a diphthong (e.g., ui > uei, iu > iou). Generally, nasalization is not a characteristic feature of Mandarin languages, even if it occurs quite regularly in certain areas. Mandarin languages have tonal systems that are predominantly based on four tones. The most representative languages with such a four-tone system are Pekinese and Modern Standard Chinese, but the languages of Jinan in Shandong and of Chengdu in Sichuan also belong to this group. Three-tone systems are rarer and the areas of their use are smaller. They are located in Gansu (Kangle), Shandong (Yixian), and Shanxi (Licheng) Province, as well as in certain regions of Hebei Province. Five-tone systems are also rare, but the areas of their use are larger, and the most representative languages here would be those of Nanjing and Taiyuan. In both of them, the fifth tone (a former entering tone / the old rising tone: rusheng) is short, and in its shortness differs from the remaining tones. The phonemic opposition of tone length does not occur with three-tone and four-tone systems, although it is obvious that certain tones are longer and certain others are shorter in duration by their very physical nature. Six-tone systems are also rare in this group and occur only in languages used in small areas in Jiangsu and Hubei Province. The seven-tone system in the Mandarin language of Nantong in Jiangsu Province is rather exceptional. All systems with more than four tones retained the old rising tone and even further developed it in some way. As far as the melodic line of tones is concerned, even (register) and rising and falling (gliding) tones prevail. Contour, doubly gliding tones, mainly fall-rises, are much less frequent and actually do not exist in many systems (e.g., in the languages of Zhengzhou, Taiyuan, Xi’an, Lanzhou, Chengdu, Kunming, and Nanjing). Contour tones are usually falling-rising, but in certain dialects their line (course) may be different (rising-falling, even-falling, and other). Tones with more than two glides occur sporadically. Tonal systems are much more diversified than sound systems and the diversification may occur even within one language, as can be concluded from Bai Dizhou and Yu Shizhang’s report (1954) on the pronunciation in the region of Guanzhong; the authors provided 39 different descriptions of tonal systems based on four tones, with a rich variety of contours for a relatively small region in the shape of a narrow belt in Shaanxi Province stretching from the curve of the Yellow River to the Gansu border. The observations made so far allow the conclusion that all systems with more than four tones are more archaic. Since they occur above all in southern regions of the Mandarin speaking area, one may label them southern and conclude that southern Mandarin languages are in this respect more archaic than northern Mandarin ones. Analyses of other Sinitic languages support such a conclusion. Moreover, all Mandarin languages undergo relatively little change under the impact of the (phonological) neighborhood (effect) of tones, although assimilations go further than in Pekinese – a tongue that is exceptionally resistant to them.

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The originally diminutive suffix (which is today often exclusively nounattachable), in Pekinese articulated as -er, constitutes a separate problem fringing upon phonetics, phonemics, and morphology. In some languages it merges with the preceding syllable, in other languages it does not. In Pekinese, it does merge with the preceding syllable and this results in a set of syllables ending with -r (which did not exist in the past) and, because the suffix eliminates the final -ng, in a set of syllables with strongly nasalized vowels (also not occurring in the past in the language). This feature cannot, however, be treated as a general feature of all Mandarin languages, as it does not concern the entire Mandarin group. First, Mandarin languages in which diminutive forms are constructed on different principles do exist; secondly, even in the case of languages in which the same suffix is etymologically used for the same purpose, the effects of its use can differ significantly. What is more, the same suffix also plays the same etymological function in certain languages outside the Mandarin group. To exemplify, a diminutive suffix -l, etymologically identical with the Pekinese -er, appears in the Wu language used in Hangzhou. It is a sonant that does not merge with the preceding syllable, cf.: teng l “stool” (dengzi), k’ue l “chopsticks” (kuaizi), soʔ l “rope” (shengzi), dźi l “aubergine” (qiezi). Actually, Pekinese lexical equivalents end with the suffix -tsy (zi), and not with -er. A similar situation has been described by Chen Chengrong (1979, pp. 47ff.) as occurring in the Pingyang dialect of Wu from the southern part of Zhejiang Province, close to the border with Fujian, in which a suffixal -ng, etymologically identical with the Pekinese -er and the Hangzhouese -l, either does not merge with the preceding syllable (cf. toe ng “knife” [daor], ha ng “shoes” [xiezi]) or does merge with it, with additional root vowel lengthening, and in certain cases vowel alteration (e.g., doe + ng > doe:ng “peach” [taor], mai + ng > me:ng “plum” [meir], ʔa + ng > ʔa:ng “almond” [xingr]). These two examples suffice to demonstrate that morphological (and also syntactic) problems should be taken into consideration regardless of phonetic classifications. It is not so much a question of establishing new borders between languages and dialects, but rather of producing results that would allow a fresh look at relations between languages, as signalled in the preceding chapter. It turns out that Wu languages, even the southernmost ones (i.e., those most distant from the Mandarin area), evidently share morphological features with languages of the Mandarin group – and this conclusion strengthens Hashimoto Mantaro’s postulate of their transitional position between northern and southern languages. It is, however, very interesting to examine why, and how, equivalents of the Mandarin suffixal -er vary so much from language to language. Good examples for this have been provided by Yuan Jiahua (1960), who compared the languages of Beijing and Chengdu – here only one example is quoted: Beijing Chengdu (MSC: gen) “root” ken + er > ker ken + er > ker (MSC: geng) “stem” keng + er > ker keng + er > ker

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(MSC: ge) “song” koe + er > koer ko + er > ker. In Pekinese, the first and the third words have different consonants despite the merger, so the words are still different, and – because of the strong nasalization of the vowel – the second word is also perceived as different from the other two. In the language of Chengdu, the suffixation results in three homophonic lexemes. In other languages that evolved differently and therefore possess different equivalents of the Pekinese -er, the suffixation process brings about different results – and different problems. This can be observed in the language of Luoyang, in which the equivalent of Pekinese -er is a central vowel (something between IPA ɨ and ɛ or Polish y and back e) and the suffixation results above all in new diphthongs (even after the disappearance of the final -ng), such as ku-t’ung + y > kut’uy (equivalent of Pekinese hu-t’ung “alley, backstreet” [hutong]), at times remonophthongized, cf. tṣ’umen + y > tṣ’umy (equivalent of Pekinese tṣ’u-men + er > tṣ’umer “going out” [chumer]). It is easy to reach erroneous interpretations, as one can see from the example taken from the language of Zhengzhou (not so distant from Luoyang), in which the originally diminutive suffix -u regularly occurs; it is equivalent to the Pekinese -tsy and unrelated to -er, but it does merge with the preceding syllable, cf.: pieu “nose” (equivalent to Pekinese pi-tsy [bizi]), p’ieu “skin” (equivalent to Pekinese p’i-tsy [pizi]), tieu “flute” (equivalent to Pekinese ti-tsy [dizi]), t’ieu “hoof” (equivalent to Pekinese t’i-tsy [tizi]), ieu “chair” (equivalent to Pekinese i-tsy [ yizi]). Interestingly, a suffixal -r also exists in the Zhengzhou language, merging with the preceding syllable (according to different principles than those in force in Pekinese); if monosyllabic words are involved, it is then reinforced with the prefixal siau, etymologically “small,” which could suggest the loss of the original diminutive meaning of -r; cf. e.g. tṣ’e “cart, vehicle” > siautṣ’ar, kou “dog” > siaukor; tṣen “needle” > siautṣer; mi “rice” > siaumier. A similar situation can be found in the Wuyi dialect of Wu from Zhejiang, in which the equivalent of the Beijing -er is -n, marking diminutive forms only in turn prefixed with sye“small”; the suffix causes root-vowel lengthening and sometimes vocalic alteration, cf., e.g., çy “book” > syeçy:n; tçi ‘hen’ > syetçi:n; key “dog” > syeko:n, and the like. Almost on the opposite recess of China, in the regions of Gangu, Tongwei, and Wushan in Gansu Province, the functionally identical suffix pronounced -.z occurs, which never merges with the preceding syllable, cf., e.g., Wushan tau-.z “knife” or ç’iau-tçi-.z “chicken.” The latter example is interesting because it structurally resembles Wu forms as found in the south of Zhejiang Province (the suffix is of the Hangzhou type and the prefix is of the Wuyi type). The Chinese themselves call the phenomenon just described erhua (er-ization); a detailed description of its various aspects would require more than one fulllength book. Here, the issue has been introduced to serve as a convenient transition from phonetics to morphology, simultaneously showing that 1) there are Mandarin languages (like Pekinese) in which the described type of suffixation is

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widespread, and those (like Nankinese) in which it is almost nonexistent; 2) the suffix itself varies from language to language, making the term “er-ization” inadequate; 3) the connectivity of the suffix with the preceding root syllables also varies from language to language, either remaining a separate syllable (Wushan and other languages in Gansu, as well as Hangzhou) or merging with the preceding syllable (Beijing, Chengdu); 4) the suffixation can, in particular languages, be obligatorily accompanied by the prefixation of the element with the meaning “small” (i.e., form confixes; cf. the languages of Wushan and Wuyi) and cause root-vowel lengthening or other alteration; 5) the scope, range, and function of this kind of suffixation vary, with the original semantics of “diminutiveness” undergoing gradual reduction and shifting the suffix to the function of the categorical exponent of the lexical category of nouns. The latter phenomenon is parallel to the evolution of another, originally also diminutive, nominal suffix -zi. One cannot leave unnoticed that in many languages (not only Mandarin ones), new, relatively complex, and systemic inner-syllabic morphology has emerged that in accordance with some theories should be long non-existent in Chinese. In certain situations, the opposition -er versus phonetic zero serves to differentiate between words that are otherwise homophonic – compare, e.g., Pekinese you2piao4 “stamp” with you2piaor4 “gasoline voucher”; da3jia4 “to fight” with da3jiar4 “strike a deal,” etc. The language of Taiyuan, in turn, provides numerous examples of semantically contrasting pairs of lexemes based on the suffixal opposition -er : -tze (~ z[i]), cf.: tau-er “knife for cutting vegetables” versus tau-tse “knife (weapon or butcher’s tool),” and the like. A general outline, like the present one, precludes any attempt at describing all complex characteristics of particular groups of Sinitic languages in a way that embraces phonetics, morphology, lexica, and semantics. Such a task would require, and result in, many volumes. Even if it were confined only to Mandarin languages and the dialects described, for which dictionaries exist, a tremendous effort would be required to compare about twenty ethnolects. Objectively, the present-day state of Chinese language research would make such an enterprise unfeasible. We know, for example, that there are differences in the categorical marking of plurals, but the existing data are fragmentary, i.e., not available in sufficient quantities to make reliable conclusions. In Modern Standard Chinese and in Pekinese, the plural suffix -men is obligatorily agglutinated to personal and possessive pronouns, and to a limited number of nouns denoting persons. The same suffix in Nankinese is confined to personal pronouns and not used with the nouns with which it is used in Pekinese. If it is necessary to mark the plural, one uses periphrastic expressions – for example, the equivalent of the Beijing pengyoumen, “friends,” in Nanjing is jige pengyou, “some~several friends.” The same suffix -men is much more widely used in the dialect of Gaocheng, located some twenty kilometres from Shijiazhuang, the capital of Hebei Province (according to Yang Naisi and Shen Shiying (1958, p. 278), in which it is used not only with nouns denoting persons which in Modern Standard Chinese would not require it, but also with the names of animals (e.g., xiaojimen “chicks”), plants

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(e.g., qingcaomen “grasses”), and even with nouns denoting inanimate objects (e.g., xiaochemen “[shopping] carts”). Similar usage can also be found in other Mandarin dialects, such as in the language of Xining, in which etymologically the same suffix -me+ can be attached, apart from nouns denoting persons, animals, plants, and objects, as well as abstract nouns. It is impractical to discuss here in detail even the basic problems in the morphology of Mandarin languages, partly because of the lack of accessible data; hence, only issues of both particular and subjective interest are signaled in this work, but those neglected here are neither unimportant nor have they remained unnoticed. Discussing morphology, one has to touch on problems such as tense/time, aspect, sequence of situations, and many others. General remarks on lexica that would cover many languages are also difficult to formulate, although one should point out that Mandarin languages, being in use on extremely vast territories in numerous locations, both underwent and are still undergoing constant influences from non-Chinese substrata and adstrata. These influences can easily be identified both in lexical borrowings and – which is particularly interesting – in syntax. Observations should focus particularly on areas where local non-Chinese substrata are particularly strong and the Chinese and alien elements are mixed. Qinghai Province, apart from the Chinese, is inhabited by Tibetans, Chinese Muslims referred to as Hui, Salars, Mongols, and Kazakhs. Phonetic borrowings from Tibetan prevail in the locally spoken Chinese, cf. e.g., tsãnba [zanba] < Tibetan rtsampa “fried noodles”; k’a-ma < Tibetan khama “clothes,” etc. Something similar occurs in all Chinese / Sinitic languages (not only Mandarin) that have either been under the influence of a strong non-Chinese substratum or have been bordered by languages other than Chinese: In all of them, the strata of phonetic loans from other languages can clearly be detected and this feature makes them different from languages that have not had direct contacts with alien or foreign tongues. The term “contact” is in many cases perhaps better than “substrat” or “adstrat,” because the loans are, or can be, a result of what is labeled “languages in contact.” The Dungan language, a variety of Mandarin spoken by the Hui in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Uzbekistan, is an extreme case of this. It is the only Sinitic language not written with Chinese characters, but in the Cyrillic alphabet, and includes numerous loans from Russian and Turkic languages. In many cases, such loans function parallel with periphrastic words with the same meaning coined from original native lexical stock, cf., e.g., fyngtṣuan (lit.: “wind ship”; compare also the periphrastic MSC feiji, lit.: “flying machine”) and samalyot (“self-fly[ing],” a Russian word) both meaning “airplane.” Many loans, such as sahat (“hour,” from Turkish~Turkic), have no native equivalents (the MSC equivalent is xiaoshi, lit.: “small time”). Mandarin stem languages, i.e., the languages that can be defined as central Mandarin (as opposed to peripheral Mandarin) are relatively immune to phonetic loans from foreign languages. Even if phonetic loans do enter them, they are in principle eliminated in a relatively short time and replaced by periphrastic for-

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mations based on native elements. Typical of the languages under discussion are transitions of the type from initial phonetic translation, e.g., demokelaxi < English democracy to the later semantic one, e.g., minzhu “democracy”; from the older delüfeng < English “telephone” to dianhua (lit.: “electric speech”; the word was actually coined in Japan, hence it should be treated as a loan from Japanese), from sai’ensi < English “science” to kexue “science, scholarship.” Consequently, the number of phonetic lexical borrowings is astonishingly small in these tongues. In fact, only individual words have survived, such as youmo < English “humor,” modeng < English “modern,” and, more recently, leida < English “radar.” Phonetic borrowings from languages that had a strong influence on northern Chinese in the past serve better than anything else to demonstrate how few such loans remain in the language for good. One does not have to look too far into the past: Northern China remained under Mongolian rule between 1215 and 1368 and under Manchu rule between 1644 and 1911. Yet, one must try hard to find Mongolian loans and it would be much easier to find them in theatrical plays from that past epoch (see, e.g., Sun Yutai 1982, pp. 57-59) than in today’s language. Equally little was left in this respect from the Manchu epoch. Dictionaries of Pekinese allow us to estimate this heritage at about 30-40 words, and the number of such loans is even smaller in standard Chinese. It is virtually next to nothing, when compared with hundreds or thousands of Latin or German borrowings in Polish, not to mention the prominence of French loans in English. This elimination process of words that sound alien, so typical of central Mandarin languages, does not concern those lexical elements that have been, and continue to be, borrowed from Japanese through the Chinese writing system (like the two Japanese creations minzhu and dianhua, which were imported to China). Such loans cannot be treated as phonetic borrowings, because their Chinesecharacter notations are read in Chinese. The same concerns phonetic borrowings from other Sinitic languages entering Mandarin as character notations (cf., e.g., the MSC word mati [lit.: horse’s hoof] “water chestnut,” which is of Cantonese origin). It is true that the Cantonese word mat’ai entered Pekinese in its written form and was interpreted in Beijing as mati and pushed out the original Pekinese word biqi, the etymology of which is unclear. The clear etymology of the Cantonese word noted with characters meaning “horse hoof,” a good figurative description of a water chestnut, was here a favorable factor. This word, however, seems to have been a foreign phonetic loan of Thai provenience, probably from Zhuang languages (a dozen Tai languages spoken by the Zhuang people of southern China in Guangxi Province and adjacent parts of Yunnan and Guangdong). There is a word mak (with its variant ma) in Thai that denotes “fruit,” and numerous names of individual fruit species are formed with this word followed (in accordance with the grammatical rules of Thai) by a determinant. The Wuming northern variety of Zhuang includes numerous fruit names of the type mak, e.g., mak tau “peach,” mak mang ko “mango,” mak se “strawberry,” and also ma tai. The latter entered Cantonese as a loan with a folk etymology “horse hoof” reflected in the charac-

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ters used for writing the word, and in this form spread across the entire territory of China (the characters written on the labels of cans in which the delicacy produced in the Canton area are on sale in the whole country turned out to be very helpful in making the word popular). This story of the word could be enriched with its variants from other, especially southern, Chinese languages. Here, it has been used but as a digressive exemplification. The concept of “peripheric languages” (or “boundary / border languages”) is not meant here to cover only those Mandarin languages that are used on the fringe of Mandarin linguistic areas – in fact, it may concern the entire territory in which Chinese is used, irrespective of the current political borders. All peripheric languages manifest a strong tolerance for phonetic borrowings. The languages of Hong Kong, Taiwan (Taiwanese version of Mandarin), and also Singapore can serve as good examples. Only the source languages for such loans differ – and this is one of the important factors differentiating Chinese, including literary Chinese, today. Some more attention must be paid at this point to the present discussion given to the question of periphrastic expressions and language calques, i.e., structures created from native elements patterned on foreign constructions (such as, e.g., Polish listonosz [IPA: lis̪ˈt̪ɔn̪ɔʂ] copied from German Briefträger, both meaning “postman, mailman, letter carrier”). Calques, doubtlessly, can be classified among periphrastic structures (regardless of their “foreign inspiration,” so they are neither easily eliminated nor perceived as foreign elements. Among more recent calques, one finds words such as miyue < mi (honey) + yue (moon, month) < English “honey moon”; biming < bi (pen) + ming (name) < English “pen name”; and regou < re (hot) + gou (dog) < English “hotdog.” The majority of neologisms in all contemporary Chinese languages (Mandarin and non-Mandarin) are typical periphrastic constructions. Neologisms coined in Japan from borrowed Chinese language material (i.e., characters) are also of the same structure, which makes their absorption into Chinese easy. The word xudianchi, lit.: “accumulating thunder pond” (i.e., storage battery, accumulator), is structurally identical to hundreds of other similar periphrastic constructions. Thus, the fact that the word (pronounced chikudenchi in Japanese) was called into existence in Japan is of no significance whatsoever for a Chinese person, and may be of interest only for linguists. Similarly, only linguists may care that the MSC word dianli (lit.: “thunder power”) originated in Japan, where it is pronounced denryoku. There, it was coined as a calque from the English words electric power. Periphrastic constructions worthy of attention include descriptive names for plants and animals. They occur in all Sinitic languages, but one could be under the impression that they are rarer among the northern languages. Pekinese names of the type longxucao (dragon’s moustache”; Eulaliopsis binata), an industrial grass species known as sabai grass), are known, but the Wuhan language contains many more of them, such as pi fu tsy (lit.: “wall tiger” > “climbing ivy”) and pi tç’i tong (lit.: “snot worm” > “snail.” Relatively rarely, more complex

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structures also occur, and the word ti kua tar (potato) from the language of Changzhi (one of the three largest cities in Shanxi) may serve as an example. The first component ti kua (lit.: [under]ground bottle gourds) itself is a periphrastic construction meaning “yam,” and the second component tar implies “egg/s.” In the same language, a somewhat mysterious word uang üeʔ hua (lit.: “flower looking at the moon) appears as the name for sunflower (it is commonly known that sunflowers turn their faces and follow the sun; cf. the MSC word: xiangrikui: lit.: “turning towards sun plant” > sunflower). Idiomatic expressions should be placed in the area overlapping the borderline between morphology and syntax. Generally, the results of foreign influence are fewer in syntax than in morphology, but they can still be found in present-day Mandarin languages in certain imported idioms with syntactic structures that did not previously exist in Chinese. The best-known example is the Taiwanese calque zuo ai (< English “to make love”), the first case of juxtaposition of the Chinese verb zuo (to make, to do) with the noun for “love.” The idiom took root to the extent that it crossed the strait to spread in continental China (the prestige of Taiwan and snobbery clearly was a supportive factor). Idiomatic calques are generally popular in Taiwan (cf., e.g., the TSC word feizaoju [soap opera]) and in Singapore (cf. e.g., sha shijian [kill time] or shatengyao ~ shatengzhe [painkiller]). In principle, these intrusions do not violate the basic rules of Chinese syntax. The syntax of Mandarin languages can be characterized by the degree of uniformity, even if the same patterns are achieved with different formal exponents in individual languages – this strongly resembles the situation in word formation and morphology. In some Mandarin languages, however, structures that were evidently borrowed do occur as a consequence of contacts with other peoples. In the language of Qinghai Province and its capital Xining, the influence of Tibetan produced structures like those recorded by Cheng Xianghui (1980, pp. 142-149) and exemplified below: tçie uã tiã ie k’ã le – “Come this evening to see a film” (= the MSC sentence: Jinwan lai kan dianying). In the example, the object – in the Tibetan manner – precedes the verb. Tibetan influence is also reflected in the usage of particles, cf.: no t’a la fo kuo – “I spoke to him” (= the MSC sentence: Wo dui ta shuoguo). Here, the syntax exactly follows that of its correct Tibetan equivalent: nas (I) kho (he) la (particle) bsad (speak) myong (past). The Tibetan particle has been introduced here and placed after the object (in Chinese it precedes the object). One could think that the phenomena of this kind are only of marginal importance and that they solely concern languages so strongly influencing each other that they lead to the emergence of mixed tongues. In the introduction to their 1994 dictionary of the Xining language, however, Li Rong and Zhang Chengcai insisted that placing the object before the verb should be seen as the language’s

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distinctive feature. This feature concerns all kinds of objects, predicate nominatives included. Among many examples recorded in the dictionary we find, e.g.: ni ts’a huo… – “you drink / are drinking tea …” (= the MSC sentence: Ni he cha … …) tçia .l że iy .lia ? “Is anyone home?” (= the MSC sentence: Jiali you ren ma?) çio uõ+n tc’ien xe że pu sy … – “Little Wang is not from Qinghai” (= the MSC sentence: Xiao Wang bu shi Qinghairen). The scholars mention other distinctive features pertaining to syntax in the language, including the postposition of a negation marker in relation to an adverb, cf.: t’iã tç’i hu tu pu że “the weather is not particularly warm” (SMC tianqi bu tebie re). The situations in which modifications to syntax and lexica can be ascribed to foreign influences on sound grounds, however, are rather exceptional, and therefore cannot be used as an argument in the discussion on word-order in Chinese, because we are unable to compare them to developments in other Mandarin languages under the same circumstances. I have in mind in the first place here the language of Urumqi, which has also faced strong pressure from non-Sinitic tongues (reflected above all in the lexicon), but has resisted comparable modifications in syntax. What has been said above is not intended to suggest that syntactic modifications in Mandarin languages take place only in situations when they submit to outside influences. In this context, it is interesting to pay some attention to the language of Yinchuan – the capital of the Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region and an important center for Chinese Muslims. Let us begin by posing some intriguing questions: Why are Chinese Muslims referred to as Huizu (Hui nationality) officially treated as a separate minority people in China? Why is the religion of Islam in this case a sole distinctive factor sufficient as the basis for their official status as a separate nationality? Neither Chinese Buddhists nor Chinese Christians are regarded as separate ethnic minorities. Leaving aside political arguments, which are irrelevant here, I believe that the Hui can be recognized as a separate group on linguistic grounds, especially as far as phonetics is concerned. However, it would be difficult to claim the same about those who live outside the Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region and are also called Hui. As Muslims, they all use numerous terms of Arabic origin, but this cannot be considered as the core of the distinction, because the very same could be said about Buddhists (using abundant terminology from Indic languages) or even Christians. This makes the confinement here only to the Hui of Ningxia reasonable. Disregarding phonetics and features such as a separate pronominal system of person, demonstratives, and interrogatives, the language spoken by the Hui in Ningxia stands out with two specific features in syntax:

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1. There are two different positions possible for the negation marker: It can be placed either before prepositional phrases, as in Modern Standard Chinese and other Mandarin languages (the MSC sentence: Wo bu gen ni shuole –  “I did not speak with you”), but also before verbs; thus, the equivalent of the MSC sentence just provided is either ve pu lian ni ṣue ly or ve lian ni pu ṣue ly. 2. The exponent of negation implying prohibition ba either follows or precedes adverbs of degree or intensity with the meaning “very,” “too [e.g., much],” which in MSC are related to adjectives. Thus, the MSC lazi buyao zhongde tai mile, “pepper should not be dibbled too densely,” would have two corresponding constructions in the Ningxia Hui language: la.tsy ṣeng pa tṣueng te tṣ’eu ly and la.tsy pa ṣeng tṣueng te tṣ’eu ly. In both these cases of syntactic differences, one has to deal not only with structures that differ from their correspondents in other Mandarin languages, but also with options in word order – and this is a very important feature distinguishing the language of Yinchuan. Some more examples can be added here to illustrate the nature of the syntactic differences between Mandarin languages. The inversion of the subject and the verb, particularly frequent in colloquial speech, is very characteristic of the language of Xuzhou (in the north-eastern part of Jiangsu province), cf., e.g.: K’ãe tiãe ing pae ne = the MSC sentence: Nimen kan dianying ma? (Do you [plural] watch the film?) The subject ne (you) in the above example follows the interrogative particle pae to conclude the verbal phrase. This kind of inversion occurs in other Mandarin languages only sporadically and is strongly emphatic (cf., e.g., Pekinese laile xin [the letter has finally arrived] versus the standard statement of the fact xin laile [a letter has come]). Adverbs in the language of Xuzhou also occur as postpositions, cf.: T’a tṣ’y fãe le p’e = the MSC sentence: Ta zheng lai chifan (He just came to eat) or tsou le ma çü = the MSC sentence: Dagai zoule (Probably [he] left). The latter type of syntactic constructions is of particular interest, because it reveals that postpositional determination occurs much more widely in languages other than the official northern Chinese While I am fully aware that this presentation of Mandarin languages is elementary, I still hope that the material provided is sufficient to portray Mandarin varieties as separate languages rather than as the dialects of a single language. It is certainly easier for a Pole to understand Slovak or Czech than for an inhabitant of Beijing to comprehend the speech of inhabitants of, e.g., Xining or Xuzhou.

CHAPTER 13 Southern Chinese Languages I initially planned to devote a separate chapter to each group of Chinese languages classified in accordance with the present-day state of research. The implementation of this plan would, however, excessively expand this book. Thus, reason dictates that I confine myself to a concise presentation of individual language groups within one longer chapter. For attentive readers, it is perhaps obvious that any further discussion of Chinese languages should begin with the introduction of the Wu group, which has so far been mentioned as having numerous important features of transitional languages between Mandarin and Southern Chinese. Wu Languages1

It is practical to begin the discussion with some explanation of linguistic borders. Clear-cut borderlines, i.e., such that correspond to or could be identified with a single isogloss as the clear geographic boundary of certain linguistic features or different languages, occur only in certain rare cases. These cases are either those of extremely different languages neighboring each other, or ones of borders that were created artificially, e.g., as a result of massive resettlements or what has recently gained the inglorious label of “ethnic cleansing.” The Polish-German border, administratively imposed and accompanied by massive resettlements, along the Odra (German: Oder) and Lusatian Neisse (Polish: Nysa Łużycka; German: Lausitzer Neiße; Czech: Lužická Nisa), can serve as an example of an artificial linguistic border. Not quite as sharp, due to natural origin, but still very clear language borders between Hungarian and German can be found along the state border between Austria and Hungary. In territories where different akin languages coexist and the populations using them have been living with no outside intervention influencing their distribution, clear-cut linguistic borders do not exist. Putting it simply, in such borderline areas different isoglosses run in different directions, often crossing one another. They thus illustrate the gradual transition of one language into another. In such situations, linguistic borders can be decided only theoretically in places of particular concentration and density of important isoglosses. A situation like this exists, e.g., on the Polish-Slovak borderland in the historical region of Spisz (Slovak: Spiš; German: Zips; Hungarian: Szépes). The above introductory words are important not only because Wu languages are transitory between Mandarin and Southern Chinese but, above all, because in many areas it is also difficult to draw linguistic borderlines between Wu and neighboring languages. This is due to two basic reasons:

                                                             1

[M.K.: For more information on Wu languages see, e.g., Zhengzhang Shangfang – Zheng Wei 2015; Hou Jingyi 2002, pp. 67-87; Chappell – Li 2016, pp. 617-618.]

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1. In the northern part of the Wu area, the neighborhood pattern with Mandarin languages is so complicated that in some locations one is confronted with typical hybrid (mixed) languages. 2. In the southern part of the Wu area, Min linguistic islands occur, and there are also Wu linguistic islands in the Min language area, and the constant WuMin inter-influence considerably blurs the picture of the linguistic situation there. For the former situation, the most typical language is that of Danyang, a city located on the railway line connecting Nanjing with Shanghai and, more importantly, situated on the borderland of Mandarin (here, particularly Jianghuai) and Wu language areas. The city’s language, for which scholars have defined no less than four main varieties, is a typical language hybrid with the Wu element prevailing. The Chinese, who have a unique skill in creating succinct expressions, speak of it as Wu tou Chu wei, i.e., “having its head in Wu and its tail in Chu” (here the name of the Chu kingdom in the meaning of southern Mandarin; normally, this phrase will be translated as “on the borders between the two kingdoms Wu and Chu”). The situation of the Danyang language is reflected in its phonetics; for example, the MSC word quan (source) is pronounced tç’ü in District A, z’ü in District B, tç’iong in District C, and tç’iõe in District D. There is no point in presenting here the phonetic systems of all four varieties, because there are also peculiarities characterizing the speech of sub-districts, suburbs, etc., and differences in the speech of elderly people and youths, as well as the talk of some standard Danyang language. The language has six tones, three of them even (55, 33, and 11), one a rising (24), and two short (3 and 5) tones. The insufficiency of examples makes the verification of the hybrid nature of the language difficult, but from the few examples provided one can conclude that it has, at least in some varieties, voiced consonants in the initial position, which is typical of Wu languages. In addition, its tonal system is closer to Wu than to neighboring southern Mandarin languages. On the other hand, the reduction of final consonants to the single -ng (i.e., either the elimination of -n or its transformation into -ng) is a feature typical of both southern Mandarin (Nanjing!) as well as Wu languages. Meanwhile, the palatalization of certain initial consonants in the Danyang language seems similar rather to the Mandarin scheme (the Nanjing equivalent in the Danyang tongue is Nongtçing). The issue of the palatalization of initial consonants preceding front vowels is not easy to understand. Stating that the phenomenon has occurred in the two groups of languages is far from sufficient. While the process took place where front vowels did appear in a given language, in some specific cases, the situation can be totally different. The same word with the meaning “go away,” to take a simple example, which was pronounced **k’iwo in Middle Chinese, changed into k’ü in the Mandarin languages; furthermore, the initial consonant underwent palatalization, resulting in tç’ü (today transcribed as qu). But in Shanghaiese, the Middle Chinese **k’iwo > k’y, and since y is not a palatal vowel, the initial k’-

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did not undergo any further change (which could lead to a false conclusion that palatalization has not taken place at all in the language). The latter of the two situations indicated above (i.e., that of language islands) would require a detailed exemplification of the mutual interrelations of both of the language groups involved. It should suffice to state that islands of the southern (although one would expect northern) variety of Min languages in the south of the Wu language area exist, though not numerously so. According to Yuan Jiahua (1960), Wu languages today cover the southern part of Jiangsu Province south of the River Yangtze and east of Zhenjiang City (not including the city), the Chongming Island (Chongmingdao), and islets in the estuary of the Yangtze, and the south-eastern recesses of Jiangsu Province situated north of the Yangtze estuary, with such cities as Nantong and Haimen. Besides, the Wu language area alsp includes the People’s Republic of China’s municipality of Shanghai and almost the entire territory of Zhejiang Province, together with hundreds of islands and islets within its borders (east of the Hangzhou Bay [Hangzhouwan], and further southward). The entire indicated area belongs to the most urbanized regions of China, hence the important role of the tongues of cities such as Changzhou, Wuxi, Suzhou, Shanghai, Hangzhou, Shaoxing, Ningbo, Wenzhou, and, further inland, Jinhua and Yongkang. The classification of the group’s languages 2 causes serious problems. Yuan Jiahua (1960) characterized Wu languages using exemplification only from the tongues of Suzhou and Yongkang, and he neglected the classification of Wu ethnolects completely. More recent literature on this matter features only a twopage editorial in Fangyan 4 (1984), pp. 241-242. One has to admit that the editorial board of the quarterly has devoted much space and attention to languages of the Wu group from the very beginning of the journal’s existence. The proposal of a classification of the Wu language area presented in the mentioned editorial was both tentative and very detailed. Five groups were established, with sub-grouping further sub-classified into a number of smaller areas. The following five groups have been proposed: 1. The Taihu group (the glottonym taken from the name of a huge lake in the south of Jiangsu Province) has further been classified into six subgroups including respectively 11, 29, 6, 1, 13, and 10 sub-subareas. The first among the six subgroups included, among others, the languages of Changzhou and Danyang; the second one – the languages of Wuxi, Suzhou, and Shanghai; the third – Huzhou; the fourth – exclusively Hangzhou; the fifth – Shaoxing; and the sixth Ningbo and others. Thus, it turns out that the languages of the largest cities have been classified in this subgroup. The language of Hangzhou has, in my opinion, been classified as a unit completely separate from all other languages in this classification. It coincides with Yuan Jiahua’s opinion that the language of Hangzhou City, to which the Empire’s capital was shifted from the north in 1128 for a period of almost 150                                                              2

[M.K.: Cf. Fu Guotong et al. 1986; Li Rong 1989, pp. 257-258.]

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years, was strongly influenced by Mandarin from the southern part of the North China Plain (Huabei pingyuan, also referred to as the Central Plain: Zhongyuan) where the previous capital, Kaifeng, was situated. Wu features dominate in the language, but, e.g., the personal pronoun system is that of Mandarin. Linguistically, it is therefore also a hybrid language, and one of a very ancient date. One cannot avoid at this moment pointing to the very important threefold difference, i.e., first in view of the inherited features from a common ancestor that exist in two languages belonging to different language groups; secondly, the features that testify a parallel development of two languages belonging to two different groups; and thirdly, the features that a language from one group took over from a language belonging to another group. Thus, it is obvious that elements taken over by the Hangzhou language from the Kaifeng language in the Song epoch do not constitute evidence for the transitional character of the Wu languages discussed above. The fact of finding element x in a language from language group y by itself still proves nothing. One has to know how it found itself there – and this is the best reply to those who insist that studying the history of a language is not needed and can be fully substituted by its synchronic analysis. The remaining groups of Wu languages in the classification under scrutiny were the following: 2. Taizhou, 3. Wenzhou, 4. Wuzhou, and 5. Liqu, further split into two subgroups. At the same time, the authors of the classification proposal mentioned areas with languages that contemporarily could not be explicitly classified into any of the established groups, and, in relation to others, expressed their conviction of doubt concerning particular affiliations. Such cases mainly concerned borderland ethnolects, i.e., such that constitute Mandarin and Wu as well as Wu and Min neighborhood areas. The case of the Danyang language is thus not exceptional. The situation, here only shortly outlined out of obvious necessity, proves not only the significant diversity within the Wu language group, but also the distance separating us from the moment when sufficient conditions and data will enable us to work out a satisfying description of the group as a whole – in spite of the relatively long history of studies on Wu (the oldest dictionary of the language of Ningbo by Rev. William T. Morrison was published as early as 1876). The quick urbanization of the region on an enormous scale (involving the spontaneous migration of a rural population to the cities) caused a very speedy linguistic evolution of particular language varieties. Problems related to these processes remain relatively unknown, although publications emerge from time to time revealing a completely unexpected picture of the state of affairs. The author of one article studied changes in the language of Shanghai taking place over the last one hundred years on the basis of a comparison of accessible dictionaries and descrip-

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tions. The conclusion was that contemporary Shanghaiese hardly resembled the language spoken in the city a century before – so deeply had the phonetic system been restructured. Yuan Jiahua (1960) attempted a basic formulation of some general characteristics of the phonetics of Wu languages in the following four points: 1. These languages have voiced consonants in the initial position: b, d, g, v, dz, z, x (in some languages, like that of Jingning, p and t > b and d while b and d > bx and dh; in others, like that of Danyang, voiced consonants underwent devoicing). 2. These languages have developed a rich vocalism, but only a few diphthongs. 3. In the majority of these languages, -ng is the only final consonant; in Shanghaiese, for instance, -m and -n > -ng, hence the originally different words meaning respectively “gold” (MSC: jin), “pound” (MSC: bang), and “capital” (MSC: jing) are today pronounced in the same way as tçing (with the obvious palatalization). 4. The original final -p, -t, and -k evolved into glottal stops. The language of Chongming, an island situated in the Yangtze estuary, does not fit these characteristics. Apart from the initial voiceless, voiceless aspirated, voiced, and fricative consonants (all typical of Wu), it has as many as three rows of initial consonantal clusters, which is absolutely exceptional in today’s Chinese. These rows are: a. strong glottal closure + liquid, cf. ʔm, ʔl, ʔn, ʔń, ʔng; b. light glottal closure + liquid, cf. hʔm, hlʔ, hʔn, hʔń, hʔng; c. voiceless fricative + its voiced correspondent, cf. fv, sz, c, z, hhʔ. Wu tonal systems are relatively complicated. Systems based on eight tones are frequent and occur, e.g, in the languages of Wenzhou (44, 31, 54, 24, 42, 11, 23, 12, i.e., two level tones, three rises, and three falls) and Shaoxing (51, 231, 335, 113, 33, 11, 45, 12, i.e., two level tones, two rises, one fall, and three “broken” contours – one rising-falling and two level-rising). Systems based on seven tones are typical of the languages of Suzhou (44, 24, 41, 523, 331, 4, 23), Ningbo (53, 233, 445, 112, 44, 5, 2), and Jinhua (33, 313, 535, 55, 24, 4, 12). Both short and normal tones occur in these systems, and short tones are old ascending tones. Six-tone systems are rarer and can be found in, e.g., the language of Yongkang (44, 22, 35, 13, 52, and 241, the latter being realized also as a rising one 24). Characteristic for all Wu languages is a complicated system of tonal changes conditioned contextually in di- and trisyllabic words. This feature is shared by all southern languages. The alternant pronunciation of numerous syllables, different when reading literary texts and while speaking, occurring quite intensively, is an important phonetic property of Wu languages. The phenomenon also appears sporadically in Mandarin languages, but its role is much less significant and rather recessive. A cultured Chinese person, however, knows well that the character for white (bai) should be read bo for the name of the poet Li Bo (701–762), but bai when the white color is meant. The literary pronunciation in Wu languages generally re-

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flects the older strata of the phonetic evolution, e.g., the one preceding the palatalization of consonants in the initial position. Thus, the literary pronunciation of the word jia, meaning “home, family,” is ka, while its colloquial equivalent is tçia. Any general statement concerning Wu vocabulary is difficult to formulate in view of the enormous diversity and differentiation of these tongues. Nevertheless, one can indicate certain phenomena that concern all varieties of Chinese. It is always so that a certain part of the vocabulary of a language studied is shared with other Sinitic languages and the remaining part is unique and belongs only to the language studied. There are also words that are common but that at the same time differ in meaning or communicative function (usage). Words that are common, including those that have the very same semantics, can, however, have different idiomatic distributions. Thus, the MSC shenghuo and the Wu sang uoʔ are etymologically identical and have the same meaning (life), but in Wu one says tsoʔ sang uoʔ (to work, [to earn a] living), while there is no MSC word-for-word idiomatic (phraseological) equivalent like *zuo shenghuo; instead, one uses the compound word ganhuo. A relatively small percentage of phonetic borrowing from non-Sinitic languages is an important feature of Wu languages – and a surprising one, if we consider the constant and long-lasting direct contact of these tongues with different European languages. In this respect, there is no comparison with contemporary Hongkongese and other languages that can be called peripheral. A very peculiar feature of Wu languages is their system of personal and demonstrative pronouns, which differs from that of other Sinitic languages, and particularly from that of Mandarin. A considerable diversity within the Wu group as well as numerous alternant forms and varying plural formation in individual ethnolects can also be observed. Thus, for example, in the Suzhou language the singular pronouns are as follows: 1. ngeu, neu, ng, or ńi 2. ne, n 3. li, line, nne of which only the first one is etymologically identical with its Mandarin equivalent. The plural pronouns in the language are: 1. ńi 2. n toʔ, ntoʔ netoʔ 3. litoʔ and the plural suffix marker is not known from other languages. In Shanghaiese, the personal pronouns are as follows: Singular Plural 1. ngu ńi, ngu ńi (originating from ngu haʔ ńi) 2. nong na (originating from nong laʔ) 3. i i laʔ

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In the language of Zhuji (Zhujihua, spoken south of Shaoxing) one finds the following pronouns: 1. ngou ngpe 2. ńi ńiape 3. dźi dźia, dźiape In the not very distant language of Jinhua (some 75 km southwest from Zhuji), we find: 1. a, a nong alang 2. nong nonglang geʔ lang 3. geʔ and on the southern edge of the Wu area in Pingyang County on the coast, we have: 1. ng ngle 2. ńi ńile 3. gi gile If we recall here the Hangzhou personal pronominal system resembling that of Mandarin and the one mentioned above, the exemplification should be sufficient: It is impractical to present here all possible Wu systems and inventories in detail. At the same time, the above exemplification well illustrates the fact that an enormous diversity of personal pronouns in Wu is one of the distinctive features of the Wu group. One should emphasize that apart from forms specific only to Wu, there are also forms existing in Mandarin on the one hand, and forms known from other southern languages (like geʔ, gi), on the other hand. This is yet another element of the transitional nature of the languages of this group. Suffixation with the application of different formal exponents of plurality in particular languages indicates that particular systems originated independently of one another and also independently of Mandarin systems. Rules are the same, but their realisations differ. Based on this observation, one can conclude that the considerable diversification of languages of the group could be of a relatively early date. A comparison of the systems of demonstratives, left undiscussed here, allows for similar conclusions. One more interesting phenomenon is worthy of our attention here, namely the degree of intensity of the semantics of adjectives and adverbs (comparable to the categorical comparison of adjectives and adverbs in our language[s]), which in the Mandarin languages is marked with prefixes (cf., e.g., the MSC hao [good] > henhao) [very good], taihao [too good]). In Wu languages, special formal monosyllabic (like me, t’oʔ) or disyllabic (like tçiae kue) auxiliary words placed either before an adjective or adverb (e.g., me ho [very good]), preceding or following it, or only after it. Contrary to Mandarin, Wu languages also allow for the occurrence of such elements after some verbs. Syntactic matters will be discussed at the end of this survey of southern Chinese languages.

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Xiang Languages3

These languages have been quoted or referred to a number of times in this book, and there is no need to repeat everything written before. The group in question includes languages spoken in the area embracing a larger part of Hunan Province (locally called Fulan). Yuan Jiahua (1960) characterized the situation in the group as extremely complicated, as referred to above (cf. pp. 243, 245). There is no doubt that one has to deal with different strata of Xiang languages that partially overlap. In addition, the area borders that of the southern Mandarin language dominance in the north, one in which Mandarin languages coexist intermixed with non-Chinese Miao languages in the west, and the territory inhabited by the Yao people, akin to Miao, in the south. I see neither place nor reason here to separately describe the two basic varieties of Xiang, i.e., the Old Xiang and the New Xiang. It seems enough to recall the opinion of some scholars, among them Yuan Jiahua (1960), that the “New Xiang” implies a language of the Mandarin type that can be regarded as transitional between Mandarin and southern languages. The language of Changsha, the province capital, typical of the “new” variety, does not have voiced consonants in the initial position; in the final position, it has only -n or -ng and, apart from single vowels, it has at its disposal few diphthongs and still fewer triphthongs. The palatalization of initial consonants took place on a wide scale in the language. Its distinctive features include the reduction of land n- > n-, and in many contexts merging f- and hu- > f- accompanied by merging the final -n and -ng. As a result, the New Xiang equivalent of the Pekinese syllables huang and fang turns out to be fan, and the equivalent of hong and feng is hong. The replacement of final nasal consonants with a strong nasalization of the preceding vowel is also a frequent occurrence; cf., e.g., the Pekinese syllables nuan and luan and its New Xiang equivalent nõ. Similarly to the situation in Mandarin, in New Xiang ts.-, ts.’-, s.- > ts-, ts’-, s-. The New Xiang language has six tones: 33, 13, 41, 55, 21, and 24. The Old Xiang language, for which the speech of Shuangfeng, situated southwest of Changsha, is representative, has voiced consonants in the initial position, like Wu and partially Min languages, and has two nasal sonants m and n. Thus, there are three series of consonants: voiceless unaspirated, voiceless aspirated (pronounced very softly), and voiced. Its characteristic features are a relatively poor inventory of vowels, the lack of triphthongs, and final -n and -ng, which in the majority of cases change into the strong nasalization of preceding vowels. The Old Xiang has five tones: 55, 23, 21, 35, and 33. The palatalization of initial consonants developed to a significantly smaller degree, cf., e.g., the Pekinese syllables jia, jie, and their Old Xiang equivalents ka-, ko-, and kie-. At times, pairs do occur, cf. k’i+ or tç,’i+ corresponding to the Pekinese jian. Even consonants that re-emerged ahead of front vowels remained non-palatalized, cf. the Pekinese ke and Old Xiang k’ie (guest), and the

                                                             3

[M.K.: See also Chappell – Li 2016, pp. 613-614.]

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voiced h-, also resisted palatalization, cf., e.g., the Pekinese xie and the Old Xiang xa (shoes). Since, however, palatalization is characteristic of the New Xiang, the Old Xiang features non-palatalised forms (like ko) in colloquial use and palatalized forms (like tçio) in literary use. The situation is thus opposite to that known from Wu languages. In certain aspects, the Old Xiang evolved in the opposite direction of the New Xiang: While in the latter we observe the change hu > f, in the former the opposite (probably earlier) process, namely f- > fu- > hu, took place, cf., e.g., fei, fa > fuei, fua > hui, hua. The language in use in a small area around the city of Loudi in central Hunan, a dictionary of which was published in 1994 by Yan Qinghui and Liu Lihua, represents another variety of the Old Xiang. Phonetically, it does not differ from the language of Shuangfeng, but stands out with some morphological and syntactic features worth mentioning here for various reasons. Firstly, the word formation of the Loudi language includes many periphrastic expressions triggered by language taboo. They constitute a sort of “live” evidence for the correctness of our ideas concerning the role of taboo in the origin of periphrastic expressions in Archaic Chinese. Thus, one finds, e.g., sa+ my tsy “mountain cat” > “tiger.” The peculiarity of this formation type consists in avoiding all possible homonyms of the word xu (tiger), most often substituting it with my for “cat,” even if the expression to be created has nothing to do with the tiger; cf., e.g., my diy (cat’s head) instead of xu diy, which would literally mean “tiger’s head,” implying “the edge of an axe.” Ominous words are also often omitted. The word for “celery” is usually xu ts’e (happy vegetable; the xu here does not have associations with “tiger,” because it is uttered in a different tone), in place of the regular name dʐin ts’e, in order to avoid the first syllable, which sounds exactly like the word for “to be drowned” (and the whole item would mean a “vegetable causing drowning”). Certain lexical archaisms in the Loudi language are also of interest, because they retain, or are closer to, original semantics of old formations, such as ue nin, initially a sequence verb + object meaning “to love people” or “to please people” > “to give joy to people.” In other Chinese languages, it evolved into a determinative structure (loved person) that today implies “spouse, husband, wife, partner.” Secondly, Loudi language nouns, whether as subject, object, or determinant, always occur with their appropriate classifiers (measure words), even if no numeral precedes it, cf.: tç’y ma tçio tçi ta (to go to buy a chicken; tçio is here the classifier for tçi “hen,” and ta is a sentence-final particle). To forespeak does not belong to a linguist’s tasks, but it is difficult to refrain here from a supposition that such constructions can further evolve into some system of articles or noun class markers – what else can a classifier independent of numerals be? The issue does not resolve around any hen or chicken, but the one which is to be put into the pot. Thirdly, adverbial expressions in the Loudi language follow verbs in sentences, cf., e.g.:

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ng kong diy, n kong pe (the MSC sentence: Wo xian jiang, ni hou jiang) – “I’ll speak first, and you’ll speak after.” As can easily be seen, the linguistic situation in the area under scrutiny is indeed quite complicated, making difficult anything beyond generalizations like one that the lexicon manifests the prevalence of southern Chinese elements over northern Chinese elements in the Xiang. This can be concluded from the abundance of periphrastic formations pertaining to everyday life, exemplified above with items from the language of Loudi, but it actually concerns all languages of the region. Entering the Xiang language area can feel like stepping into a fantastical land where an owl is referred to as a “crying bird” (k’eu tie), a tiger is called an “old worm” (le din), a starling is a “hen with a white back” (po pie tçie), a weasel a “rat with yellow claws” (fang tsa çü), and a lizard a “wall tiger” 4 (pi fu tsy). Even in such a short outline, one cannot forget about elements to which so much attention has been paid so far in this book, namely personal pronouns and names for the male and female sex of particular species. The latter has been dealt with above, so I shall here concentrate on pronouns. In the New Xiang, personal pronouns, both singular and plural, are the same as in Mandarin, although they are pronounced differently (ngo, n or ńi, ta). The plural marker is men. In the Old Xiang, the first person singular is ang or ngo, the second – ńi, and the third – to or tṣy; the plural marker is the suffixed tsi, unknown in the north. Thus, also in this respect the Old Xiang manifests more ties with the south than the New Xiang, which means that it is evidently tied to northern languages. The most important conclusion from the outlined characteristics should be that the zone of northern, i.e., Mandarin, languages is separated from the zone of southern languages by a transitional zone – in Zhejiang Province, it consists of Wu languages, transitional in certain aspects, and in Hunan Province it consists of overlapping areas of the Old Xiang, definitely southern in character, and the New Xiang, which is classified among the northern languages.5 It cannot be excluded that further research will lead to a completely different description of the languages of the area.6 The same concerns also languages of the group discussed in the following subchapter. Gan Languages7

Gan languages occupy the major part of the territory of Jiangsu Province, situated, despite its traditional name, not west, but south of the Yangtze River. In the

                                                             4

[Editor: Modern Standard Chinese also contains the expression bihu (wall tiger) for the Asian house gecko, i.e., house lizard.]

5

[M.K.: Cf. Norman (1988, pp. 181-183).]

6

[Translator (A.M.): Among the most recent studies, W. South Coblin’s (Ke Weinan) 2011 monograph Comparative Phonology of the Central Xiāng Dialects (Taipei: Institute of Linguistics Academia Sinica) deserves special mention.]

7

[M.K.: See also Chappell – Li 2016, pp. 614-616.]

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north and northeast, the province neighbors on the provinces of Hubei, Anhui, and Zhejiang, i.e., the areas of Mandarin languages, especially those of the Jianghuai group; in the west, it neighbors on the Xiang language. It is no wonder, then, that both of these groups significantly influenced the Gan languages. There are no clear-cut borderlines here: For example, the southeastern part of Hubei Province is considered transitional between Mandarin and Gan. In the east, the province neighbors areas occupied by Min languages, and in the south – territories in which the Hakka and Yue languages are used. Such a neighborhood results in specific language situations, but apart from the language of Nanchang, with its description being accessible, little is known about Gan languages. Among the dialectal dictionaries recently published one finds a relatively bulky dictionary of the language of Lichuan, compiled by Yan Sen (1995). Lichuan is a city situated in the border area near Fujian Province. The language doubtlessly belongs to the Gan group and is even classified in a specific subgroup, but it is still difficult to discuss this sub-classification in detail. The language of Lichuan differs from that of Nanchang in having two pronunciation standards, “old” and “new,” which contrast with each other. In the latter, we find a consistent palatalization of initial consonants that is not present in the former. Another important feature is the preservation of a final -m in the old pronunciation; as a result, the word for “gold” in the old pronunciation sounds like kim and in the new pronunciation like tçin; the word for “thousand” is t’ien in the old pronunciation and tçien in the new one, etc. There exists also an elaborated so-called literary pronunciation applied for text reading. The language is thus truly difficult to describe, because there actually are three layers – old, new, and literary. Each of the three has its own phoneme inventory, different from the others, subject to a separate description. I have decided not to quote here the outline of Lichuan language phonetics, as provided in the introduction to the dictionary mentioned (1995). I shall also make no comparisons with the phonetic system of the language of Nanchang. Here I have drawn attention to the language of Lichuan in order to demonstrate that the phenomenon of “old” and “new” pronunciation does not always have the same implication. It means something different in the discussion of Xiang languages and in that pertaining to Lichuan. The language of Nanchang is considered a typical representative for the Gan group. In its phonetics, it distinguishes itself with the absence of initial voiced consonants, the presence of an initial ng-, but the absence of an initial n-, and with a specific bilabial articulation of f- ([φ]). Its vocalism is limited to simple vowels, with few diphthongs and triphthongs. In the syllable-final sounds, one finds -n, -ng, -t, and -k (in the Lichuan language, they are -m, -n, -ng, -p, and a glottal stop – proving that the tongues are two independent languages). The occurrence of the final stops – appearing for the first time in this presentation – is a distinctive feature of southern languages and this fact needs to be emphasized here.

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The equivalents of Nanchang words with an initial f articulated bilabially8 in other languages have either an initial f (e.g., Pekinese fen, feng vs. Gan fun, funk; Pekinese fa, fo, fu vs. Gan fuat, fut, fuk) or h (e.g., Pekinese hua, huo, huai vs. Gan fua, fuo, huai). Gan languages belong to the area in which ts.-, tṣ’-, ṣ- > ts-, ts’-, s-. The transition n-, ï- > l-, is also typical of this area, hence the Pekinese la, na, ïan > la, lan, etc. The seven-tone (according to Li Rong’s description) system is based on two short tones (5 and 2) and five normal tones (42, 24, 213, 35, 11). Older descriptions (like Yuan Jiahua’s [1960]) mention only six tones, one short (5) and the last two (35 and 11) differing from the five tones mentioned (instead, we have 55 or 45, and 31). One may conclude that significant changes in this respect must have taken place recently. For the language of Lichuan, the existence of seven tones, five normal and two short, has also been quoted. Personal pronouns are typical of transitional languages. In Nanchang, they are ngo, n, and tç’ie; outside Nanchang, the pronunciation is kie; in Lichuan, meanwhile, they are a, ne, and ke. Thus, in Nanchang the first two are like those in the northern languages and a third is like those in the southern (Hakka, Xiang, Wu, Yue) languages, while in Lichuan only the first one is like its northern equivalent. Northern elements dominate in Nanchang plural formations, cf.: ngo min or ngo tin, n min, tç’ie min (min corresponding to northern men). In Lichuan, the plural marker is to, etymologically meaning “many,” cf.: ato, neto, keto. Lichuan possessive constructions are also created in the southern mode, the categorical exponent being -ko, which also occurs, e.g., in the Yue languages. The same concerns the names for male and female animals, i.e., the respective exponents are suffixed. In the Gan lexicon and phraseology, elements can be detected that are similar to those of the Wu and Xiang languages, and even some that are shared by all three groups, cf., e.g., Gan lok ü (it rains) or lok çüot (it snows), in which the verb is etymologically the same as its Wu and Xiang correspondents, and not the one used in Mandarin languages. Languages of the Gan group are characterized by the already exemplified richness of periphrastic formations full of fantastical names for plants and animals, cf., e.g., sy tçioʔsa (four-legged viper) for a lizard or son tieng tsy nie (fish like nail [to nail down a] boat) to denote a tiny fish species (I failed to identify the species). In Lichuan, an edible mushroom is called funk mi ku, literally meaning “mushroom [like the] phoenix tail,” and a kind of pepper (capsicum) is named p’i lung tçiau (capsicum [like a] leather cage). Sometimes, phonetic loans can echo in the names of this kind, cf., e.g., the Lichuan kai lam k’ieu, literally meaning “blue balls of mustard (seeds)” > kai lam (kohlrabi), which originates in the German Kohlrabi. In syntax, attention is paid to certain auxiliary words, such as tau (Pekinese dao), used in place of the MSC qu, cf.:                                                              8

[Editor: A more recent description is by Li Rong et al. 2002, vol. 1, pp. 185-186). He, however, presents the articulation as labio-dental.]

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Tç’ie tau kuo song hai, ngo mau tau kuo which corresponds to the MSC sentence: Ta qu guo Shanghai, wo mei you qu guo – “He went to Shanghai, I did not go.” In Gan, this verb also functions as a categorical marker of durativeness, cf.: Ts’uo tau tç’iak pi tsan tau tç’iak ieu hau çiet which corresponds to the MSC sentence: Zuo zhe chi bi zhan zhe chi hao xie – “To eat sitting is better than to eat standing.” It also plays the same function as gei (“to give to someone” in MSC), cf.: La it pen çü tau ngo which corresponds to the MSC sentence: Gei wo yi ben shu or na yi ben shu gei wo – “Give me a book.” In this respect, Gan languages manifest convergences with Wu and Xiang languages, but this lies beyond the present scope. Hakka Languages9

Hakka are the only group of Chinese languages to not occupy a compact area – instead, its ethnolects are dispersed as language islands across a remarkably vast territory. The very name Hakka, in MSC kejia, means “guests” and thus implies “newcomers.” The Hakka people appeared south of the Yangtze River in consecutive migrations (at least five have been established) caused by various factors and taking place in different periods. The migrations largely originated in the northern provinces of the Eastern Jin dynasty (317–420) state, which were exposed to attacks from Xiongnu (the Huns?) and other alien tribes, forcing the population to flee southwards. The first wave lasted until the Tang dynasty (618–907) and did not cross the Yangtze River. It was the Huang Chao uprising (Huang Chao zhi luan, 875–884) toward the end of the dynasty rule that forced people to escape further to the south. The subsequent migration wave took place because of the Mongolian invasion and conquest of the Song dynasty (1235–1279). A later migration was triggered by the Manchu conquest of China (the Qing conquest of the Ming, 1618–1683). The migrations that followed were driven by economic concerns, mainly the search for new lands to cultivate. As a result of these long-lasting series of migrations – stretching over 1,300 years – the people involved were treated everywhere as foreigners, and their enclave settlements were dispersed from the northern borders of what is today Vietnam, through Guangxi, Guangdong, Hunan, Jiangxi, and up to Fujian Provinces, and on the islands of Hainan and Taiwan.

                                                             9

[M.K.: See also Chappell – Li 2016, pp. 620-621; Lau Chun Fat 2016.]

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At the very beginning, the migrants linguistically represented the northern variety of Chinese of their times. The turning point in the history of their language was the migration at the end of the Tang dynasty and the beginning of the Song dynasty (10th c.). Before that point, the Hakka people belonged to the northern Chinese language zone, and even remained so after having moved to its southern recesses (today’s south-western Henan, the central part of Jiangxi, and Anhui). After the 10th century migration, the Hakka found themselves surrounded by southern Chinese languages, Min and Wu, which were already consolidated by that time, and further migrations southward threw them into the surrounding of Xiang, Gan, and Yue languages as well as non-Sinitic tongues. Thus, Hakka languages underwent not only linguistically foreign influence (varying dependently on the neighborhood), but were influenced also by the strong conservatism of southern Chinese languages, and therefore retained archaic phonetic features that were typical of the region. The language of Meixian located in eastern Guangdong Province and the language of Dabu situated east of the former are regarded as the most representative ethnolects for Hakka. The language of Meixian has two series of initial consonants – aspirated and non-aspirated. Similarly to northern languages, it lacks voiced consonants in the initial position except for v- standing in opposition to f-. There is also the initial ngin the language. The inventory of vowels is very simple, with few diphthongs and with sonantic m, ng, and n. In the final position, apart from the nasals -m, -n, -ng, there are also -p, -t, -k. So, we have here the entire inventory of Middle Chinese (also called Ancient Chinese) final consonants. According to Huang Xuezhen (1998), the language has six tones: 44, 11, 31, 53, 1, and 5, i.e., two short tones and four normal tones. Of the languages discussed so far here, the Hakka languages are the first to lack even a trace of palatalization of consonants in front of front vowels – and this is an important feature testifying to their southern language affiliation. From the viewpoint of the system, differences between the languages of Meixian and Dabu are secondary; nevertheless, they are significant. Thus, where we have the triphthong iai in Meixian, the diphthong ai occurs in the language of Dabu: cf., e.g., the respective kiai and kai for “street.” In other cases, Dabu diphthongs correspond to Meixian single vowels, cf., e.g., Meixian fi vs. Dabu fui for “to fly” or Meixian pi vs. Dabu pui for “bowl.” The language of Dabu is in certain aspects more archaic than the language of Meixian and other languages of the group, preserving the original ancient state, as seen from the following examples: MSC he ku kuo ke qu ku Dabu ho k’u k’uat k’ak k’i k’u Meixian fo fu fat hak hi fu Meixian (literary pronunciation) k’ak k’i k’u. The passage h- and k’- > f- or h-, which took place not only in the language of Meixian, but also in the languages of Xingning, Wuhua, and Pingyuan (west and north of Meixian), perhaps occurred under the influence of Yue languages, and it

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was surely a later occurrence, as is evident from Meixian “literary” pronunciation. Other differences, also interesting, must remain undiscussed, but one curiosity, unknown from other Chinese languages, is worth mentioning, namely the fact from the language of Wuhua, in which there is the change of hi > ṣy and hiong > ṣong. In this case, it would be difficult to try to ascribe these changes to influences from non-Sinitic languages. Among those features characteristic of the lexicon of Hakka languages, authors list monosyllabism, to a high degree surpassing the monosyllabism of Mandarin languages. In a 343-word text sample, Yuan Jiahua (1960) found only 70 disyllabic words, all the remaining words being monosyllabic. In Modern Standard Chinese, disyllabic words are the most numerous. Hakka monosyllabism results in relatively numerous homonyms, accompanied by an abundance of synonyms. Both these features should be regarded as archaism. A high degree of homophony is always a result of phonetic evolution and in principle is a state preceding the emergence of tendencies leading to disyllabicity as a precautionary measure. Development in isolation and in foreign surroundings must have considerably slowed down certain processes in Hakka languages in comparison to corresponding processes in Mandarin, with which Hakka shares its linguistic past. The abundance of synonyms is similarly obvious. It is always typical of earlier stages of a language’s development, when instead of one abstract notion of, e.g., “to strike,” the language differentiates between “to strike with a club” (Hakka eu), “ to strike a man” (Hakka mut), “to strike on the head” (Hakka k’ok), “to strike a dog” (Hakka mak), “to strike with a branch” (Hakka siu or kit), “to strike one’s face with a hand” (Hakka vok), or “to strike with a fist” (Hakka ts’ui). The partial semantic overlapping of individual Hakka words with their MSC counterparts is also to be observed. Some have a wider range of meaning in Hakka, while others have a narrower range, and still others even have different semantics. Hakka languages are also more archaic in this respect, i.e., they preserve the original past system better than Mandarin languages. Thus, e.g., Hakka ts’eu is equivalent with MSC zou (to go), but the meaning of ts’eu is “to run,” i.e., it preserves, contrary to Mandarin, the original earlier meaning. Similarly, Hakka hang for “to go” (MSC: xing) is older than the MSC zou. No wonder that new terminology in Hakka differs from that in MSC, cf., e.g., jong jiu, lit.: “foreign oil” > “crude oil” or “kerosene” (MSC: shiyou “stone oil”), fung mau foi “foreign ash” ( fung mau actually means “red hair”) > “cement” (MSC: shuini “water[ed] mud”). There are obvious borrowings from Min and Yue languages in Hakka as well as indirect borrowings from still other languages via Min and Yue. Yuan Jiahua maintained, for instance, that the Malay chium “to kiss” (MSC: jiewen) first entered Southern Min languages as tsim, and was from there later absorbed into Hakka. Other words made their way via Yue. Even words formed with native elements have specific features in Hakka that make them incomprehensible to other Chinese people either in speech or in writ-

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ing. The simple conclusion is that the opinion that every Chinese language recorded in Chinese characters is comprehensible to every Chinese person does not hold true. This incomprehensibility intensifies as we move southward. Here are possibly the three simplest examples: MSC Hakka zuotian ts’iup(b)unit (MSC: zanburi) “yesterday” mingtian t’inpunit (MSC: tingburi) “tomorrow” jintian kimpunit (MSC: jinburi) “today” One has to add that in Hakka these words are recorded arbitrarily with Chinese characters, disregarding their etymological values. So, for example, the central syllable pu (bu) is noted with the character originally implying “feeding a child” or “keep food in the mouth” (MSC word: bu)10 and the first syllable for “tomorrow” is noted with the character implying “hear[ing].” Only the last element in all three words (nit “sun,” corresponding to MSC ri), having been written, can provoke some associations. What can, however, a cultured Chinese person ignorant of Hakka languages understand from a sequence of characters denoting “hear-child feed(ing)-sun”? – “tomorrow” is hardly a viable option. Let us now pass to issues that I will at least try to touch upon in the description of every language or language group in this book. The formation of the names of the male and female sex of species is based on post-positioning, which is typical of the south. If there is anything particular to add here, it is the fact that in Hakka the postpositions ku (male) and ma (female) are also applied to personal names, which brilliantly solves the age-long problem of whether someone is a gentleman or a lady. Lau Tsonku is “old Mr. Zhang,” while Tsong Ngima is surely “Ms. Zhang Er.” Only one personal pronoun, the second person ni, is the same as in northern languages. The remaining pronouns (ngai “I” and ki “he”) are southern. The plural forms are regularly formed with the suffixes -teu or -tennin. There is also differentiation between the subjective case and the dependent (e.g., possessive) case forms. For the singular, they are: Case Subjective Dependent ngai nga or ngaike ni nia or nie or nike ki kia or kie or kike For the plural, they are: Case Subjective Dependent ngaiteu ngaiteu.e or ngaiteuke niteu niteu.e or niteuke kiteu kiteu.e or kiteuke

                                                             10

[Editor: Another character can be also used, i.e., bu with the two meanings: 1. the ninth two-hour period of the day, corresponding to 3-5 pm and 2. late afternoon/early evening.]

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Examples: ngaiteu.e vuk (our house) (MSC: women de fangzi) niteuke su ( your [ pl.] book) (MSC: nimen de shu) kiteu.e hokt’ong (their school) (MSC: tamen de xuetang) Some languages, such as that of Dabu, contain both inclusive and exclusive forms of the first person plural pronoun, cf.: inclusive änteu – “we, including you,” exclusive ngaiteu – “we, but not you.” Similar forms also exist in Mandarin languages, especially in Pekinese, but there they are based on etymologically different elements, even if their nature is essentially the same. One cannot exclude the supposition that it also constitutes one of the elements of the archaic character of these languages. Concluding this discussion on Hakka languages, one has to touch upon their specific system of classifiers which seems, on the basis of a preliminary investigation, to be completely different from that known from Mandarin languages. Yuan Jiahua (1960) – whose observations in this respect seem dubious – did not find a single common element, not even a shared general classifier. One may assume, however, that further studies on classifiers will contribute to the clarification of these observations. The dictionary of the Meixian language published by Huang Xuezhen (1998) under the supervision of Li Rong lists over 120 classifiers, while Yuan Jiahua took only six of them into account. Doubtlessly, an enormous effort awaits linguists who wish to study the problem of classifiers in different Chinese/ Sinitic languages, but this is among the most important issues to be researched in detail: The results will allow conclusions on interrelations between individual languages. Certain syntactic questions will be discussed in the final parts of this presentation, but one can say that even on the level of simple sentences, there are differences between Hakka and Mandarin (especially MSC) languages. Here are some examples, implying no attempt at generalization: Ngai k’i Kuong tsiu – lit.: “I go [to] Canton,” corresponding to the MSC sentence: Wo dao Guangzhou qu, lit.: *“I to Canton go”; ten ha t’iam – lit.: “wait – perfective – a little,” corresponding to the MSC phrase / sentence: zai deng yihuir – lit.: “again (= still) wait a moment”; ni pun it ki pit ngai – lit.: “you give one – classifier – brush me,” corresponding to the MSC sentence: ni gei wo yi zhi bi – lit.: “you give me one – classifier – brush.” These three examples suffice to make clear that the position of direct and indirect objects is governed by different rules in the two language groups. Other syntactic features also exist that make Hakka languages peculiar.

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Yue Languages11

Languages of the Yue group are ranked among the most important of all Chinese/ Sinitic languages because of their coastal location and because of the location of Hong Kong in the Yue linguistic area, which covers the major part of Guangdong Province (its eastern and north-eastern recesses excepted) and the south-eastern part of the neighboring Guangxi Province. According to a widely accepted opinion,12 Yue languages have been divided into the following five subgroups: 1. Yue-Hai – grouping ethnolects from the Zhujiang (Pearl River) delta and lands along the Xijiang (Western River). The languages of Canton and Hong Kong belong here. 2. Qin-Lian – including ethnolects from a belt extending from the region of Qinzhou on the coast in Guangxi Province to the region of Lianzhou in the south-west of Guangdong Province. 3. Gao-Lei (also called: Gao-Yang ) – with ethnolects used in the area stretching from the city of Gaozhou to the Leizhou Peninsula. 4. Si-Yi – with ethnolects from the region of four cities – Taishan, Xinhui, Kaiping, and Enping – west of the Pearl River estuary. 5. Gui-Nan – embracing languages in use on a belt of lands along the eastern and south-eastern borders of Guangxi Province, including such cities as Wuzhou, Rongxian, and Bobai. Most probably, however, this sub-classification is not final, because it does not take into account the northern regions of Guangdong Province, which include, apart from the Hakka language islands, numerous enclaves of non-Chinese Yao and Zhuang peoples, making the overall linguistic situation there fairly complicated. Yue languages, just like all other Chinese languages now used south of the Yangtze River, over time invaded territories in a non-Chinese language substratum. Nothing reliable is known about that substratum in ancient times. Various peoples moved across today’s Guangdong Province in the direction of the Indochina Peninsula. Those were Thai peoples, but also ancestors of the present Vietnamese. Foreign substrata doubtlessly influenced the territory, but they cannot always be identified. In modern times, Yue languages, similarly to Hakka and other southern languages, were subdued to non-Chinese substrata influences, and these are easier to identify, although a discussion of them would go beyond the scope of this book. These influences are concerned with both systemic and particular linguistic aspects. Among the former, i.e., those that occur in the entire (e.g., phonetic) system, one finds a specific realization of voiceless l- in the languages of the cities of Taishan, Xinhui, Enping, Kaiping, as well as Yangjiang and Yangchun, ascribed to the Zhuang influence. The fact that in Yue languages words with liquid initials

                                                             11

[M.K.: See also Chappell – Li 2016, pp. 622-623; Yue-Hashimoto 2015; Cheng Siu-Pong – Tang Sze-Wing 2016.]

12

[M.K.: For example Yuan Jiahua et al. 2003, p. 177.]

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(m-, n-, l-) occur not only in positions where yang-type tones occurred (as is the principle in other Chinese languages), but also where yin-type tones occurred, is also ascribed to the Zhuang language influence. Such systemic influence can also be detected in morphology. Particular influence can be identified with lexical loans from Zhuang, such as nam (to think), liu (to play), or kam (to catch). Here, certain frequent elements of place names, such as Zhuang na (field, paddy field) or nam (water, river),13 can be classified. The phonetic system of Cantonese is based on two series of initial voiceless consonants – non-aspirated and aspirated ( p-, p’-, t-, t’-, ts-, ts’-, tṣ-, tṣ’-, k-, kw-, k’w-). In comparison with what we had before, attention should be paid here to the strongly labialized kw- and k’w-. Besides, the following consonants that do not have equivalents to form a pair also occur in the initial position: m-, n-, s-, ṣ-, ng-, w-, f-, l-, j-, and h-. The vocalic system of Yue differs from all other Chinese languages in the opposition between long and short vowels, a limited number of diphthongs (looking from another side, there are not so few of them because of the said long-short opposition), and the complete absence of triphthongs. Similarly to Hakka, Yue languages have a final -p, -t, -k, in addition to the sonantic -m and -ng. The Yue tonal system is extraordinarily complex because these are the only Chinese languages that have two series of tones in two registers: upper and lower. The upper register in Cantonese consists of the tones 55 or 53, 35, 33, 5, and 33; the lower register consists of the tones 21 or 11, 13, 22, 2 or 22. The passage from one register to the other consists in the realization of tones in the upper or lower scales, between which a clearly perceptible interval exists. Again, a more detailed analysis of the phenomenon is beyond this book. The juxtaposition of tones for six varieties of Yue (Guangzhou, Zhongshan, Dongguan, Taishan, Yangjiang, and Hepu) by Yuan Jiahua (1960) reveals that the number of tones and their realization considerably differ from language to language. There are systems in which, apart from all the complications resulting from the differences between registers, tones with a complex melodic line, like 2132, appear. To be sure, these complexities do not cause any problems for native speakers. This information on Yue tonal systems would be incomplete without pointing to the possibility of their interpretation as systems developed under the influence of Vietnamese or Thai languages in which such register differences do exist. It is also possible that such influence was limited to the development of Middle Chinese tones. One cannot exclude the possibility that a Middle Chinese system

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[Translator (A.M.): Zhuang naz (z being but a tone marker here) has been precisely defined as “level field capable of being flooded with water, typically used for growing rice but may be left dry to grow other crops” in Luo Liming et al. 2005, p. 862; nam is definitely Thai for water (น้าํ náam in Thai), but rather not Zhuang (to the contrary, Zhuang namh implies “earth, soil,” -h being a tone marker).]

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based on register differences and Yue languages preserved it under favorable circumstances. A considerable degree of monosyllabism is considered to be the main feature of the Yue lexicon. Numerous disyllabic words in MSC vocabulary have their monosyllabic equivalents in Cantonese and in other languages of the group. In consequence, suffixation in Yue is of a much smaller functional significance than in other Chinese languages, in spite of existing concurrences. There are Cantonese words with the suffix -tsi (corresponding to MSC -zi), similarly to its equivalents in other Chinese languages, such as fa:i tsi “chopsticks” (MSC: kuaizi), but they are fewer than in other languages (including MSC words), and it often happens that MSC suffixal formations such as xiezi (shoes) have their monosyllabic equivalents (ha:i in this case) in Cantonese. In principle, only those words are polysyllabic that were created to refer to new products, objects, or phenomena. Many such formations, periphrastic in character, differ from their semantic MSC equivalents, but even those that are seemingly the same have a different meaning or a partially different semantic range. The Cantonese word mou sin tin (= MSC wuxiandian), being a partial calque from English (“wireless electricity”), can be used as a good example here: In MSC, it implies “radio” as an institution as well as a “receiver,” while in Cantonese it does not have the latter meaning. Some Cantonese words have been formed with elements other than their MSC equivalents, cf., e.g., t’a: n tse (already in MSC vocabulary: danche) – “bicycle,” which literarily means “single vehicle,” while in MSC vocabulary it is zixingche, literally meaning “vehicle going by itself” (in order to understand why, one has to know that it is a missed borrowing from Japanese via Chinese character notation, regardless of the fact that the source word jidōsha means “car”). The Cantonese sau mat, literally “hand stockings,” corresponding to the MSC word shoutao, literally meaning “hand slip cover, mantle,” causes fewer problems. Many series of words contain other basic elements that were used in Cantonese rather than in MSC vocabulary, e.g., the words in which whenever the element bing (ice) is used in MSC, the element süt (suet) “snow” (= MSC xue) is used in Cantonese, cf. süt kou (suet go), literally “snow cake” vs. the MSC word: bingqilin (ice-cream; qilin being a phonetic loan from English cream); Cantonese süt kwai (suet gwai), literally “snow cupboard” vs. the MSC word: bingxiang, literally “ice box / chest” > “refrigerator”; Cantonese süt k’ek, literally “snow clogs” (suet kek ‘roller skate’) vs. the MSC word: (liu)bingxie, lit.: “ice shoes” > “ice skating shoes.” Another consequence of the Cantonese monosyllabism is the preservation of words with their original ancient meaning. This archaism is shared with Hakka languages, and in Cantonese one also finds the word hang with the meaning “to go,” which was mentioned in the above section on Hakka languages. Some such archaisms go back to the most ancient times, cf., e.g., the Cantonese word t’ai (tai) “see, look at” (corresponding to the MSC word: kan) can be found in archaic texts from the Chu State, at that time the southern part of the Chinese domain. Phonetic loans from foreign languages, mainly from English, constitute the ex-

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tremely characteristic feature of Yue languages; it reaches its quantitative apogeum in Hongkongese. These words can be monosyllabic (not difficult to find in the case of English), completely mingling with the local tongue, or di- and trisyllabic, and then easily identified as foreign. Among the former, the following words can serve as examples: po < “ball,” k’at < “card,” mai < “mile,” etc. Among the latter one finds, e.g.: to si “toast,” pat na “partner,” or sek si feng < “saxophone,” t’ing ni si < “tennis.” In many cases, a Chinese word is added to facilitate comprehension, cf: fa: t la: n jung “flannel textile” < flannel or ka lei fan “curry powder” < curry. Leaving the above remarks on Yue monosyllabism aside, it has to be admitted that their syllabic morphology is relatively complex, so it would be rather difficult to treat them as more archaic than northern Chinese languages. In Cantonese, for instance, there is a relatively rich inventory of nominalizing affixes, mainly suffixes, although there exist also prefixes like a- in, e.g., a ko (elder brother). Among suffixes, one finds the diminutive tsai, functionally similar to the Pekinese -zi, and the formants lou and its feminine p’o for creating the names of professions. Names for the male and female sexes of animals are also created with respective suffixes. The system of personal pronouns is very regular: singular plural 1. ngo ngo tei 2. nei nei tei 3. k’öj k’öj tei Possessive pronouns are formed with the suffix -ke, in the plural forms glued, exactly like in other Chinese languages, to the plural categorical exponent. In this way, the absolute parallelism of the emergence and development of the agglutinative morphology on two opposite recesses of the Chinese linguistic area can be observed, even if the Pekinese and Cantonese systems developed independently. The system of classifiers in Yue languages is considerably different from that in the official national language. Yuan Jiahua (1960) discussed twelve cases, and in none of them could any similarity be found between Yue and Modern Standard Chinese. Obviously, one should rather postulate comparisons of classifier systems between different southern tongues. Generally, however, the research has completely neglected such a comparison, just as it has neglected a comparison of other aspects of Yue. Yue languages stand out with specific syntactic features with the ordering of the sentence parts as well as with special syntactic structures. Syntactic comparisons should involve juxtapositions of languages that are more closely related, such as Hakka and Yue, but this would require a good knowledge of several different languages, a rather unlikely situation. Therefore, in linguistic literature comparisons are always made with the national language, as a natural reference. They are, of course, useful. Consider, for example, the juxtaposition of the following sentences: Cantonese: Ngo k’am mat höj Kwong tsau

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MSC: Wo zuotian shang Guangzhou qu – “Yesterday I went to Guangzhou.” This allows the conclusion that in Cantonese the verb höj “to go” has a postpositional object in place of the temporal adverb (Kwong tsau = Guangzhou), like Old Chinese, while in MSC, the verb qu with the same meaning stands at the end of the sentence following the temporal adverb consisting of the place name (Guangzhou) preceded by a prepositional auxiliary introducing the place name. It is an important structural difference but, unfortunately, due to deficiencies in accessible study results it cannot be rationally compared with the equivalents of such structures in other southern languages. Not all differences can be reduced to morphology or syntax, because there are situations in which something conveyed syntactically in one language is expressed morphologically in another language. Such differences testify to the different evolutions of the compared languages. Below, an example of such a difference between Cantonese and Modern Standard Chinese is provided: Cantonese: Nei tsik fa: n nei ke lang sa: m la MSC: Ni haishi zhi nide maoyi ba – “[Please] go on with knitting your sweater.” Here, the same content is conveyed morphologically in Cantonese, while in Modern Standard Chinese it is done lexically and syntactically. Please, observe that the very juxtaposition of these two sentences, and in other examples provided below, positively answers the question whether the two are independent languages or only various dialects of the same language. Apart from lexical differences (Cantonese lang sa: m etymologically implies a “shirt [for] cold [temperature],” while the MSC word: maoyi – a “woolly garment, clothing”), we should also notice the fact that the durative (or iterative) form in the above example is in Cantonese marked with the suffixal categorical exponent fa: n, while in Modern Standard Chinese the adverb haishi (still, further on, continuing) is used, as there is no possibility of expressing the idea categorically (morphologically). In this respect, one might risk the opinion that Cantonese is developmentally more advanced than other Chinese languages. In Yue, forms like sik fa: n (go on; continue eating; resume eating), or t’ai fa: n (resume reading) occur regularly. There are many other “formal” morphemes serving as categorical markers in Yue. Some of them are “multipurpose” in character (i.e., cumulate categorical meanings); one such exponent is ts’an, which implies that the action expressed by a verb is a new occurrence and that it is still continued, cf.: Cantonese: Ngo ha: k ts’an MSC: Wo shou liang – “I have caught a cold.” It may also imply the patient in the sentence: Cantonese: Tsik kau nga: u ts’an jan MSC: Yi zhi gou yaozhe ren – “A dog bit a man.”

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Besides, it may imply the completion of one activity (action), immediately followed by another activity (action): Cantonese: Koko sailou ko p’ung ts’an tsau ha: m MSC : Nage xiaohai yi peng jiu ku – “That child, whenever hit, immediately starts crying.” It seems that there are really numerous syntactic differences between Modern Standard Chinese and Yue languages, but this impression can result from the fact that Yue languages are exceptionally well analyzed and described and relatively rich data are available. As in previous chapters, a detailed discussion of all such differences is not possible here. However, one should conclude that most of them are related to word order, as seen from the examples below: Cantonese: Ngo ha: ng sin … MSC: Wo xian zou … – “I [will] go first.” This sentence is worth comparing with an example from the language of Loudi cited above (p. 250), since the word order is the same. Cf. also the sentence: Cantonese: K’öj mou ts’in mat tsai MSC: Ta jihu meiyou qian – “Practically, he does not have any money.” In this sentence, the Cantonese verb is determined postpositionally, while in the MSC sentence the determinant is prepositional. It seems that prepositional determination is more typical of northern languages, and postpositional determination is more typical of southern languages. Min Languages14

The Min language group, here presented as the last one, is the oldest of the branches of the trunk of the Sinitic languages. Until recently, languages of the group were classified into southern and northern, and were even treated as separate groups (e.g., by Yuan Jiahua), but new concepts emerged: A few years ago, one Chinese scholar15 published the results of his studies according to which Min languages should rather be classified into eastern and western subgroups. The proposal was not widely accepted but, doubtlessly, the classification of Min languages is still to be conceived. The Min language area covers almost the entire territory of Fujian Province (save its western part, which is occupied by Hakka languages), the eastern part of Guangdong Province, and numerous islands along the eastern and southern coastal lands of China, the island of Hainan and a part of the Leizhou Peninsula, a major part of Taiwan, and small borderland areas in the south of Zhejiang Province. Min enclaves are also said to exist in Guangxi, Jiangxi, and Sichuan Province, but no reliable data are available. Thus, similar to

                                                             14

[M.K.: See also Chappell – Li 2016: 618-620; Lien 2015.]

15

[M.K.: The classification in Australian Academy of the Humanities – Chinese Academy of Social Sciences 1988) divides the Min dialects into Southern Min, Puxian, Eastern Min, Northern Min and Central Min, Qiongwen, Leizhou, Shaojiang.]

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Hakka, Min languages do not occupy a compact territory. Languages of the group are used by significantly populous emigré communities of the Chinese diasporas. A considerable diversification of Min languages on a relatively small (on a Chinese scale) territory is among the characteristics of the group. In the early 1930s, the Chinese linguist Ye Guoqing postulated a criterion of mutual comprehensibility between the speakers of particular languages as the adequate basis for their classification. Applying it, he classified Min into as many as nine groups, and within them he also differentiated some sub-groups. However, presenting the details of Ye’s classification would be unnecessary here, on obvious grounds. It should suffice to state that languages spoken along both banks of the river Minjiang have been considered Northern Min, with the provincial capital Fuzhou being central to the area that covers the north-eastern part of Fujian Province. The remaining Min languages, among them those spoken in important cultural centers like Amoy (MSC: Xiamen), Swatow (MSC: Shantou), and Quanzhou (mentioned by Marco Polo [1254–1324] as Zayton), are classified as Southern Min. Amoy, Swatow, Chaozhou, and the language of Wenchang on the island of Hainan are indicated as the most representative of the Southern Min languages. The language spoken in the south of Zhejiang Province (Pingyang near Wenzhou) is also important for this group. The phonetic systems of the Amoy and Fuzhou languages differ fundamentally, the former being the older one. The Amoy system is based on three series of initial consonants: voiceless nonaspirated, voiceless aspirated, and voiced non-aspirated (p-, t-, k-, ʔ-, ts-; p’-, t’-, k’-, ts’-; b-, l-, g-, dz-), as well as the fricatives h- and s-. The Fuzhou language has only two series of initial consonants, both voiceless: non-aspirated and aspirated (p-, t-, ts-, k-; p’-, t’-, ts’-, k’-), in addition to liquid and fricative consonants (m-, n-, ng-, s-, x-, l-). The Amoy vowel inventory is comprised of six simple vowels (a, ɔ, o, e, i, u), eight diphthongs, and two triphthongs, some of them strongly nasalised; two consonantal sonants m and ng also occur in the language (notice the similarity with Yue languages in this respect). The Fuzhou inventory is richer than that of Amoy and embraces seven simple vowels (i, u, ü, a, e, œ, o), about twelve diphthongs, and three triphthongs. Amoy consonantal finals are: -m, -n, -ng, -p, -t, -k. Fuzhou consonantal finals are only -ng and glottal stop -ʔ. This comparison allows the conclusion that the two constitute two different systems, of which the Amoy system clearly has archaic features and in many aspects is close to Yue, in spite of the fact that they originated in different epochs, while the Fuzhou system manifests similarities with Wu languages. In both systems, seven tones exist: Amoy 55, 24, 51, 11, 33, 32, 5; Fuzhou 44, 52, 31, 213 (or 13), 242 (or 353), 23, 4. The short tones in both continue the same Middle Chinese tone, which implies that they shared development in some period. A particularly elaborate system of tonal assimilations and the existence of socalled neutral tones are typical of Min languages and the degree of the complica-

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tion of the system may give rise to suspicion that its acquisition is possible only for someone born in the language environment. Yuan Jiahua (1960) himself underlined that cases frequently occurred in the system when virtually only the sentence final syllable was pronounced in its appropriate tone. He exemplified it with the following Amoy sentence (figures following words indicate their original tone and the tone after assimilation): i55>33 m33>22 tsai55>33 iã51>55 li51>55 si33>22 tsit55>11 e24>33 ho51>11 hak55>11 sing55 (MSC: Ta bu zhidao ni shi yige hao xuesheng – “He does not know that you are a good student.”) As the result of tone assimilation laws, the entire sentence became a sequence of level tones differing only by register. A highly elaborate system of sound assimilations is among other distinctive features of Min languages. Contextual phonetic assimilations exist in all Chinese languages. For example, in Modern Standard Chinese and in Pekinese, the final -n preceding p- > m, cf.: ganbei > kambei (Bottoms up!). Min languages comprise a fair number of such assimilations, cf., e.g., sin pu > sim pu (a bride). Let us look at the following sentence: gua beʔ ts’ut k’i > gua e ts’ut i (MSC: Wo yao chuqu – “I will go out.”) Here we see how such assimilations function. As a matter of fact, in the majority of Chinese/Sinitic languages, one type of assimilations prevails, namely the regressive one, when the preceding element undergoes modification under the influence of the context that follows. Min languages are exceptional in this respect, and they have assimilations that are both regressive and progressive (the latter is already shown in the example above). Still another phonetic phenomenon is the exceptionally developed system of colloquial versus literary pronunciation, the most complicated among all other Chinese languages. Even the simplest description of this issue would require many pages. Since this is the last opportunity to discuss phonetic questions in this book, it is the proper time and place to return to one problem. It is true that in the classification of languages much depends on the assumed principium divisionis. By classifying all Sinitic languages on the basis of the preservation, or lack thereof, of stops in the final position, one would thus obtain a very different picture from the classifications that exist so far. Southern Min, Yue, Gan, and Hakka languages would be classified in one group, while Northern Min languages would find themselves in another group together with Wu languages, because both preserved a glottal stop as a remnant of other former final stops. Moreover, some Mandarin languages (e.g., the language of Taiyuan) would also have to be included in the latter group. All the remaining languages would constitute the third group of languages, in which final stops have been completely lost. Taking the preservation, or lack thereof, of the series of voiced consonants in the initial position into account would result in an entirely different classification. In this case, Wu languages would be grouped together with Southern Min languages, while Northern Min languages would be grouped together with, e.g.,

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Yue languages. This only shows how different features can intersect, which forces linguists to find solutions and build conclusions based on a complex data analysis. A mere description of phonetic systems alone does not make the realization of resulting consequences and the scale of differences possible; therefore, a number of words in Amoy and Fuzhou together with their equivalents in Modern Standard Chinese have been provided below: Amoy Fuzhou MSC “eye” bak me yanjing “face” bin meing lian “food / meal” bun puong fan “chopsticks” ti toej kuaizi “letter” p’ue p’ie xin “to speak” kong kuong shuo This list could be continued endlessly, but the examples above may be sufficient to show how much the two varieties of Min differ. The above comparison, however, does not show the characteristic lexical features of Min languages. In fact, they share these characteristics with Yue and Hakka languages and have been mentioned in appropriate sub-chapters of the present chapter. First of all, Min languages are monosyllabic to a much higher degree than other Chinese languages, and in their monosyllabic word-stock, many archaisms have been preserved, i.e., such words which either no longer exist in Mandarin languages or, if preserved, then with changed semantics. The latter fact can be connected also to phraseology, which in Min often refers to more ancient phraseological structures. No wonder that, therefore, among ordinary words in both of the main varieties of Min one finds expressions known from classical texts, such as the Amoy ts’i mi (equal to the Fuzhou ta’ang mang and the MSC word xiazi [blind man]), the word known from Late Han dynasty texts. One more aspect makes Min languages different, namely, the abundance of words with unknown etymology which, as is well known, precludes their notation with Chinese characters. To be sure, such words occur in every variety of Chinese – a glance into a dictionary of Pekinese suffices to find quite a lot of them – but the difference is in quantity: Min contains a truly large number. In part, these are words borrowed from non-Chinese languages. As already mentioned above, the traces of a Miao-Yao substratum had been detected in Min by Hashimoto Mantaro (1979), and a possible influence from prehistoric Vietnamese had also been suggested. Again, parts of this word-stock are perhaps examples of the old process of dimidiation (one Chinese scholar claimed to have found over two hundred of them). In more recent times, Min languages did not shun phonetic borrowings, and the intensive activity of their users on the seas resulted in numerous loans from Malay (and other languages via Malay) and Arabic. Thus, in Southern Min one finds words like pa sat “bazaar” (from Arabic via Malay), sat bun “soap” (Malay sabon; probably borrowed from Old Spanish xabon “soap”), or ma ta a “po-

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lice” (from Malay mata-mata). Individual Min languages differ from each other as far as loans are concerned, and many such differences are obvious. For instance, the language of Pingyang from the south of Zhejiang Province contains loans from the Wu language spoken in the nearby Wenzhou, but no Yue loans. These, in turn, are quite abundant in Southern Min languages, which are neighbors of Yue areas. In Chaozhou and on Hainan, the word gam or ngam (well, good), which has its origin in Yue ngam (with its etymology unknown), is commonly used, and in Min languages spoken in Taiwan one finds phonetic loans from Japanese, which is a result of fifty years of Japanese rule over the island (1895–1945), and they are actually words of everyday usage.16 In other languages of the group, Japanese loans enter via notation in Chinese characters and they are usually related to progress in science and technology. Besides, there are significant lexical differences between Northern and Southern Min languages, and every language has its own specific stock of words with unsolved etymology. Despite all these mentioned differences, structurally the languages are very similar, with their morphology being based, like in the case of all other Chinese ethnolects, on the ancient syntax, with the prevalence of suffixes that also serve to create names for male and female species. Personal pronoun systems differ from language to language in the group. In Northern Min languages, the system is based on a unique formation of plural forms, cf.: 1. nguai nang nga kauʔ noeüng 2. nü nü kauʔ noeüng 3. i i kauʔ noeüng The pronoun for “we” etymologically means “[of] peasant family every man”; in the other two plural pronouns, the disyllabic suffix etymologically implies “every man.” In Southern Min languages, the situation is completely different: Amoy Chaozhou south Zhejiang province sing. 1. gua ua gua 2. li ly ly 3. i i i pl. 1. gu(a n) u(a)ng gu(an) 2. lin ning lien 3. in ing ien Here, plural forms are marked with the suffix -n, or -ng, or -en, which merged with the preceding syllable. Thus, one finds here suffixation within one syllable similar to that known from Sichuan and Pekinese Mandarin (vom, nim, and tam). The etymology of the plural suffix can be traced in the evidently more archaic Min language of Hainan, in which one finds:                                                              16

[Editor: Examples for these are, e.g., Jap. ichiban (“first”) > yijibang (“first and very best”); Jap. bentō > biandang (both meaning: boxed lunch). See also chap. 10 for kala OK and other examples.]

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1. guaʔ guaʔ nan 2. luʔ luʔ nan 3. i i nan Here, the plural exponent implies “man, human being.” First person plural inclusive pronouns are formed similarly (cf. Amoy lan, Chaozhou nang, Zhejiang lan, Hainan nan). In noun morphology, many native elements with unknown or, at best, uncertain, etymology appear. In some cases, this can be traced to older strata of the language, like in the Fuzhou mieng nang (tomorrow) and king nang (today) (in MSC: mingtian and jintian, respectively), in which nang probably continues the Old Chinese tan (morning – MSC: dan). But suoʔ mang muo (last evening), for example, resists interpretation, except perhaps for the central element, which can correspond to the Mandarin wan (late). Min verbal morphology differs from Northern Sinitic morphology. For example, the equivalent of the MSC suffixal guo exponent of frequentativeness or iteration in Southern Min is the prefixal bat (sometimes bak), cf.: Gua bat k’i – “I used to go” (MSC: Wo quguo) Gua m bat k’i – “I used not to go” (MSC: Wo mei quguo). Some forms are specific to one language and completely unknown in another. Southern Min contains no equivalent to the form consisting of the verb reduplication with the numeral for “one” inserted between the two identical verbs, popular in other languages, such as kan yi kan “to have a look at” (lit.: *“to look one to look”), here implying instantaneousness. In the Amoy language, the idea is expressed with either a monosyllabic suffix k’uã or a disyllabic suffix k’uã mãi not occurring in other languages and difficult to interpret, such as gua tsiaʔ k’uã mãi, “I shall eat a bit (or bit by bit),” equivalent to the MSC sentence: Wo chi yi chi. Syntax reveals discrepancies both between individual Min languages as well as between Min and other Chinese languages. A discussion of either or both of them goes far beyond this book, and actually comparable sentences are not always available. In order, however, to demonstrate that what we are talking about here are independent languages and not dialects, a number of examples from various Min languages with their MSC equivalents have been provided below. 1. Amoy: I san kaʔ uaʔ beʔ kiã si = MSC: Ta shou de hen lihai – “He lost weight significantly”; gua tsiong sã pan ts’eʔ t’ak liau liau = MSC: Wo ba san ben shu quan du wanle – “I have read the three books.” 2. Chaozhou: su hok kau k’au pe = MSC: shufu de hen – “very comfortable”; zuaʔ kau k’au pung = MSC: re de hen – “very hot” 3. Southern part of Zhejiang Province: Gua k’ian ts’a lai, bi tiã tieu = MSC: Wo yexu lai, mei yiding – “I’ll perhaps come, but not for sure.”

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4. Hainan: Guaʔ bue toiʔ min = MSC: Wo hai meiyou xilian – “I still did not wash my face.” 5. Fuzhou: T’au pie k’a u kuei = MSC: Tuzi paode bi wugui kuai – “The hare ran faster than the turtle.” Nü puo k’a lieu maʔ = MSC: Ni yao wan ma? – “Do you want to play?” The message is clear – comparing Sinitic languages is an endless task. However, the present book, which I intend to also reach readers not knowledgeable of any Chinese language variety and unprepared to read sophisticated linguistic texts, must now come to an end. One should first reiterate by emphasizing that not all proposals of an interpretation of linguistic phenomena deserve attention, even if at the first glance they seem to be insightful or penetrating. In recent years, a Chinese Linguist, after having linguistically explored the Canton region and compared it with contemporary Pekinese, proclaimed that the language spoken in the Canton area shared only 10% of its lexicon with Pekinese. Accepting this, one would have to agree that the differences between the languages explored are indeed tremendous. The problem is, however, what “shared vocabulary” really means. First, we could ask: Is it etymologically the same, but pronounced differently? Another question would be: What kind of vocabulary is it? Does it include technological terminology that is commonly shared as being borrowed? Studies of this kind must be based on precisely determined word-stock and be conducted with the application of equally precise methods; otherwise, it is difficult to treat them seriously. Let us return once more to the problems of syntax, treating them, however, in a wider perspective. It is doubtless that the appropriate approach to Chinese/ Sinitic languages requires treating particular planes of the language analysis cross-sectionally, comparatively, and historically. Thus, all linguistic phenomena can be revealed in a wider perspective. Much has taken place in the discipline in recent years. It would be impossible to even list the selected titles of all important studies, but one cannot leave unmentioned such works as Anne O. Yue-Hashimoto’s “Hanyu fangyan yufa de bijiao yanjiu” (A Comparative Study of Chinese Dialect Syntax, 1988) or her 1991 “Stratification in Comparative Dialectal Grammar: A Case in Southern Min,” or Robert L. Cheng’s “Competing Forces in Syntactic Change: The Case of Aspect and Phrase Markers in Taiwanese and Mandarin” of 1989. The works mentioned offer interesting approaches. Yue-Hashimoto puts forward a very interesting hypothesis from the field of history and syntactic typology of Chinese, maintaining that we are today observing a slow development of formerly unknown alternative interrogative sentences. She believes this process to be both valid and well grounded. Such sentences constitute the structural series verb-object-negation-verb or verb-negation-verb-object, as in the Pekinese ni kan shu bu kan? or ni kan bu kan shu? (Do you read a book [books]? [lit.: *“youread-book-not-read” or *“you-read-not-read-book”]).

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This process began in Southern Min languages in the middle of the 16th century, encompassed Yue languages toward the end of the 19th century, and emerged in Pekinese at the beginning of the 20th century. It is a very important syntactic change spreading to and embracing ever larger territories of Chinese, a change that originated in the south of the Chinese linguistic area, which is consistently regarded as the most linguistically archaic region, and doubtlessly spread northward. For the first time in the history of Chinese/Sinitic languages, perhaps, an important developmental stimulus has proceeded from the south to the north, thus reversing centuries-old tendencies and making the linguistically most progressive phenomena emerge in the center or in the north of the Chinese language area. Warsaw, April 200017

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[Translator (A.M.): This date indicates that M.J. Künstler could not have had access to David Prager Branner’s 2000 book Problems in Comparative Chinese Dialectology. The Classification of Miin and Hakka (Berlin – Boston: De Gruyter – De Gruyter; doubtlessly, he would have been delighted to have it at his disposal.]

ADDENDUM As already mentioned (Chapter 7, pp. 151, 157-160), although the research results Thomas Zimmer presented in his 1999 work could not be incorporated in a satisfactory discussion offered in this book, they still deserve a few remarks. Zimmer’s book was published almost twenty years later than the works of the two Russian scholars Gurevich and Zograf (1982) – one of many reasons why Zimmer’s study is far superior. Zimmer concentrated exclusively on eight selected bianwen discovered in Dunhuang, providing both possible earliest and latest dates of their origin. The oldest of the studied texts is the “Jiangmo bianwen” (i.e., the bianwen on the defeat of demons), which some sources date around 923 AD., although the general opinion that its first version could have originated in 742 cannot be excluded. The latest dates ascribed to the other texts have been established at between 809 and 912, while the earliest possible dates of origin reach back no further than the middle of the 8th century AD. Thus, the linguistic material is a chronologically very homogenic representation of the period of the second half of the Tang dynasty. The lengths of the studied texts differ. The longest ones comprise 10,882 and 9,040 Chinese characters, the shortest consists of 1,182 characters, and the remaining vary from 1,701 to 4,262 characters. Zimmer was particularly interested in the number and percentage of di- and polysyllabic compounds in individual texts. He established that percentage between 15.67% in the text named “Damuqianlian bianwen” (i.e., bianwen about Mahāmaudgalyāyana rescuing his mother from hell) and 2.09% in “Li Wa zhuan” (the story of Li Wa, a female prostitute in Chang’an). The studied texts thus contain an average of about ten percent of disyllabic expressions. However, this result remains difficult to interpret: On what grounds can one evaluate whether this is much or little? And what can one conclude from these figures about the language’s stage of evolution? This process began in the archaic period and finally led to the dominance of di- and polysyllabic expressions in contemporary standard Chinese. As already mentioned, this process was one of Chmielewski’s research concerns long ago. Zimmer’s approach differs from Chmielewski’s and does not constitute any continuation of the latter – in fact, he does not even mention Chmielewski’s works on the evolution of Chinese in his bibliography. Quoting these statistics provided by Zimmer, I cannot resist making some remarks I have so far avoided in this book. They concern the relation between linguistics and statistics. In short, all statistics applied for linguistic purposes turn out to be tricky, and linguists easily fall victim to their difficulties, even without noticing it. In fact, the statistical frequency of letters used in the orthographies of particular languages are perhaps the only safe guide, but the very problem is, from the viewpoint of linguistics, of barely marginal importance (it may, however, have some extra-linguistic relevance), and even statistics on sound frequency can be dubious. (In Polish, for example, and must be treated as the same, and hence form one sound [ʐ ], but should the final in już (al-

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ready), where it is pronounced like the English “sh” in “ship,” be counted as [ʐ ] or as [ʂ]?). 1 Therefore, prior to counting one has to establish the purpose and strict rules, which in themselves can be controversial, as linguists differ in their understanding of terms and their perception of the objects and processes of their studies. In turn, even prior to establishing rules, one has to decide whether the texts to be statistically analyzed are comparable, i.e., one has to establish a corpus of texts subject to analyses. One problem is the “internal” comparability of texts within a single text corpus, and another is the comparability of all corpora to be juxtaposed, if need be. There is no doubt that texts must be homogenic chronologically and stylistically (in the latter case, the texts should concern the same sphere materially and formally). One cannot treat different things in the same way: No meaningful conclusion could be drawn from comparing the language of romantic poetry with that of a cookbook, even if both texts came from precisely the same epoch. Such comparability with all the above-listed criteria taken into account can be achieved more easily in the plane of synchronic than diachronic analysis. Comparable texts are rarely accessible for ancient periods, and that which has been preserved varies too much thematically and stylistically. The intention to take into account all these criteria in this respect sometimes leads to absurdities: Take the scholars who, for the sake of comparison, study the text of the Paternoster prayer in numerous languages and on this basis proclaim, in their conviction, ultimate conclusions, in spite of the fact that the text is simply too short to constitute any foundation for statistical considerations. Even popular jokes – “If I have US $1,000 and you have nothing, statistically we have US $500 each” – teach us that the so-called statistics of small numbers has no conclusive value. Thus, one must establish a corpus of comparable texts and a method of text analysis that is to be strictly obeyed. However, in order to detect a process occurring in the studied language, one must have at one’s disposal two corpora (comparable within the epoch in question and between epochs) and analyze them in exactly the same way. This makes such research extremely complicated and difficult. Many aspects are involved here. Zimmer worked with texts that were homogenic chronologically and stylistically, but heterogenic materially. Some were Buddhist texts; others pertained to the history of China. One can accept, however, that they represented the same literary genre (i.e., bianwen); hence, they were comparable. This was a great leap forward from the research conducted by the two Russian scholars, a point that must be underlined. It is difficult to reproach Zimmer for having studied only one text corpus. This very fact, nevertheless, leaves the results of his research incomparable with

                                                             1

Actually, it depends on the context: When preceding voiced sounds, it can be realized as [ʐ ] or as [ʂ] (basically, the difference is regional and dialectal), while preceding voiceless sounds or standing in the final position it invariantly is realized as [ʂ].

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anything, since there are no results of similar analyses from either earlier or later texts available (Karlgren’s results presented in this book [Chapter 7, pp. 143146]) cannot be used as a foundation for such comparisons. Thus, the question whether the percentage figures provided by Zimmer are high or low remains – and must continue to remain – unanswered. The current state of research in this respect prevents further discussion or conclusions, but any evaluation of Zimmer’s results cannot overlook his method of counting: He classified – and counted – as polysyllabic phonetic borrowings that are abundant in Buddhist texts, but very few in the non-Buddhist texts that he analyzed. Among these phonetic loans, Zimmer also listed proper names, such as Mulian, the abbreviated version of the name of Buddha’s follower Mahāmaudgalyāyana. One may wonder whether proper names should not be eliminated from these statistics, or whether the high percentage of polysyllabic words in the text in question was not influenced by the fact that the name Mulian occurred no fewer than 85 times. Other names also appear frequently, like Qingti), the Chinese rendering of Niladhi, the name of Mulian’s mother, which is mentioned 31 times. In the text “Jiangmo bianwen”, the names Shelifu (for Śariputra: one of two chief male disciples of Gautama Buddha along with Moggallāna) and Xuda (for Sudatta: the lay disciple of the Buddha known for his generosity) appear 51 and 64 times, respectively. The same concerns the “technical” terminology, such as heshang (monk) (occurring 29 times in the text of the first bianwen and 20 times in that of the second). The term does not appear at all in the remaining six texts. Such terms, specific to individual texts, can also be found. For example, in “Han jiang Wang Ling bian” (The Tale of Wang Ling, the General of Han) the term bawang (ruler) occurred 37 times; it did not appear in any of the remaining texts, including those based on historical motifs. Admittedly, it is very difficult to draw a line distinguishing what was so imprecisely labelled above as a “technical term,” since the words in question resist definition. From one point of view, the word jiangjun ([a] general), which occurs 34 times in five texts altogether, is such a “technical term,” but it would still be difficult to treat it as such and leave it out of the analysis: The word seems to also function as a colloquial word. Such remarks, similar in nature, could be multiplied. One could for instance get involved in a dispute about whether a particular word or expression in a given text constitutes a disyllabic compound, or whether it is still a sequence of two independent words. Here, we would have to return to the argument between Janusz Chmielewski and Lu Zhiwei (cf. Introduction, pp. 7-9) – just as a warning to all! Neither is it my intention to argue with Thomas Zimmer over details. It is better to pay attention to certain issues that doubtlessly arise from his analysis. First, it is clear that the overall number of polysyllabic expressions/words markedly increased in comparison to similar texts from earlier epochs, although it was still far from what could be observed in the second half of the 20th century. The process of polysyllabization was slow, and there were still ten centuries ahead to our contemporary situation.

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Second, it is evident from Zimmer’s work that the process of polysyllabization advanced not only through the compounding of former syntactic groups consisting of two or more independent elements, but also through affixation – both prefixation as well as suffixation, as I attempted to demonstrate in my past writings. A clear increase of the range and frequency of use of the prefixal a- (primarily with the honorific meaning), a later distinctive feature of southern languages, can be observed. In the analyzed texts, the prefix occurs not only in kinship terminology: aniang, “mother,” appeared as many as fifty times in “Daqianmulian bianwen”, personal (like ani, “thou”) and interrogative (ashui, “who”) pronouns, but also precedes certain nouns that add a tone of respect (cf. ashi, “monk” as a form of address). The analyzed material reveals many examples of clearly suffixal use of -zi, which is also clearly stripped of its original implication of diminutiveness, such as shizi (lion), baozi (incense), and louyizi (ant), but also yizi (ant), niangzi (woman), and even xiangzi (moment, while). The suffixal usage of -tou is also not rare, cf., e.g., nantou (south), qiantou (front), and weitou (end; but niutou “the head of an ox”). The adverbial suffix -ran known from ancient times (like in huran “suddenly”) and the equally ancient suffix of person naming -zhe (the ancient relativizing particle with the meaning “the one who/which”) used in, e.g., zhizhe (sage, a clever one), zhangzhe (elder; honorific), xiaozhe (young), and sengzhe (monk), are very frequent. Besides, the suffixal usage of -ren (man, person) also became popular, cf., e.g., wangren (the deceased), yuren ([a] fool), and junren (apart from junjia [soldier]). Sporadically, the personal pronoun plural suffix -deng appears (wodeng [we]). Among the disyllabic structures that are syntactic in character, the determinational expressions (such as shuiguo [fruit] or xifang [west]) and coordinating ones (such as ailian [love] or fumu [parents]) clearly dominate in quantity. Compounds of the type “verb + object” (such as chujia [to go to / to join a monastery]) and “verb + its result” (such as bachu [to draw / to take out]) are rarer, and compounds of the type “subject + verb” (e.g., huxing [to walk like a tiger > majestic]) constitute the smallest subgroup in this category. In numbers, the proportion between these types in the longest of the analyzed texts, the “Mulian bianwen”, is the following: determinational compounds about 165 coordinating compounds about 220 (+ 33 reduplications) verb-object compounds about 20 resultative compounds about 33 subject-verb compounds fewer than 10 Although similar calculations are not available for contemporary standard Chinese, but it seems that, generally, the proportions are more or less the same for both (except perhaps for the significant prevalence of determination in the language of our times). Zimmer left the syntax untouched, hence little can be concluded in this respect from his book Baihua … (1999), except for one feature easily observable in the texts studied, namely, the emergence of constructions in which the object of the

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compound verb of the resultative-directional structure is inserted between the two constituents of the verb compound, cf.: You zhuangshi qu wuliang zuiren rulai – “The guards drove countless sinners inside.” Xia ying qu – “ to go away to the camp.” Ruo bu de wang Ling ru Chu lai – “If it will be impossible to cause Wang Ling to enter Chu …” In other cases, a construction appears in which both compound constituents in question precede the object, cf.: … huanlai jielüe Shazhou – “… they came back to loot Shazhou.” The results of Zimmer’s study thus indirectly allow the conclusion that the resultative-directional verbal construction with the object inserted between the constituents of the compact verb, typical of today’s standard language, emerged as far back in the past as the end of the Tang dynasty.

BIBLIOGRAPHY * Books added during translational and editorial work ** Books added by Dr Maria Kurpaska ** Australian Academy of the Humanities – Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (Zhongguo shehui kexueyuan 中国社会科学院). 1988. 1 The Language Atlas of China. Zhongguo yuyan dituji 中国语言地图集. Ed. S[tephen] A[dolphe] Wurm et al. Hong Kong: Longman [c 1987]. Bai Dizhou 白滌洲 (posthumous manuscript) – Yu Shichang 喻世長 (ed.). 1954. Guanzhong fangyin diaocha baogao 關中方音調查報告 (Research Report on Pronunciation in the Region of Guanzhong). Beijing: Zhongguo kexueyuan. ** Baxter, William H. 1992. A Handbook of Old Chinese Phonology. Berlin – New York: Mouton de Gruyter. ** Baxter, William H. – Laurent Sagart. 2014. Old Chinese: A New Reconstruction. Oxford – New York: Oxford University Press. Benedict, Paul K. 1972. Sino-Tibetan: A Conspectus. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bodman, Nicolas Cleaveland. 1954. A Linguistic Study of the Shih Ming [釋名]: Initials and Consonant Clusters. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

———. 1980. “Proto-Chinese and Sino-Tibetan: Data towards Establishing the Nature of the Relationship.” In: F. van Coetsem – L.R. Waugh (eds.). Contributions to Historical Linguistics: Issues and Materials. Leiden: Brill, pp. 34-199. * Branner, David Prager. 2000. Problems in Comparative Chinese Dialectology. The Classification of Miin and Hakka. Trends in Linguistics. Studies and Monographs, 123. Berlin – Boston: De Gruyter – De Gruyter Mouton. Braun, Jan. 2001. Sumerian and Tibeto-Burman. Warszawa: Agade.

———. 2004. Sumerian and Tibeto-Burman: Additional Studies. Warszawa: Agade. Bunakov, Yuriy Vladimirovich Бунаков, Юрий Владимирович. 1935. Gadatel’niye kosti iz Khenani (Kitay), ocherki istorii i problematiki v svyazi s kollektsiyey IKDP (Гадательные кости из Хэнани [Китай], очерк истории и проблематики в связи с коллекцией ИКДП (Speaking Bones from Henan). Moskva – Leningrad: USSR Academy of Sciences Publishing House. Burling, Robbins 1959. “Proto-Bodo.” Language 35 (1959), pp. 435-453.

———. 1967. Proto-Lolo-Burmese. Bloomington: Indiana University.                                                              1

[M.K.: The Chinese edition of The Language Atlas of China was published in two stages (1987 and 1989). The first two parts (maps A5, B3, B5, B9, B10, B12, B14, C2, C3, C4, C5, C7, C8, C9, C11, C12) were published in 1987, the remaining maps in 1989.]

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INDEX WITH GLOSSARY Compiled by BARBARA HOSTER, DIRK KUHLMANN, ELKE SPIELMANNS-ROME We have compiled this index as an aid to the readers of Professor Künstler’s work. We have respected the author’s decision not to include Chinese characters for terms, phrases, place names, and personal names in the main text, a decision that was meant to stress his understanding of language as spoken language only, and instead provide these here as supplemental information. Please note that the entries are arranged in the order of pinyin syllables, not strictly alphabetically. It must be mentioned that Professor Künstler’s use of hyphenation for Chinese words in pinyin is not consistent (e.g., fanqie on p. 33 vs. fan-qie, on p. 133). We have retained the different spellings in the main text, but subsumed the respective words in one entry here. Wherever possible, we have adopted the English translations from the main text. In some cases, where the English translations of the Classical Chinese quotations diverge slightly at different points in the text, we have used one translation in the index while keeping the respective versions in the text unchanged. Where Künstler’s manuscript is missing English translations for the titles of Chinese works and terms as well as individuals’ birth and death dates, we have added these to the index. We have also included the place names mentioned by Künstler as well as specified the respective provinces wherever possible. However, these entries predominately refer to language, not geography. a- 阿 (prefix) 139, 154 abasang 阿巴桑 (grandma) 184, 204 Achang 阿昌 (ethnic group) 35 ajisang 阿吉桑 (uncle) 204 A-jiu, jiu wo zege 阿舅救我則個 (Uncle! Help [save] me) 178 amo 阿末 (how) 154 Amoy (Xiamen 廈門) 264, 266-268 ana 阿那 (that) 154 anabian 阿哪边 (where) 154 ani 阿妳 (thou) 159, 274 aniang 阿娘 (mother) 154, 159, 274 a-po 阿婆 (mother, mother-in-law) 139 a-po bu jia nü 阿婆不嫁女 ([if] mother does not marry [her] daughter) 139 ashi 阿士 (monk) 159, 274 ashui 阿誰 (who) 154, 159, 274 a-xiu-luo 阿修羅 (asura, a bad demon) 136 aye 阿爺 (father) 154

ayeniang 阿爺娘 (parents) 154 activum–causativum 192 adstratum/a 207, 216, 235 affix(es) 115-116, 118, 193, 196, 261 ai 愛 (to love) 119 aifu 愛撫 (to caress) 119 aihao 愛好 (to be delighted with) 119 ailian 愛憐 (love) 160, 274 aiqing 愛情 (love [between a man and woman]) 119 alternation(s) 75, 123, 141; intrasyllabic – 71, 111, 122; vocalic/consonantal – 92, 120, 147, 188 an 俺 (I, we) 175 anjia 俺家 (I, we, our) 175 Anqing 安慶 (Anhui Province) 227 Ancient Chinese, see Middle Chinese antonymic coordination 115, 118, 194 assimilation 229, 265; tonal –, see sandhi articulation 230, 251-252

292

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

Ba 巴 (language) 101 ba 吧 (imperative particle) 177, 178 ba 把 (form introducing the object) 89, 155, 168, 181 ba 把 (a handle; classifier) 166 Ba cao zhe mian 把草遮面 (He covered the face with grass) 155 Ba Jin 巴金 (1904–2005) 57 ba lai chuai zai huai li 把來揣在懷裡 (… and he put it [the dog’s leg that he had not finished gnawing the meat off] in his bosom) 181 “Ba xiang bian” 八相變 (Eight Aspects of Transformation) 157 ba yi feng xin xie xia lai 把一封信寫下來 (to write a letter) 165 bachu 拔出 (draw out) 160, 274 ba-lai 把來 (marker of reversed position of object) 181 bashi 巴士 (bus) 205 bashiche 巴士車 (bus vehicle) 205 bawang 霸王 (ruler) 273 Bai 白 (ethnic group) 35 bai (bo) 白 (white) 43, 61, 245 bai 百 (hundred) 135 bai (bo) 柏 (cypress) 43, 45, 61 Bai ma fei ma 白馬非馬 (A white horse is not a horse) 92 baihua 白話 (understandable speech, vernacular Chinese) 169, 180 bai-xing 百姓 (all names) 135 Baiyujing 百喻經 (The Sūtra of One Hundred Parables) 134 bang 磅 (pound) 245 Bao Tingbo 鮑廷博 (1728–1814) 170 Bao’an 保安 (ethnic group) 35 bao-en 報恩 (to repay the grace) 136 Baoji 寶雞 (Shaanxi Province) 228 baozi 寶子 (incense burner) 159, 274 bei 輩 (plural marker) 135, 153 bei 被 (passive voice marker) 123, 124, 142, 156, 167, 168 bei bing 被病 (to suffer from illness) 123

bei en 被恩 (to receive grace) 123 Bei Yan 北燕 (territory) 105 beifa 北伐 (northern expedition) 54 beifang 北方 (northern) 227 Beijing 北京 169, 227, 230, 232, 233, 234 Beijing huayu cihui shi 北京话语词汇释 (A Glossary of Beijing Lexicon) 225 Beijinghua danyinci cihui 北京話单音詞詞 彙 (The Monosyllabic Words of the Peking Speech) 113 Beijinghua erhua cidian 北京话儿化词典 (Dictionary of Rhotacisms in Pekinese) 188 Beijingese, see Pekinese Bei’oufeng 北歐風 (Northern European style) 205 Bencao gangmu 本草綱目 (Compendium of Materia Medica) 82 Benchi 奔馳 (Mercedes-Benz) 204 Benedict, Paul K. (1912–1997) 18-20, 24, 70, 74, 131 beng 甭 (prohibitive word) 76 Bengbu 蚌埠 (Anhui Province) 227 bi 彼 (that) 87 bi 畢 (generalising word) 93 bi 筆 (writing brush) 80 bi 鼻 (nose) 74 bihu 壁虎 (wall tiger, lizard) 250 biming 筆名 (pen name) 237 biqi 荸薺 207, 236 (water chestnut) bi-qu 避去 (to run away in an opposite direction) 140 biruo 必若 (if; form introducing the conditional) 157 Bi-ruo lao lai he chu bi 必若老來何處避 (If the old age approaches, where should one get away) 157 bizi 鼻子 (nose) 233 biandang 便當 (boxed lunch) 267 bianwen 變文 (altered texts) 135, 151, 152, 154, 157, 161, 271-273 biao 表 (model, pattern, list, meter) 196 bie 別 (prohibitive word) 76

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY bing 餅 (pie) 204 bing 冰 (ice) 260 bingqilin 冰淇淋 (ice-cream) 260 bingxiang 冰箱 (refrigerator) 260 bo 伯 (count) 87 bo 啵 / 般 (imperative particle) 177, 178 bo-ai 博愛 (universal love) 119 Bobai 博白 (Guangxi Province) 258 Bodman, Nicolas Cleaveland (1913–1997) 77, 132 Brückner, Aleksander (1856–1939) 225 bu 不 (negation) 76, 93, 123, 155, 165, 167, 180, 193, 201 bu 哺 (keep food in the mouth) 256 bu 晡 (the ninth two-hour period of the day) 256 bu chi liao 不吃了 (cannot eat) 165 bu lai 不來 (does not come) 201 bu wo zhi 不我知 (does not know me; Daodejing, Shuoyuan) 96 Bu xian yue Lu Wei zhi jun 不見悅魯衛之 君 ([He] was not loved by the lords of Lu and Wei; Mengzi) 123 Bu xian zhe sui you ci bu yue ye 不賢者雖 有此不樂也 ([As far as those who] are not a sage [are concerned,] even if they possess [such virtue], they will not enjoy it; Mengzi) 99, 126 bu xin zhi you 不信至尤 (not to trust [him] in the highest [degree]) 124 Bu yao tian xu duo wu yi shuo hua 不要添 許多無益說話 (There is no need to add verbosity) 168 Bu zhi cheng you zhi fou 不知誠有之否 (I really don’t know whether this is right or not) 123 Bu zhi he dai he nian shi liao (= le) 不知 何代何年失了 (I do not know in which generation or in which year they were lost) 167 bubi 不必 (negative word) 180 buceng 不曾 (negative word) 155, 180 Bu-la-ge 布拉格 (Praha) 130

293

Bulang 布朗 (ethnic group) 35 busheng 不生 (negative word) 155 bushi 不是 (is not; negated copula) 141, 180 buxiu 不休 (prohibitive word) 155 buyao 不要 (prohibitive word) 155, 180 Buyi 布依 (ethnic group) 34 buyong 不用 (prohibitive word) 155 Bu-ze shi xiang-gong, wo ye wu qi 不則是 相公，我也無妻 (Not only the lord, but also I do not have a wife; Li Haogu) 180 Burmese 49, 172; see also Proto-LoloBurmese Cangzhou 滄州 (Hebei Province) 227 Cantonese 11, 31, 40, 47-48, 60, 93, 123, 125, 131, 137, 207, 210, 236, 259-263 cao 曹 (plural marker) 135 cenematics 90 ceng 驓 (horse with all feet white) 85 chan 禪 (Buddhism) 151 Chang’an 長安 (Shaanxi Province) 26, 27, 105, 144, 207 chang-duan 長短 (long-and-short) 118, 194 Changjiang 長江, see Yangzi Changqi 長崎 (Nagasaki) 38 Changsha 長沙 (Hunan Province) 131, 216, 218, 221, 248 Changzhi 長治 (Shanxi Province) 238 Changzhou 常州 (Jiangsu Province) 243 chao 超- (over, super-, ultra-) 195 chao-cai 炒菜 (to fry vegetables) 120 chaoji 超級 (super-) 195 chaojishichang 超級市場 (supermarket) 195 chao-rou 炒肉 (to fry meat) 119 Chaoxian 朝鮮 (territory [Korea]) 105 chaoxianshizhuyi 超現實主義 (surrealism) 195 chao-yinsu 超音速 (supersonic velocity) 195 Chaozhou 潮州 (Guangdong Province) 264, 267, 268

294

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

che 車 (car) 24 che 扯 (to tear with two hands) 47 chezhang 車掌 (ticket inspector, conductor) 205 chen 臣 (I; first person pronoun) 137, 138 Chen Mengjia 陳夢家 (1911–1966) 55, 56, 58 Chenxian 郴縣 (Hunan Province) 217, 218 chen-yu 臣愚 (stupid servant; selfreference) 138 cheng 成 (verbal suffix) 164 Cheng Hao 程顥 (1032–1085) 163 Cheng Te-k’un (Zheng Dekun) 鄭德坤 (1907–2001) 50 Chengdu 成都 (Sichuan Province) 150, 227, 230-234 chi-bao 吃飽 (to eat full) 120 chi-bu-bao 吃不飽 (not to be able to eat full) 120, 193 chi bu liao 吃不了 (cannot eat) 165 chi haojici 吃好幾次 (to eat many times) 193 chi yici 吃一次 (eat once) 193 chi-de-bao 吃得飽 (to be able to eat full) 120, 193 chiguo 吃過 (used to eat) 193 chile 吃了 (have eaten) 193 Chimei zhi luan 赤眉之亂 (Red Eyebrows Insurrection) 110 The Chinese Language (B. Karlgren) 49, 69, 71, 77 The Chinese Language (R. Forrest) 105, 208 Chmielewski, Janusz (1916–1998) 8, 14, 53-54, 75-80, 84, 102, 107, 111-115, 120, 157, 159, 162, 189, 271, 273 Chongmingdao 崇明島 (Jiangsu Province) 243, 245 Chongqing 重慶 227 Chu 楚 86, 101, 260 chu 出 (to go outside) 164, 229 chu 出 (verbal suffix) 164 chu 處 (complement of time; when) 157

chu 處 (nominal suffix; place) 155, 164 chu-chu 處處 (everywhere) 163 Chuci 楚辭 (Poetry of Chu) 90 chujia 出家 (to go out from home, enter a monastery) 160 chumer 出門兒 (going out) 233 Chunqiu (Spring and Autumn [Annals]) 春 秋 65 ci 此 (this) 87 ci 詞 (word) 209 ci Luo 此洛 (this [town of] Luo) 91 Ci wei zhen jin 此為真金 (This is true gold) 141 Classical Chinese 54, 86-87, 127, 138, 150-151, 153, 169, 170-172, 174, 176, 183, 205 classifier(s) 56, 94, 140, 154, 166-167, 176-178, 181, 220, 249, 257, 261 Coblin, Weldon South (Ke Weinan 柯蔚南, b. 1944) 19-23, 62, 72, 131, 250 compound(s) 111, 152, 158-159, 162, 168, 196-197; coordinative – 85, 274; demonstrative – 179; determinative – 159, 274; disyllabic – 52, 140, 157, 194-195, 273; interrogative – 178-179; polysyllabic – 152, 271; resultative – 160, 193, 274-275; subject-verb – 160, 274; syntactic – 84, 136, 140, 274; verb-object – 160, 274; see also sentence(s): compound – coordination, see parataxis cong san 從三 (composed of three) 73 cong san mao 從三毛 (composed of three [elements] mao) 73 conjunction(s) 56, 98, 125-126, 167, 176, 178, 181 consonant(s): Archaic Chinese – 67-72, 7681; consonantal cluster(s) 68-69, 74, 111, 130-132, 136, 148, 209, 228-229; Middle Chinese – 146-147; Modern Standard Chinese – 185-190 contraction 76, 118, 142, 193, 202 copula 91-93, 125, 141, 167, 198, 201 cui 毳 (hair, bristles) 73

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY Dabu 大埔 (Guangdong Province) 254 dabusi 打不死 (to be unable to kill) 193 dadesi 打得死 (to be able to kill) 193 Dagai zoule 大概走了 (Probably [he] left) 240 “Dagao” 大誥 (Shujing) 65 da3jia4 打架 (to fight) 234 da3jiar4 打價兒 (strike a deal) 234 Dalian 大連 (Liaoning Province) 227 Da-mo-qu-di 達摩瞿諦 (Dharmakirti) 137 “Damuqianlian bianwen” 大目乾連變文 (The bianwen on Mahāmaudgalyāyana) 157, 271, 274 “Damuqianlian mingjian jiu mu bianwen bing tu yi juan bing xu” 大目乾連冥間 救母變文并圖一卷并序 (The bianwen on Mulian Rescuing His Mother from Hell) 159 da-po 打破 (to strike [so that it is] broken) 140 dasi 打死 (to kill) 193 Datong 大同 (Shanxi Province) 210, 229 da-xiao 大小 (great-and-small) 115, 118, 194 Daxue 大學 (Great Learning) 34 daxue 大學 (university, college) 38, 194 Dayu 大宇 (Daewoo) 38 da-zhi-zhi 大之至 (the greatest) 124 dazhuan 大篆 (Great Seal characters) 66 Dai 代 (territory) 105 daifang 貸方 (creditor, lender) 205 dai-zhu 帶住 (to draw) 156 dan 旦 (dawn, morning) 42, 268 dan 膽 (liver) 119 danche 單車 (bicycle) 260 dan-da 膽大 (brave) 119 dan-han 膽寒 (terrified) 119 dan-xiao 膽小 (coward) 119 Danyang 丹陽 (Jiangsu Province) 242-245 dang 當 (when) 98 dang-zhu 擋住 (to bring to a stop) 156 dao 到 (auxiliary word) 252 dao 到 (verbal suffix) 164

295

Dao gong jiang zhu 到宮將珠 (Taking the pearl, he arrived at the palace) 155 daode 道德 (way and virtue) 42 Daodejing 道德經 96 daodi 道地 (place of origin) 223 dao-liao 道了 (finish to speak) 156 Dao-liao bian zhang 道了便掌 ([When] he finished to speak he beat him) 156 daor 刀兒 (knife) 232 de 的 (attributive suffix) 163, 175, 176 de 的 (nominal, possessive suffix) 51, 118, 157, 193 de 得 (affirmative potential form) 193 de 得 (attributive suffix) 117 de 得 (verbal suffix) 156, 164, 165, 166 Dehong 德宏 (Yunnan Province) 82 delüfeng 德律風 (telephone) 40, 205, 236 demokelaxi 得默克拉希 (democracy) 40, 236 deixis–anaphora 222 Demiéville, Paul (1894–1979) 78, 113 deng 等 (plural marker) 135, 153, 154, 159, 176, 274 dengzi 凳子 (stool) 232 determination: prepositional vs. postpositional – 17, 21, 31, 38, 40, 5458, 89-91, 94, 98, 125, 140, 153, 164165, 193, 198-199, 240, 263 di 地 (earth) 157 di 底 (bottom) 157 di 馰 (horse with a white mark on the forehead) 85 didao 地道 (place of origin) 223 di’er 第二 (the second) 193 diyi 第一 (the first) 193 dizi 笛子 (flute) 233 dialects 84, 101-105, 144, 210-212, 222223; see also ethnolect(s), Gan (languages), Hakka (languages), Jiaoliao (languages), Lanyin (languages), Min (languages), Wu (languages), Xiang (languages), Yue (languages) dian 電 (lightning) 39

296

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

dianhua 電話 (telephone) 40, 205, 236 dianli 電力 (electric power) 237 diannao 電腦 (computer) 85 dieyun 疊韻 (piled up rhymes) 79, 113 Ding Du 丁度 ( fl. 1020) 143 Ding gong bao 丁公褒 (the reward of duke Ding) 91 Dingbo ling gui xian du 定伯令鬼先渡 (Dingbo ordered the ghost to cross the river first) 141 **diok/shu 孰 (interrogative pronoun) 127 diphthong(s) 67, 187-189, 222, 230-231, 233, 245, 248, 251, 254, 259, 264; see also monophthong(s), triphthong(s) disyllabization 120, 154-155, 163, 169, 181 **diwer/shui (shei) 誰 (interrogative pronoun) 127 Dobson, William A.C.H. (1913–1982) 57, 65, 76, 88, 90, 98, 122, 123, 127 Dong 侗 (ethnic group) 35 dong 東 (east) 229 dong shi 東氏 (Eastern tribes) 91 Dong Tonghe 董同龢 (1911–1963) 146 Dong Zuobin, see Tung Tso-pin Dongguan 東莞 (Guangdong Province) 259 Dongguan Hanji 東觀漢記 (Han Records of the Eastern Tower) 108, 110 Dongjing 東京 (Tokyo) 38 Dongkou 洞口 (Hunan Province) 216 Dongting 洞庭 (Hunan Province) 214 Dongxiang 東鄉 (ethnic group) 35 dou ba wen yi shuo cuo le 都把文意說錯 了 (any interpretation of them makes it false) 168 Dou E yuan 竇娥冤 (Injustice Done to Dou E) 181 Dulong 獨龍 (ethnic group) 36 duruo 讀若 (read as) 33 Duyin tongyi hui 讀音統一會 (First Commission on the Unification of Pronunciation) 183 Dungan 東干 (language) 235; see also Hui (ethnic group)

Dunhuang 敦煌 (Gansu Province) 143 duo 朵 (classifier) 166, 167 duoshao 多少 (how many) 154 duoshi 多是 (certainly, surely) 181 “Duoshi” 多士 (Shujing) 65 **dz’i/zi 自 (from) 127 **dz’i-kieg/zi-ji 自己 (self) 127 **dz’iung/cong 從 (from) 127 Emperor Huan 桓 (r. 147–168) 110 en-ai 恩愛 (matrimonial love) 119 Enping 恩平 (Guangdong Province) 258 English 16, 40, 46, 95, 178, 204-205, 208, 236-238, 260-261, 272 er 二 (two) 193 er 而 (and) 125 er 兒 (diminutive suffix) 139, 192, 232 er 爾 (you) 86, 153 erhua 兒化 (er-ization) 233 Erya 爾雅 80, 82, 84, 132 Erkes, Eduard (1891–1958) 102 ethnolect(s) 187, 211-216, 234; see also Gan (languages), Hakka (languages), Jiaoliao (languages), Lanyin (languages), Min (languages), Wu (languages), Xiang (languages), Yue (languages) empty word(s) (xuci 虛詞) 90, 92, 122-123, 137, 219 evolution: phonetic – 2, 16, 67, 112, 122, 130, 213, 255; semantic – 123; typological – 14, 77, 107, 111-113, 120 fabei 伐北 (to go to the North) 54 Faxian 法顯 (337 – ca. 422) 137 Faxianzhuan 法顯傳 (The Report of Faxian) 137 fan 反 (anti-, counter-) 195 fan 反 (on the contrary) 125 fan 返 (to go back) 96 fan 飯 (food, meal) 266 fan4 瞓 (sleep, go to bed) 190 fa:n3 販 (peddle, trade, deal in) 190

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY fan Lu 返魯 (to go back to Lu) 96 Fan Ye 范曄 (398–445) 108 fan yu Lu 返於魯 (to go back to Lu) 96 fangeming 反革命 (counterrevolutionary) 195 fanqie 反切 (reverse cuts) 33, 44, 133, 169 fang 方 (person) 205 fang-fu 仿佛 (similar to) 79 fangyan 方言 (dialect[al]) 31 Fangyan 方言 (Local Speeches [work by Yang Xiong]) 74, 82, 83, 104 Fangyan 方言 (Dialects/Local Languages [journal]) 223, 224, 243 Fangyan yu Zhongguo wenhua 方言與中國 文化 (Dialects and Chinese Culture) 81, 213 fang-zi 房子 ([little] house) 116 fat1 忽 (no) 190 fa:t3 法 (law) 190 fei 妃 (imperial concubine) 42 fei 非 (negation) 92, 93, 180 fei 非 (not to be) 141, 155 fei 非 (wrong) 42 fei 菲 (fragrant) 42 fei 緋 (red) 42 fei 飛 (to fly) 41 fei jiang 非疆 (boundless) 91 fei li 非禮 (immoral) 91 feiji 飛機 (airplane) 41, 194, 235 feiji 飛雞 (flying hen) 42 fei-niao 飛鳥 (flying bird) 119 feizaoju 肥皂劇 (soap opera) 238 feizhuxia yuyan 非諸夏語言 (non-Chinese languages) 101 fenyinci 分音詞 (dimidiation) 76 feng 風 (ode, song) 74 feng 風 (way, style) 205 feng 風 (wind) 229 “Feng Yumei tuanyuan” 馮玉梅團圓 (Reunion of Feng Yumei) 181 feng-huang 鳳凰 (male and female phoenixes) 114 fengrenji 縫紉機 (sewing machine) 184

297

Fengtai 鳳台 (Shanxi Province) 210 Fengtian 豐田 (Toyota) 38 French 13, 49, 85, 112, 113, 116, 218, 236 Fo 佛 (Buddha) 136 Fo shuo guan Mile pusa shangsheng Doushuaitian jingjiang jingwen 佛說觀 彌勒菩薩上生兜率天經講經文 (Buddha’s Sayings on the View of Maitreya Bodhisattva Born Upwards in Tuṣita) 157 Foguoji 佛國記 (A Record of Buddhist Kingdoms) 137 Forrest, Robert Andrew Dermod (1893–?) 105, 208-210 fou 否 (negation of a whole phrase) 93, 123, 155 Frankel, Hans H. (1916–2003) 134 fu 弗 (negation and prohibition) 93 fu 復 (again, moreover) 125 Fujian 福建 208 fumu 父母 (father-and-mother, parents) 114, 118, 121, 160, 274 fu-qi 夫妻 (man and wife) 115 Fute 福特 (Ford) 29, 204 Fuyang 阜陽 (Anhui Province) 227 fuyin 複印 (copy) 205 Fuzhou 福州 (Fujian Province) 5, 27, 208, 264, 266, 268, 269 full word(s) (shici 實詞) 90, 116, 155, 166 Gabelentz, Georg von der (1840–1893) 18, 88 gai 蓋 (initial particle) 90 Gan 贛 (languages) 211, 214, 216, 217, 221, 250-257, 265 Gan Bao 干寶 ( fl. 315, d. 336) 134 ganbang 甘榜 (village) 184, 204 ganbei 乾杯 (Bottoms up!, drink a toast) 192, 265 Gangu 甘谷 (Gansu Province) 233 ganhuo 幹活 (to earn a living) 246 Gao Mingkai 高名凱 (1912–1965) 170 Gaocheng 藁城 (Hebei Province) 234

298

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

Gao-Lei 高雷 (language) 258; see also Yue (languages) Gaoshan 高山 (ethnic group) 36 Gao-Yang 高陽 (language) 258; see also Yue (languages) Gaozhou 高州 (Guangdong Province) 258 ge 個 (general classifier) 94, 166, 176, 178 ge 歌 (song) 233 Ge da shi xia 各打十下 (each has beaten [him] ten times) 140 ge pengyou 個朋友 (a friend) 202 Gelao 仡佬 (ethnic group) 35 gei 給 (to give to someone) 253 gei wo yi ben shu 給我一本書 (Give me a book) 253 gei/ji-shi 給施 (to give alms) 136 gen 根 (root) 232 geng 梗 (stem) 232 gengshi 更始 era (23–25 AD) 110 German 40, 103, 195, 228, 236, 237, 252 **giuk/yu 欲 (to want) 127 gong 公 (duke) 87 gong 公 (prince; therefore “male”) 221 Gong fan gu hong qie – gong 功反顧烘切 功 (Take gu and hong and cut it) 133 [Gong] yi ge ji zhi [公]以戈擊之 ([He] hit him with a spear; Zuozhuan) 96 gongche 公車 (a public car) 205 gongji 公雞 (cock, rooster) 153 gou 苟 (if) 141 gou wei hou yi er xian li 苟為後義而先利 (if you are really putting justice on a further place and the profit on the nearer; Mengzi) 98 gou yu shi she 苟予施捨 (if you will give alms) 141 Grammata Serica 69 Grammata Serica Recensa 69 gu 古 (ancients) 99 gu 姑 (aunt) 229 Gu zhi yu ming ming-de yu tian-xia zhe xian zhi qi guo 古之欲明明德于天下者 先治其国 (The ancients who wanted to

flare up their bright virtue in everything under the Heaven first regulated their own countries; Daxue) 99 Gushi 固始 (Henan Province) 210 Guan Hanqing 關漢卿 (ca. 1241–1320) 181 Guanyu Hanyu de cixu leixing 關於漢語的 詞序類型 (On Order Patterns of Chinese) 88 Guanzhong 關中 (region) 231 “Guangchengsong” 廣城頌 (Eulogy on the Guangcheng Park) 138 Guangdong 廣東 208; see also Cantonese Guangyun 廣韻 (Enlarged Rhymes) 143 Guangzhou 廣州 (Canton) 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 269 gui 簋 (bowl) 41 gui Kong-zi tun 歸孔子豚 (to give Confucius a piglet; Lunyu) 97 Guihua 歸化 (Shanxi Province) 210 gui-lai 歸來 (to go back toward the speaker) 156 Guilin 桂林 (Guangxi Province) 220, 227 Gui-Nan 桂南 (language) 258; see also Yue (languages) gui-qu 歸去 (to go back in the direction opposite to the speaker) 156 Guiyang 貴陽 (Guizhou Province) 227 Guizhou 貴州 211 Guṇavṛddhi (Qiunapidi 求那毗地, d. 502) 134 guo 過 (suffix) 156, 164, 197, 268 Guo Pu 郭璞 (276–324) 132 Guo Xun 郭勛 (d. 1550) 174 “Guofeng” 國風 (Odes/Songs from [various] countries; Shijing) 74 Guojia yuyan wenzi gongzuo weiyuanhui 国家语言文字工作委员会 (Ministry of Education of PRC and State Language Work Committee) 45 Guomindang 國民黨 169 Guoyu 國語 (national language) 203, 225

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY Gurevich, Isabella Samoĭlovna (d. 2016) 129, 130, 134-138, 141, 151-152, 173, 177, 271 Hani 哈尼 35 hai 豥 (pig with white legs) 85 hai 還 (or) 181 Haimen 海門 (Jiangsu Province) 243 haishi 還是 (or) 181 haishi 還是 (still, further on, continuing) 262 Hakka (languages, Kejiahua 客家話) 4, 27, 37, 139, 154, 204, 210-211, 214, 216, 217, 221, 251, 252, 253-257, 259, 260, 261, 263, 264, 265, 266 Han 漢 dynasty 28 Han Daozhao 韓道昭 ( fl. 1200) 143 “Han jiang Wang Ling” 漢將王陵 (The Tale of Wang Ling, the General of Han) 159, 273 “Han Peng fu” 韓朋賦 (The fu on Han Peng) 155 Han wang 漢王 (the ruler of Han) 159 Hanbao 漢堡 (Hamburg) 39 Hancheng 漢城 (Seoul) 38 Hankou 漢口 (Hubei Province) 150, 210, 227, 230 Hanyang 漢陽 (Hubei Province) 228 Hanyu fangyan da cidian 漢語方言大辭典 (Large Dictionary of Chinese Dialects) 145 “Hanyu fangyan yufa de bijiao yanjiu” 汉 语方言语法的比较研究 (A Comparative Study of Chinese Dialect Syntax) 269 Hanyu pinyin 漢語拼音 44 “Hanzi bushou biao” 汉字部首表 (Chinese Character Radicals Table or The Table of Indexing Chinese Characters Components) 45 Hangzhou 杭州 (Zhejiang Province) 233, 234, 243, 244, 247 Hangzhouwan 杭州灣 (Zhejiang Province) 243

299

hao 好 (formal element) 200 hao 好 (good) 193, 247 Hashimoto Mantaro 橋本 萬太郎 (1932– 1987) 216, 222, 232, 266 Haudricourt, André-Georges (1911–1996) 70, 150 he 何 (interrogative; what) 138, 179 he 何 (pronoun) 176 he yi 何以 (why, what for) 154 hebi 何必 (why, what for) 154 Hefei 合肥 (Anhui Province) 227 hegu 何故 (why, what for) 154 Henei 河內 (Hanoi) 38 Hepu 合浦 (Guangxi Province) 259 heren 何人 (who) 179 heshang 和尚 (monk) 158, 273 hesi 何似 (what) 154 hexiao 何效 (why, what for) 154 hexu 何許 (why, what for) 154 heyinci 合音詞 (contraction) 76 heyong 何用 (why, what for) 154 Hezhe 赫哲 (ethnic group) 36 hezuoshe 合作社 (cooperative) 63 hei 黑 (black) 162 hei-cui 黑翠 (dark) 163 hei-cui-cui-de 黑翠翠的 (dark) 163 henhao 很好 (very good) 193, 247 homonym(s) 33, 112, 249, 255 Hong Kong (Xianggang 香港) 246, 258, 261 Hongkongese 47, 130, 163, 246, 261; see also Cantonese hou 侯 (marquis) 87 Hou Hanji 後漢記 (Records of the Later Han Dynasty) 108 Hou Hanshu 後漢書 (History of the Later Han Dynasty) 108, 109, 152 hou Hu 侯虎 (the marquis Hu [tiger]) 55 hou’aniang 后阿娘 (stepmother) 154 hou-sheng 後生 (the later born) 121 hou-zhong 猴眾 (apes) 140 hu 乎 (interrogative final particle) 92 hu 呼 (to call) 142

300

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

hu 忽 (sudden; violently) 117 hu 胡 (barbarian, i.e., non-Chinese) 84 hu-chan 蝴蟬 (a kind of a small cicada) 83 hu-die 蝴蝶 (butterfly) 83 hu’er 忽而 (form introducing the conditional) 157 hu-jiao 胡椒 (pepper) 84 hu-ma 胡麻 (sesame) 84 hunan 湖南 (south of the lake) 54 huqi 忽其 (form introducing the conditional) 157 hu-qin 胡螓 (a kind of a great fly) 84 huran 忽然 (sudden; violently) 117, 157, 159, 274 Hu-ran de zhe xie yu lai 忽然的這些雨來 ([If] suddenly we got this rain) 165 huruo 忽若 (form introducing the conditional) 157 hu-tao 胡桃 (walnut) 84 hutong 衚衕 (alley, backstreet) 233 huxing 虎行 (to go like a tiger) 160, 274 Huzhou 湖州 (Zhejiang Province) 243 hua 花 (flower) 167 Huabei pingyuan 華北平原 (North China Plain) 244 huashengtang 花生糖 (peanuts in sugar) 191 Huayi yiyu 華夷譯語 (Sino-foreign glossaries) 174 Huai 淮 (territory) 104 Huainanzi 淮南子 (Master of Huainan) 106 Huaiqing 懐慶 (Henan Province) 210 Huaiyang 淮揚 (Jiangsu Province) 227 Huai-Yi 淮夷 (language) 101 huan 𩦮 (one-year-old horse) 85 Huanlai jielüe Shazhou 還來劫掠沙州 (They returned to plunder Shazhou) 160, 275 huanxi 歡喜 (to like) 152 Huang Chao zhi luan 黃巢之亂 (Huang Chao Uprising, 875–884) 253 Huang Xuezhen 黃雪貞 254, 257 Huanggang 黃岡 (Hubei Province) 227

Huanghe 黃河 (Yellow River) 103 huanghuangran 惶惶然 (fearfully) 117 Huangqiao 黃橋 (Hunan Province) 216, 219 Hui 回 (ethnic group) 34, 235, 239 hui 會 (to be able to) 168 Hui Dong 惠棟 (1697–1758) 109 huifayou 揮發油 (Jap.: gasoline) 205 Huitong 會同 (Hunan Province) 217, 218, 221, 224 Huizu 回族 (Hui nationality), see Hui (ethnic group) huo 火 (fire) 24 huoche 火車 (train) 24, 39, 194 Huo feng mei chu cang 火風沒處藏 (Against fire and wind there is no place to hide) 155 huo-po 活潑 (vivified) 163 huo-po-po-de 活潑潑的 (vivified) 163 huoruo 或若 (form introducing the conditional) 157 hypotaxis (subordination) 95, 125, 199 infixation 72, 75, 112, 193 initial(s) 16, 26-29, 79, 113, 146, 149, 209, 258-259 **iog/yao 要 (to want) 127 Jabłoński, Witold (1901–1957) 171 Japanese 11, 27, 31, 38-40, 42, 44, 54, 122, 132, 133, 184, 195, 204-205, 208, 236, 237, 260, 267; see also SinoJapanese ji 既 (since, when) 157 ji 幾 (how many) 154 ji 幾 (some, few) 42 ji 集 (collections) 170 ji 極 (most, utmost) 140 ji 機 (machine) 41 ji 雞 (hen) 42 Ji hu ren lai 即呼人來 (He called people to come) 142 jidan 雞蛋 (eggs) 42

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY ji-de 記得 (to remember) 166 jidōsha 自動車 (Jap.: car) 260 jiduo 幾多 (how many) 154 ji-duo 極多 (many in the highest degree) 140 jige pengyou 幾個朋友 (some/several friends) 234 jigong 雞公 (cock, rooster) 153 jiguang 激光 (laser) 178 Jinan 濟南 (Shandong Province) 150, 227, 230, 231 Jino 基諾 (ethnic group) 35 jixu 幾許 (how many) 154 Jiyun 集韻 (Collected Rhymes) 143 jia 加 (to add) 124 jia 家 (home) 66, 139, 153, 154, 175, 246 Jiali you ren ma? 家裡有人嗎? (Is anyone home?) 239 jia-shao 加少 (smaller) 124 jia-shi 假使 (conditional cunjunction) 126 jian 兼 (generalising word) 93 jian 豣 (three-year-old pig) 85 Jian shui dong 湔水東 (east of the Jian River) 91 Jian wo tou shang wu you fa mao 見我頭 上無有發毛 … ([He] saw that I have no hair on my head) 140 Jian’ou 建甌 (Fujian Province) 208 Jianyang 建陽 (Fujian Province) 208 jiang 將 (form introducing the object) 155, 168, 181 jiang liang duan bi-jiao 將兩端比較 (to take two segments [and] compare) 168 Jiang zhu dao gong 將珠到宮 (Taking the pearl, he arrived at the palace) 155 Jianghuai 江淮 (languages) 227, 242, 251 jiangjun 將軍 (general) 159, 273 Jiang-jun wei-dang yao pin-dao shen, weidang yao pin-dao ye 將軍為當要貧道身 ？為當要貧道業？(Do you, general, need myself, or my ability?) 155 jiang-lai 將來 (marker of reversed position of object) 181

301

“Jiangmo bianwen (yi juan)” 降魔變文一 卷 (The bianwen on the Defeating of Demons) 157, 159, 271, 273 jiao 教 (causative marker) 156 jiao 教 (to teach) 141 jiao 覺 (verbal suffix) 164 Jiaodong 膠東 (Liaoning Province) 226 Jiaoliao 膠遼 (languages) 227 Jiaoyubu guoyu tuixing weiyuanhui 教育部 國語推行委員會 (Committee for the Unification of the National Language) 183 jie 皆 (generalising word) 93 jie 接 (imperative marker) 180 jie 街 (street) 230 Jie man zhe 接慢著 (Slow down!) 180 jiemei 姐妹 (sisters) 194 jiewen 接吻 (to kiss) 255 jin 今 (now) 98 jin 金 (gold) 245 Jin 晉 (state) 104 jin 進 (enter) 197 jin 盡 (generalising word) 93 Jin ren shuo de lai tai jing liao 今人說得來 太精了 (Today people are explaining this too curiously) 165 Jin Richeng (Kim Ilsong) 金日成 (1912– 1994) 39 Jin Shengtan 金聖歎 (1610?–1661) 174 Jin Side 金思德 (Mieczysław Jerzy Künstler) 42 Jin wang yu bai-xing tong yue ze wang yi 今王與百姓同樂則王矣 (Now when your joy and that of your people is the same, you are a true king; Mengzi) 99 Jin you yi ren. Ru ren yuan bu. Qie qi tao li. Zhong wen ze fei zhi 今有一人。入 人園圃。竊其桃李。眾聞則非之。 (Hearing that a man was going in someone’s orchard to steal the fruit all blamed him; Mozi) 95 jinburi 今哺日 (Hakka: kimpunit [today]) 256

302

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

Jinhua 金華 (Zhejiang Province) 243, 245, 247 jinlai 進來 (enter toward the speaker) 197 jinqu 進去 (enter in the direction opposing the speaker) 197 jinshu 金屬 (metal) 42 Jinshu de jin, sixiang de si, daode de de 金 屬的金，思想的思，道德的德 (Jin as in jinshu [metal], si as in sixiang [thought] and de as in daode [way and virtue]) 42 jintian 今天 (today) 256, 268 Jinwan lai kan dianying 今晚來看電影 (Come this evening to see a film) 238 Jinyu 晉語 (Jin language) 76 Jing 京 (ethnic group) 35 jing 京 (capital) 245 Jingben tongsu xiaoshuo 京本通俗小說 (Folk Stories Published in the Capital) 174, 181 Jingdian shiwen 經典釋文 (Textual Explanations of Classics and Canons) 144 Jingning 景寧 (Zhejiang Province) 245 Jingpo 景颇 (ethnic group) 35 Jingzhou 涇州 (Gansu Province) 210 Jiu ceng zhi tai 九層之臺 (a tower [having] nine floors) 94 “Jiu se lu” 九色鹿 (A Deer of Nine Colors; the Jātaka tales) 134, 138 “Jiugao” 酒誥 (Shujing) 65 Jiuquan 酒泉 (Gansu Province) 227 ju 駒 (two-year-old horse) 85 ju 舉 (generalising word) 93 Ju gu zhe yue ju, sheng ru ju. Yan xing suo yi ju ren ye. Jin yue che, sheng jin she, che she ye. Xing zhe suo chu ruo ju she ye 車：古者曰車，聲如居; 言行所以 居人也。今曰車聲近舍。車, 舍也, 行 者所處若居舍也。(In older times, a cart was called **kio …) 132 ju mou kan 據某看 (according to what I am thinking) 166

juan 卷 (scroll, chapter) 170 jun 均 (even, equal) 229 jun 君 (sovereign) 138 jun-jia 君家 (yours) 139 junjia 軍家 (soldier) 159, 274 junren 軍人 (soldier) 159, 274 kala OK 卡拉 OK (karaoke) 204 Kaifeng 開封 (Henan Province) 210, 244 Kai-men zege 開門則個 (Open the door) 178 Kaiping 開平 (Guangdong Province) 258 Kallgren, Gerty (1916–2011) 161-164, 166168, 177 kan 看 (see, look at) 260 kan yi kan 看一看 (to have a look at) 268 kanban 看板 (signboard) 205 Kanbian 勘辨 (Critical Examinations) 156 kanmende 看門的 (door-keeper) 51 Kanmiu buque Qieyun 刊謬補缺切韻 (Acta absurdum implevit Qieyun) 143 kan-on 漢音 (Jap.: Han sound) 210 “Kanggao” 康誥 (Shujing) 65 Kangle 康樂 (Gansu Province) 231 kaobei 拷貝 (copy) 205 Karlgren, Bernhard (1889–1978) 1, 12, 21, 25-28, 32, 43, 49, 65-82, 86, 105, 131, 136-137, 143-146, 150, 152, 174, 185, 207, 210, 228, 273 ke 可 (may, can) 180 ke 客 (guest) 248 Ke Weinan 柯蔚南, see Coblin, Weldon South kejia 客家 (“guests,” Hakka) 253 Kejiahua 客家話 (Hakka language), see Hakka ke-lang 殼郎 (beetle) 80 keren 客人 (guest) 153 keshi 可是 (but) 181 ke-xiao 可笑 (funny) 119 kexue 科學 (science, scholarship) 236 keyi 可以 (may, can) 197 Kennedy, George A. (1901–1960) 117, 118

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY **kieg/hi xi 繫 (to bound) 125 kong 空 (empty) 204 Kong-zi xian-ren ye 孔子賢人也 (Confucius [was, is] a wise man) 92 Korean (language) 11, 38, 133, 145; see also Sino-Korean Kotański, Wiesław Roman (1915–2005) 54 Kratochvil, Paul (1933–2016) 37, 183, 212 ku-long 窟窿 (hole, cave) 80 kuaizi 筷子 (chopsticks) 232, 260, 266 **kuk/jue 角 (horn, corner) 131 Kunming 昆明 (Yunnan Province) 150, 227, 230, 231 Lahu 拉祜 (ethnic group) 35 lai 來 (to go in the direction of the speaker) 86, 181, 197, 201 laile xin 來了信 (the letter has finally arrived) 240 lan-dai 懶怠 (heavy, inert) 81 Lanyin 蘭銀 (languages) 227 Lanyu 蘭嶼 (Orchid Island, Taiwan) 37 Lanzhou 蘭州 (Gansu Province) 150, 210, 227, 228, 230, 231 language classification 57, 151, 210-215, 220-223, 226-229 language standardization 184-185 lao- 老 (old) 154 laohan 老漢 (old man) 154 Latin (language) 19, 32, 105, 112, 116, 130, 150, 169, 218, 236 Latin alphabet 11, 32, 36, 40, 44 le 了 (suffix expressing the perfective aspect) 164, 196 leida 雷達 (radar) 236 leishe 雷射 (laser) 47, 178 Leizhou 雷州 (Guangdong Province) 214, 258, 263 Lewicki, Marian (1908–1955) 174 Li 黎 (ethnic group) 35 Li Bai (Bo) 李白 (701–762) 34, 245 Li Fang-kuei (Li Fanggui) 李方桂 (1902– 1987) 27, 68, 69 Li Haogu 李好古 (d. 1300) 180

303

Li Jingde 黎靖德 ( fl. 1263–1270) 161 Li Rong 李榮 (1920–2002) 212, 227, 238, 257 Li Si 李斯 (ca. 280–208 BC) 66, 103 “Li Wa zhuan” 李娃傳 (The Tale of Li Wa) 157, 271 libai 禮拜 (week) 203 Licheng 黎城 (Shanxi Province) 231 Lichuan 黎川 (Jiangxi Province) 251, 252 Liji 禮記 (Book of Rites) 81 li-min 黎民 (the black-haired people) 121 Liqu 麗衢 (Zhejiang Province) 244 “Lisao” 離騷 82 Lisu 傈僳 (ethnic group) 35 lian 臉 (face) 266 Lianzhou 連州 (Guangxi Province) 258 liang 樑 (beam, pole) 167 liang ge ping-guo 兩個蘋果 (two apples) 166 Liangshu 梁書 (History of the Liang Dynasty) 136 liao 了 (finish, end, complete) 196 liao 了 (resultative suffix) 156, 164 liaoli 料理 (to care, to take care) 205 liaolidian 料理店 (grocery store) 205 lieba 列巴 (bread) 184, 205 lie-gou 獵狗 (a hunting dog) 115 lie-qi 獵奇 (to hunt for [something] curious) 115 lie-qiang 獵槍 (a hunting gun, rifle) 115 lie-ren 獵人 (a hunter) 115 lie-ying 獵鷹 (a falcon [trained to] hunt) 115 Linbao 林堡 (Limburg) 39 Linfen 臨汾 (Shanxi Province) 210 Linji lu 臨濟錄 (Notes from Linji) 151, 156 Linji Yixuan 臨濟義玄 (d. 866 AD) 151 ling 令 (to order; causative marker) 141, 156 ling 零 (zero) 29 ling ba ling 零八零 (zero-eight-zero) 29 lingjiao 令教 (causative marker) 156 ling-ling-sui-sui 零零碎碎 (all) 163

304

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

Lingmu 鈴木 (Suzuki) 42 ling-sui 零碎 (a bit of) 163 liu 留 (to detain) 95 Liu 劉 family 103 Liu Xi 劉熙, see Liu Zhen Liu Yijing 劉義慶 (403–444) 134 Liu Zhen 劉珍 (d. ca. 126 AD) 132 (liu)bingxie (溜)冰鞋 (ice skating shoes) 260 Liu-xia shi qi hao ye 柳下是其號也 (Liuxia is his second name) 125 loan word(s) 22, 24, 31, 37, 39, 113, 130, 136, 178, 205 Long bei she si 龍被射死 (The dragon was killed by an arrow) 142 longxucao 龍鬚草 (Eulaliopsis binata) 237 Loudi 婁底 (Hunan Province) 249, 250, 263 louyizi 螻蟻子 (ant) 274 lu 路 (way) 166 lu 露 (dew) 209 Lu Deming 陸德明 (556–627) 144 Lu Fayan 陸法言 ( fl. 600s) 143 Lu Zhiwei 陸志韋 (1894–1970) 7, 8, 27, 113, 159, 273 Lü Shuxiang 呂叔湘 (1904–1998) 170 luan-qi-ba-zao 亂七八糟 (chaos) 134 Lunyu 論語 47, 65, 97, 161 “Luogao” 洛誥 (Shujing) 65 Luoyang 洛陽 (Henan Province) 220, 227, 233 Luoyang qielanji 洛陽伽藍記 (Description of Buddhist Temples of Luoyang) 129, 134 luoyu 落雨 ([it is] raining) 218 luozi 蛒子 (ant) 159 ma 馬 (horse) 85 ma 麼 (suffix) 77 Ma Jianzhong 馬建忠 (1845–1900) 170 Ma Rong 馬融 (79–166) 109, 110, 132, 138 Ma si pi 馬四匹 (four teams of horses) 94

Macheng 麻城 (Hubei Province) 230 mashaji 馬殺雞 (massage) 204 mashen 馬神 ([sewing] machine) 184, 204f. Mashi wentong 馬氏文通 (Ma’s Grammar) 170 mati 馬蹄 (water chestnut, lit.: horse hoof) 31, 207, 236 man 瞞 (prohibitive word) 155 Man 蠻 (barbarians of the south) 59 Mangu 曼谷 (Bangkok) 38 man-man-de 慢慢的 (slowly) 163 Maonan 毛南 (ethnic group) 35 maoyi 毛衣 (woolly garment, clothing) 262 Maspero, Henri (1883–1945) 25, 26, 27, 81 mei 每 (every; plural suffix) 175, 176 mei 沒 (not to have; negation) 123, 155, 167, 180 Mei Tsulin (Mei Zulin) 梅祖麟 (b. 1933) 208 Mei Yingzuo 梅膺祚 ( fl. 1570–1615) 45 mei-gui 玫瑰 (rose) 80 meir 梅兒 (plum) 232 Meixian 梅縣 (Guangdong Province) 190, 254, 255, 257 meiyou 沒有 (not to have, not to be) 93, 180 Meillet, Antoine (1866–1936) 31f. men 們 (plural suffix) 77, 118, 175, 176, 193, 234 men-hu 門戶 (door) 156 Mencius (372–289 BC), see Mengzi meng 蒙 (to receive, to meet; passsive marker) 123, 156 Mengxi bitan 夢溪筆談 (Dream Torrent Essays) 84 Mengzi 孟子 40, 65, 98, 106, 144 Mengzi zhangju 孟子章句 (Commentary to Mengzi) 106, 116 mi 米 (rice) 45 miyue 蜜月 (honey moon) 237 mianbao 麵包 (bread) 184

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY mian-mian 綿綿 (continuous) 79 Miao 苗 (ethnic group) 35 Miao 苗 (languages) 222, 248, 266 Middle Chinese 131, 137, 161, 185-187, 208, 254, 259, 264 Min 閩 (languages/language group) 4, 27, 34, 37, 47, 60, 76, 84, 105, 139, 208214, 216, 217, 222, 242, 244, 248, 251, 254, 255, 263-270; see also Northern Min, Southern Min Min 閩 (territory) 4, 84, 213, 214 min ben 民本 (the people as roots) 40 min wei gui 民為貴 (the people is precious) 40 Minbei 閩北 (Northern Min) 263 Mindong 閩東 (Eastern Min) 263 Minjiang 閩江 (Min River) 264 Minnan 閩南 (Southern Min) 263 Minnanhua 閩南話 (Taiwanese) 204 Minzhong 閩中 (Central Min) 263 minzhu 民主 (democracy) 40, 236 mingtian 明天 (tomorrow) 256, 268 mo 莫 (probably, nobody) 93, 180 modeng 摩登 (modern) 236 Mosike 莫斯科 (Moscow) 39 Mozi 墨子 65, 98 modal word(s) 56, 126-127; see also verbs: modal – Molière (1622–1673) 49, 70 monophthong(s) 222, 228; see also diphthong(s), triphthong(s) monosyllabism/monosyllabicity 14, 79-80, 255, 260, 261 morpheme(s) 85, 112, 115, 149, 154, 195; monosyllabic – 8, 14, 75, 127; disyllabic – 113-114, 121, 131; see also phoneme(s): morphological role of – morphology 115-118, 164, 196-198, 213, 232-235, 238, 267-268; Archaic Chinese – 14, 71, 75-78, 112; intersyllabic – 156; intrasyllabic – 71, 81, 112, 192; phonemic – 8; syllabic – 53, 75-76, 154, 189, 192-193, 261

305

Motoki Nakajima 中嶋幹起 (b. 1942) 217, 218, 221, 224 mou 某 (I, we; first person pronoun) 153, 166, 175 mu 木 (tree) 45 mu 母 (mother, female) 221, 228 mu-ai 母愛 (mother-love) 119 Mulian 目連 (Mahāmaudgalyāyana) 158, 273 “Mulian bianwen,” see “Damuqianlian bianwen” mu-xu 苜蓿 (medicago/lucerne) 80 na 那 (that) 176 na 哪 (interrogative) 138 na 拿 (to carry) 165 na yi ben shu gei wo 拿一本書給我 (Give me a book) 253 nabi 那壁 (there) 176 nabian 那邊 (there) 179 na-chu 拿出 (to carry outside) 165 na-de 哪得 (how) 138 Na-de sun-er bao 哪得孫兒抱 (How will [she] nurse [her] grandson?) 139 nage 那個 / 哪個 (that/what) 176 Nage xiaohai yi peng jiu ku 那個小孩一碰 就哭 (That child, whenever hit, immediately starts crying) 263 na-ke 哪可 (how) 138 na-lai 拿來 (to carry to the speaker, to bring) 165, 197 nali 那裡 (there) 176, 179 name 那麼 (then) 201 na-qi 拿起 (to carry up) 165 na-qi-lai 拿起來 (to carry up in the direction of the speaker) 165 na-qu 拿去 (take, carry away) 165, 197 na-shang 拿上 (to carry up) 165 Naxi 納西 (ethnic group) 35 na-xia 拿下 (to carry down) 165 nayi 那以 (what; interrogative) 176 nayige 那一個 / 哪一個 (that/what) 176 nai 乃 (you) 86

306

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

Nai fu wei hong 乃服為弘 (Your duties are great) 92 nan 男 (baron) 87 nan 南 (song; dialectal version of feng) 74 Nan jian nü shi, ru jian mei, nü feng nan chu, si feng xiong 男見女時如見妹，女 逢男處似逢兄 (If the man sees a woman it is like he sees a younger sister. If a woman meets a man it is like she is meeting an elder brother) 157 Nanchang 南昌 (Jiangxi Province) 131, 251, 252 Nan-Chu 南楚 (territory) 104 nanhu 南湖 (southern lake) 54 Nanjing 南京 (Jiangsu Province) 150, 190, 202-203, 210, 227, 230-231, 234, 242; see also Nankinese Nankinese 29, 172, 177, 203, 234 nan-shan 南山 (southern mountain[s]) 140 Nantong 南通 (Jiangsu Province) 231, 243 nantou 南頭 (south) 159, 274 “Nanyang tongyao” 南陽童謠 (Children’s Ballad from Nanyang) 109 negation(s) 56, 141, 155-156, 165, 167168, 197, 239-240, 269; Archaic Chinese – 90-93, 97, 99, 123 neng xing bu 能行步 (is able to go) 139 neng yi zhi [能] 一致 ([to know how] to make [them] one) 96 neng-ren 能人 (talented) 119 neologism 39-40, 85, 122, 163, 205-206, 237 ni 你 (you [sg. and pl.]) 153, 175, 176, 193 Ni bian bu neng bu qule, ruoshi ta bu qu 你 便不能不去了，若是他不去 (You have to go, the more so because he does not go) 201 ni bu hui zuo-de 你不會作的 (you cannot do) 168 ni gei wo yi zhi bi 你給我一隻筆 (you give me one – classifier – brush) 257 Ni haishi zhi nide maoyi ba 你還是織你的 毛衣吧 ([Please] go on with knitting your sweater) 262

Ni he cha 你喝茶 (You are drinking tea) 239 Ni he cha, chi mantou 你喝茶, 吃饅頭 (You are drinking tea, eating mantou) 18 Ni kan bu kan shu 你看不看書? (Do you read a book [books]?) 269 Ni kan shu bu kan? 你看書不看? (Do you read a book [books]?) 269 Ni ke shu-yi-shu tou 你可梳一梳頭 (Give your hair a [quick] comb!) 180 Ni shi shuijia ban-dang 你是誰家伴當 (Whose partner/servant are you?) 179 ni wo 你我 (you and I) 176 Ni yao wan ma? 你要玩嗎 (Do you want to play?) 269 nide 你的 (your [sg.]) 193 nijia 你家 (his) 153 nijia 你家 (you [sg. and pl.]) 176 nimen 你們 (you [pl.]) 193 nimen de shu 你們的書 (your [pl.] book) 257 Nimen kan dianying ma 你們看電影嗎? (Do you [pl.] watch the film?) 240 Ni-men nao shen-me 你們鬧什麼 (Why are you creating an uproar?) 179 nimende 你們的 (your [pl.]) 193 niangzi 娘子 (women) 159, 274 nin 您 (you [sg. and pl.]) 175 ninjia 您家 (you [sg.]) 175 Ningbo 寧波 (Zhejiang Province) 2, 210, 218-219, 243-245 niu er 牛二 (two cows or bulls) 94 niu san 牛三 (three cows) 94 niu san tou 牛三頭 (three cows) 94 niutou 牛頭 (the head of a bull) 159, 274 nong 儂 (I; first person pronoun) 137 nongren 農人 (farmer) 63 Norman, Jerry (1936–2012) 208 Northern Min (language) 5, 208, 211, 212, 221, 264, 265, 267 noun(s) 51-52, 55-56, 118, 154, 156, 249, 268; measure – 94-95 nu 奴 (slave) 228

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY Nu 怒 (ethnic group) 35 ńü 女 (woman) 228 nü Ba 女魃 (the girl Ba; goddess of the Drought) 91 Nü-lang shi-wen Zhou-shi jiao 女郎使聞周 氏教 (The girls ought to listen to the instructions of Duke Zhou) 156 nüshi 女士 (Ms., lady, madam) 203 nü-zi 女子 (daughter) 139 nuanhuoping 暖和瓶 (hot-water bottle) 195 numeral(s) 55-56, 94-96, 154, 249 object 17-21, 52, 54-57, 62, 119, 123-124, 138-139, 142, 155-156, 167-168, 198199, 202; empty – 120, 139, 195; – in Archaic Chinese 71, 88-90, 93-97, 99100; see also sentence(s): structure(s), verb(s): verb-object structure oubasang 歐巴桑 (grandma) 204 oujisang 歐吉桑 (uncle) 204 p’a 怕 (Pek.: be afraid) 229 pai 派 (pie [phonetic loan]) 204 palatalization 147, 185-186, 230, 242-248, 251, 254 paolai 跑來 (to run to) 197 paoqu 跑去 (to run away) 197 paoshang 跑上 (run upward) 197 paoshanglai 跑上來 (run upward toward the speaker) 197 paoshangqu 跑上去 (run upward away from the speaker) 197 paoxia 跑下 (run downward) 197 paoxialai 跑下來 (run downward toward the speaker) 197 paoxiaqu 跑下去 (run downwards away from the speaker) 197 parataxis (coordination) 95, 98, 125, 199 passive voice 123-124, 167-168; see also bei, de 得, meng, zao Pekinese 77, 229 peng-ai 朋愛 (brotherly love, friendship) 119 peng-you 朋友 (fellow-and-friend) 118, 121

307

peng-youmen 朋友們 (friends) 234 phoneme(s) 8, 16, 190; morphological role of – 8, 75-80, 111; segmental – 14, 147149 phonetic borrowing(s) 31, 46-47, 178, 204205, 208, 235-237 phonetic notation 133, 137, 145, 178, 180, 188 phonetics 11, 25, 28, 31-43, 107-108, 217; Archaic Chinese – 65-68, 71, 74, 76, 80, 82; Middle Chinese – 143, 145, 161; Pre-Archaic – 50, 60-63; see also dialect(s), fanqie, Sishengpu phonology 67-68, 251 phraseology 208, 252, 266 pictograph(s) 43 p’i 皮 (Pek.: skin) 229 pisa 匹薩 (pizza) 204 pizi 皮子 (skin) 233 piaopiaoran 飄飄然 (in a self-contented manner) 117 pin-dao 貧道 (I; first person pronoun) 155 pinyin 拼音 (Chinese transcription into Latin alphabet) 44 ping 平 (even, level) 149 Pinghua 平話 (Min dialect) 211n3 Pingjiang 平江 (Ping River) 217 Pingliang 平凉 (Gansu Province) 210 pingsheng 平声 (tone) 69; see also yangping, yinping Pingxiang 萍鄉 (Jiangxi Province) 2 Pingyang 平陽 (Shanxi Province) 210, 228, 232, 247, 264 Pingyuan 平遠 (Guangdong Province) 254 plerematics 90 po 破 (verbal suffix) 164 polysyllabization 115, 121, 157, 159, 273274 Polish 7, 15, 19, 20, 74, 107-108, 116, 167, 179, 188, 193, 197, 218, 225-226, 228, 233, 236, 237, 271 prefixation 4, 75, 112, 154, 159, 220-221, 234, 274 preposition(s) 56, 140

308

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

pronoun(s): demonstrative – 87, 92, 117, 125, 166-167, 176, 179, 181, 198, 222, 246; interrogative – 127, 138-139, 154, 176, 179 ; personal – 1-2, 77, 86-87, 91, 137-139, 166, 193, 219, 246-247, 252; possessive – 234, 261 Proto-Chinese 21-23, 49, 69, 83, 84, 92 Proto-Lolo-Burmese 49 Proto-Tibetan 23f. pu 鋪 (shop) 229 pu 譜 (tables) 133 Pumi 普米 (ethnic group) 35 pu-sa 菩薩 (bodhisattva) 121, 136 putao 葡萄 (grapes) 178 Putaoya 葡萄牙 (Portugal) 178 Putonghua 普通話 (universal language, common speech) 77, 203, 220, 225 Putonghua jichu fangyan jiben cihuiji 普通 话基础方言基本词汇集 (The Collection of a Core Vocabulary in Basic Dialects of Mandarin) 36 Puxian 莆仙 (Min dialect) 212, 263n15 Puzhou 蒲州 (Shanxi Province) 228 Pulleyblank, Edwin George (1922–2013) 27, 72 qi 其 (his) 95, 138, 175, 176 qi 起 (to float over) 164 qi 器 (tool, utensil, device) 230 qi che san qian 其車三千 (his three thousand chariots) 94 Qi ren wu yi ren yi yu wang yan zhe 齊人 無以仁義與王言者 (Among the people of Qi, there are no such men who are talking with the king about humanity and justice; Lunyu) 97 qi shi 乞食 (to beg for food) 96 qi shi yu ye-ren 乞食於野人 (to ask the farmer for food; Zuozhuan) 96 Qijiaxian 祁家縣 (Shanxi Province) 229 qilin 淇淋 (phonetic loan, “cream”) 260 Qixian 祁縣, see Qijiaxian qiyou 汽油 (gasoline) 205 qia-qia-de 恰恰的 (exactly) 163

qian 千 (thousand) 135 qian 遣 (to send; causative marker) 142, 156 Qian wo chu zhuo yu fan yi pan shi zhe 遣 我出著與飯一盤食者 (Allow me to go out [from here] and allow [me] to eat; “Shunzi bian”) 178 qian-li 千里 (thousand li) 135 qiantou 前頭 (front) 159, 274 Qiang 羌 35 qie 切 (to cut, to incise) 26, 230 qie mo she wo 且莫射我 … qie mo sha wo 且莫殺我 (do not shoot at me … do not kill me) 138 Qieyun 切韻 (The Cutting of Rhymes) 25, 26, 143, 144 qiezi 茄子 (aubergine) 232 Qin 秦 Empire 101, 103, 104 Qin-Lian 欽廉 (language) 258; see also Yue (languages) Qinyang 沁陽 (Henan Province) 210 Qinzhou 欽州 (Guangxi Province) 258 qing 卿 (minister) 138 Qing ni ba zhege zi xiexialai 請你把這個字 寫下來 (Please, write this character) 198 Qing tai zhong 卿太重 (You are too heavy; Soushenji) 138 qingcaomen 青草們 (grasses) 235 Qingdao 青島 (Shandong Province) 227 Qinghai 青海 184, 208, 226, 235, 238, 239 Qingti (Nīladhi: mother of Mahāmaudgalyāyana) 158, 273 qingxin 傾心 (wholeheartedly devoted) 152 Qiongwen 琼文 (Min dialect) 263 qu 去 (to go in the direction opposite of the speaker) 86, 164, 197, 242, 252-253, 262 qu 去 (type of inflexion) 149 qu 渠 / 佢 (he/she/it) 153 Qu Yuan 屈原 (ca. 340–278 BC) 98, 101, 102 Qufu 曲阜 (Shandong Province) 227

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY qusheng 去声 (third tone) 69 quan 泉 (source) 242 quan 駩 (white horse with dark lips) 85 Quan shi zui nan yong-de wu-shi 權是最難 用底物事 (Power [authority] is the most difficult thing to use) 167 Quanzhou 泉州 (Fujian Province) 38, 221, 264 queshi 確是 (or) 181 ran 然 (such, such as) 117, 159, 274 rang 讓 (formal element) 200 re de hen 熱得很 (very hot) 268 regou 熱狗 (hotdog) 237 reshuiping 熱水瓶 (thermos flask) 195 reconstruction(s) 12, 19-22, 25-28, 51, 60, 65-75, 82, 104, 108, 131-132, 136-137, 143-150 Red Eyebrows Insurrection, see Chimei zhi luan reduplication 79, 113-114, 135, 160, 162163, 268, 274 ren 人 (man, person) 48, 153, 159, 274 Ren jie wei wo hui ming tang 人皆謂我毀 名堂 (All men say to me that I shall destroy the Bright Hall; Mengzi) 93 ren qie zhi 仁且智 ([He] is humane and clever; Mengzi) 98 renke 人客 (guest) 153 ren-ren 人人 (all men, every man; Mengzi) 135, 163 rhyme(s) 34, 67, 70, 73, 76, 79, 82, 109110, 130, 133, 146, 149; see also dieyun, fanqie, Guangyun, Jiyun, Qieyun, Sishengpu, Tangyun, Wuyin jiyun ri 日 (sun) 256 Rili 日立 (Hitachi) 38 ri-ri 日日 (everyday) 163 Rong Geng 容庚 (1894–1983) 41 Rongxian 容縣 (Guangxi Province) 258 ru 入 (entering tone) 148, 149; see also rusheng

309

ru 入 (to go inside) 164 ru 如 (to be like something, to be such as) 117, 126 ru 汝 (you) 86, 153, 176 ru ruo neng de jiu se lu zhe … 汝若能得九 色鹿者 (if you are the one who is able to get the nine-colour-deer) 141 ruci 如此 (such as) 154 rudeng 汝等 (you [pl.]) 176 ruguo 如果 (if) 201 Ruguo dajia dou tongyi, name women mashang jiu dongshen 如果大家都同 意，那麼我們馬上就動身 (If all agree, we’ll start immediately) 201 ruhe 如何 (why, what for) 154 ruran 如然 (such as) 154 rusheng 入聲 (tone) 69, 187, 203, 217218, 227, 231; see also yangru, yinru ru-shi 如使 (conjunction) 126 rushi 如是 (such as) 154 “Ruyi baozhu” 如意宝珠 (Parable of the Wish-fulfilling Pearl, Cintāmaṇi) 134 ruo 若 (if) 141 ruo 若 (such as) 117, 126, 168, 181 ruo 若 (you) 86 ruo 若… shi 時 (conditional clause) 168, 181 ruo bu de Wang Ling ru Chu lai 若不得王 陵入楚來 (if it will be impossible to cause Wang Ling to enter Chu) 160, 275 ruo zhi shuo cun tian li liao 若只說存天理 了 (if you speak only about the heavenly principle) 168 ruoci 若此 (such as) 154 ruo-gan 若干 (some, a little) 117 ruohe 若何 (what) 154 ruoshi 若是 (if, the more so) 181, 201 ruoshi bu hao de shi 若是不好的時 (if it is not good to) 168 ruoshi 若是 … shi 時 (conditional clause) 168 ruoshi 若是 … shijie 時節 (conditional clause) 181

310

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

Ruoshi zai lai tao zhai shijie jiao wo zensheng jian ta 若是再來討債時節教我怎 生見他 (If [she] comes again demanding the repayment of a debt, how – this may be implied – will I be able to look at her?) 181 Ruoshi zhen-ge you zhe ren shi ke shi hao li 若是真個有這人時可是好哩 (If indeed there exists such a woman, one has to regard her as wonderful!) 181 Russian 15, 46-47, 184, 205, 235 sai’ensi 賽恩斯 (science) 236 san 三 (three) 209 san bai 三拜 (to kowtow three times) 94 san mao 三毛 (three hairs) 73 san niu 三牛 (three cows) 94 san ren 三人 (three men) 94 san tou niu 三頭牛 (three cows) 94 san tou zhi niu 三頭之牛 (three cows) 94 sange ren 三個人 (three – classifier – men) 94 Sanjun bajun lu 三君八俊錄 (Records of the Three Gentlemen and Eight Refined Ones) 109 Sanling 三菱 (Mitsubishi) 38 Sanshui 三水 (Shaanxi Province) 210 sandhi (tonal assimilation) 16, 191-192, 231, 264-265 Sangjiazhen 桑家鎮 (Shaanxi Province) 210 Saṅgasena (Sengjiasina 僧伽斯那) 134 **sat-nien/sha-ren 殺人 (to kill a man) 119 se-fu 嗇夫 (harvester, farmer) 85 sengzhe 僧者 (monk) 159, 274 sentence(s): causative – 142, 156; compound – 142, 199-202; concessive – 126, 201; conditional – 95, 126, 141, 156, 168, 181; copulative – 167; interrogative – 167, 181, 269; simple – 98-99, 125, 142, 198-202, 257; – structure(s) (SOP/SOV vs. SPO/SVO) 57-58, 88, 93, 142, 198

Serruys, Paul L.-M. (1912–1999) 28, 7375, 78, 104-105, 108, 132, 146 sha ren 殺人 (to kill men) 96 sha shijian 殺時間 (to kill time) 238 sha yu ren 殺於人 (to be killed by a man) 96 sha-men 沙門 (śramana) 137 Shamen dao Zhang sheng zhu hai 沙門島 張生煮海 [Śramaṇa’s Island Where Student/Mister Zhang Boils the Ocean] 180 shatengyao 殺疼藥 (painkiller) 238 shatengzhe 殺疼者 (painkiller) 238 shayounala 莎喲娜拉 (sayonara, goodbye) 204 shan-nan 山南 (south of the mountain[s]) 140 Shantou 汕頭 (Swatow; Guangdong Province) 210, 264 Shanxi 山西 131 Shanyu … liu Qian shi yu sui 單于…留騫 十餘歲 (Shanyu detained [Zhang] Qian more than ten years; Sima Qian) 95 shang 上 (to go upwards; to ride high) 86, 164 Shang 商 (heavenly town of –) 91 Shang 商 (dynasty/people) 19-21, 59, 61 shang (chang) 裳 (lower dress) 114, 194 “Shanggu yin yanjiu” 上古音研究 (Studies on Archaic Chinese Phonology) 68 Shanghai 上海 27, 47, 103, 153, 210, 218219, 242-246 shang-lai 上來 (to go upwards in the direction to the speaker) 86 shang-qu 上去 (to go upwards in the direction opposed to the speaker) 86 shang(sheng) 上(聲) (tone) 69, 149 Shangxian 商縣 (Shaanxi Province) 148 Shang-Yin 商殷 dynasty 49, 55, 60 shangzi 晌子 (while) 159 “Shaogao” 召誥 (Shujing) 65 Shaojiang 邵將 (Min dialect) 263 Shaowu 邵武 (Fujian Province) 208

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY Shaoxing 紹興 (Zhejiang Province) 218, 219, 243, 245, 247 shaoxu 少許 (some) 154 she 射 (arrow) 142 She 畲 (ethnic group) 35 Shelifu 舍利弗 (Śāriputra: chief male disciple of Gautama Buddha) 158, 273 shei 誰 (who) 179 shen 身 (body) 138, 154 shen 甚 (adverbial form) 181 shen 深 (very) 140 Shen gong men-hu bu jiao kai 深宮門戶不 教開 (The doors of the inner chambers should not be open) 156 Shen Kuo 沈括 (1031–1095) 84 Shen Yue 沈約 (441–513) 132-133 shen-bai 深白 (very white) 124 shenman 甚滿 (adverbial form) 181 shenme 什麼 (what) 176, 179, 202 Shen-me guan-si gan lai jin da yu-xian 甚 麼官司敢來禁打魚鮮 (What-which officer could prohibit us from fishing?) 179 shenme ren 甚 / 什麼人 (who) 179 shenren 甚人 (who) 179 Shenyang 瀋陽 (Liaoning Province) 150, 227, 230 shenghuo 生活 (life) 246 shengzi 繩子 (rope) 232 shi 使 (to cause; causative marker) 126, 141, 156, 157, 200 shi 十 (ten) 135 shi 豕 (pig) 85 shi 是 (copula, demonstrative pronoun) 92, 141, 167 shi 是 (is) 201 shi 是 (suffix) 181 shi 是(寔) (this) 87 shi 時 (time) 157, 168 shi 詩 (poetry) 209 shi … fei … 是 … 非 … (copula) 125

311

Shi ge kou-kuai-de ren 是個口快的人 (He is [a] rough man [i.e., quick in the mouth]) 166 Shi jie-fa hai-shi zai qu 是結髮還是再娶 (Is this your first wife, or are you marrying again?; “Feng Yumei tuanyuan”) 181 Shi Nai’an 施耐庵 (ca. 1296–1372) 173 shici 實詞, see full word(s) shi-fen 十分 (ten, all parts) 135 shifu 師傅 (master, maestro) 203 Shijiazhuang 石家莊 (Hebei Province) 234 Shijing 詩經 (Book of Poetry) 26, 65, 81, 89, 101, 114, 116, 127, 163 shi-ke-lang 屎殼郎 (dung beetle) 80 shiling 使令 (causative marker) 156 Shiming 釋名 (The Interpretation of Names) 132 shi-shi-wu-wu 事事物物 (all) 163 Shishuo xinyu 世說新語 (A New Account of the Tales of the World) 134, 135 shi-wu 事物 (thing) 163 shiyou 石油 (kerosene) 255 Shizhoupian 史籀篇 (Glossary of Great Seal Characters) 66 shizi 獅子 (lion) 159, 274 Shō hōgen chōsa hōkoku 湘方言調查報告 (Report on Xiang Dialects) 217 shou xi mao ye 獸細毛也 (delicate hair of animals) 73 Shou xiang shi qie ren wu zhi 獸相食且人 惡之 (The animals are mutually eating each other and [because of it] the men hate them; Mengzi) 98 shoupiaoyuan 售票員 (ticket inspector, conductor) 205 shoutao 手套 (hand stockings) 260 Shu 蜀 (language) 80, 101 Shu shi gen fa 數十根髮 (several tens of hair strands) 141 Shu wo maile 書我買了 (I bought a book) 89

312

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

shufu de hen 舒服得很 (very comfortable) 268 Shujing 書經 (Book of Documents) 65, 73, 114, 127 Shuangfeng 雙峰 (Hunan Province) 216221, 248, 249 shuangsheng 雙聲 (double initials) 79, 113 Shui 水 (ethnic group) 35 shui 水 (water) 45 shui (shei) 誰 (who) 138 shuide 誰的 (whose) 176 shuiguo 水果 ([water]fruit) 159, 274 Shuihu zhuan 水滸傳 (Water Margin/ Outlaws of the Marsh) 173, 176, 179, 181 shuijia 誰家 (who, whose) 139, 153, 176, 179 shui-jia nü-zi neng xing bu 誰家女子能行 步 … (whose daughter is able to go …) 139 shuini 水泥 (cement) 255 shuiren 誰人 (who) 179 “Shunzi bian” 舜子變 (Miracle Tale of the Son Shun) 178 shuo 說 (to speak) 266 shuo-bu-chu 說不出 (not to be able to declare [war]) 166 shuo-chu 說出 (declare [war]) 166 shuo-da-hua 說大話 (to boast) 120 shuo-de-chu 說得出 (to be able to declare [war]) 166 shuo-hua 說話 (to speak) 120, 152 shuo-huang 說謊 (to tell lies) 120 Shuowen jiezi 說文解字 (Explaining Compound Graphs and Analyzing Simple Characters) 45, 82, 126 Shuoyuan 說苑 (Garden of Stories) 96 si 四 (four) 209 si 死 (to die) 142 si 斯 (this; conjunction) 87, 98 sikong 司空 (minister of public works) 87 sima 司馬 (minister of war) 87

Sima Qian 司馬遷 (ca. 145 – ca. 86 BC) 95, 106, 134 Sima Xiangru 司馬相如 (179–117 BC) 106 Sishengpu 四聲譜 (Tables of Four Tones) 132, 143 sixiang 思想 (thought) 42 Si-Yi 四邑 (language) 258; see also Yue (languages) Sino-Annamite 26, 27, 144, 210 Sino-Japanese 26, 27, 60, 144, 146, 210 Sino-Korean 26, 27, 60, 144-145, 210 Sino-Tibetan 2, 3, 18-20, 22-25, 59, 62-63, 70, 72, 74, 81, 88, Sino-Vietnamese 60, 145, 210 **siwer/sui 雖 (though, even if) 126 **siwer-ńian/sui-ran 雖然 (though, even if) 126 Soushenji 搜神記 (In Search of the Supernatural) 134, 138 Southern Min (language) 4, 211, 212, 221, 264-270 Suzhou 蘇州 (Jiangsu Province) 2, 218219, 243, 245-246 subject 17, 52-56, 119, 141-142, 199, 201202, 240; – in Archaic Chinese 89-93, 99-100; see also compound(s): subjectverb –; sentence(s): structure(s) subordination, see hypotaxis substratum/a 3, 17-21, 46-47, 184, 207, 216, 222, 235, 258, 267 suffixation 4, 75, 117, 154, 159, 175-176, 189, 221, 233-234, 247, 260, 267, 274 Sui 隋 dynasty (581–618) 143 sui 雖 (even) 99 suiran 雖然 (even though) 201 Suiran huanjingde guanxi henda, dan huanjing ye shi renzaode 雖然環境底關 係很大，但環境也是人造的 (Although external conditions are important, they also are created by men) 201 Sun Mian 孫愐 ( fl. 751) 143 sun-er 孫兒 (grandson) 139 suoyi 所以 (therefore, thus) 200 superstratum/a 19-21, 39, 59-62, 184

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY suprasegemental 15-16, 51, 134, 147, 149, 190-191; see also tone, toneme(s) Swatow (Shantou 汕頭; Guangdong Province) 27; see also Shantou syllable(s), see disyllabization; monosyllabism/monosyllabicity; morphology: syllabic – synonym(s) 41, 86-87, 136-137,152, 255; synonymic coordination 118, 194; see also antonymic coordination syntax 17, 122, 166-167, 198-201, 217, 268-269; Archaic Chinese – 70, 75, 84, 87-88, 95-99; Pre-Archaic Chinese – 50, 55-58; Tibetan – 20-21, 61-62, 238239; see also hypotaxis, parataxis ta 他 (he, they) 151, 153, 175, 176, 193, 201, 202 ta 它 (that) 87 ta 塔 (stupa) 46 Ta bu gan kan fuqinde yanjing, suiran na yanguang yijiu shi wenhede 他不敢看父 親的眼睛，雖然那眼光依舊是溫和的 (He did not dare to look at his father’s eyes, even though these eyes were looking as mildly as in the past) 201 Ta bu lai 他不來 (He does not come) 201 Ta bu lai shi yijian guaishi 他不來是一件 怪事 ([The fact] that he does not come is strange) 201 Ta bu zhidao ni shi yige hao xuesheng 他不 知道你是一個好學生 (He does not know that you are a good student) 265 Ta dangran mei lai 他當然沒來 (Of course, he did not come) 197 Ta jihu meiyou qian 他幾乎沒有錢 (Practically, he does not have any money) 263 Ta mingtian yao lai 他明天要來 (He will come tomorrow) 197 Ta qu guo Shanghai, wo mei you qu guo 他 去過上海，我沒有去過 (He went to Shanghai, I did not go) 253

313

Ta shou de hen lihai 他瘦得很厲害 (He lost weight significantly) 268 Ta yiding bu lai 他一定不來 (He will surely not come) 197 Ta zheng lai chifan 他正來吃飯 (He just came to eat) 240 tade 他的 (his, their) 175, 176, 193 tajia 他家 (he/they, his/theirs) 175, 176 tamei 他每 (they) 176 tamen 他們 (they) 175, 176, 193 Tamen bu mingbai ta zai zuo shenme 他們 不明白他在做什麼 (They did not understand what he was just doing) 202 tamen de xuetang 他們的學堂 (their school) 257 tamende 他 / 她 / 它們的 (their) 193 tatami 榻榻米 / 塌塌米 / 他他米 (mat) 204 tai 太 (too, excessively) 124, 140 tai-da 太大 (too great) 140 Taigu 太谷 (Shanxi Province) 210, 228, 229 taihao 太好 (too good) 247 Taihu 太湖 (Jiangsu Province) 243 Taipei 臺/台北 81 Taishan 台山 (Guangdong Province) 209n2, 258, 259 Taiyuan 太原 (Shanxi Province) 150, 187, 190, 210, 227, 229-231, 234, 265 tai-zhong 太重 (too heavy) 124 Taizhou 台州 (Zhejiang Province) 244 Tai (languages) 23, 81-84, 236 Taiwanese 29, 37, 46, 47, 163, 204-205, 237, 238, 269 Tang Ting-chi 唐廷池 88 tang-lang 螳螂 (praying mantis) 79 Tangyun 唐韻 (Rhymes of Tang) 143 tao 駣 (three or four year old horse) 85 taor 桃兒 (peach) 232 Thai (language) 24-25, 31, 208n1, 209, 222, 236, 259 t’i 體 (Pek.: body) 229 tizi 蹄子 (hoof) 233

314

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

Tian fei cheng 天非誠 (Heaven is not reliable) 92 tian yi Shang 天邑商 (the heavenly town of Shang) 91 tianbula 甜不辣 (Jap.: tempura) 204 tian-ji 田雞 (field fowl) 121 Tianqi bu tebie re 天氣不特別熱 (The weather is not particularly warm) 239 tian-xia 天下 (all under the heaven) 121 tian-zhi-fa 天之罰 (the heavenly punishment) 90 tianzi 天子 (emperor) 87 tiao 條 (classifier) 166, 177 Tibetan (language) 13, 18, 19, 20-25, 36, 39, 58-63, 72, 133, 143, 149, 208, 209, 222, 235, 238; see also Sino-Tibetan, syntax: Tibetan – Tibeto-Burman 3, 18, 20, 22-24, 61-63, 70, 72, 131 tingburi 聽哺日 (Hakka: t’inpunit [tomorrow]) 256 tonal system(s) 18, 59, 218, 231, 242, 245, 259 tone(s) 12, 15-16, 51-52, 69-70, 74, 133, 147-150, 186-192, 196, 252; neutral – 164, 198, 203, 264; see also pingsheng, rusheng; shang(sheng), Sishengpu, yang-tones, yin-tones toneme(s) 16, 148-149, 191-192 Tongguan 潼關 (Shaanxi Province) 228 Tongkou 同口 (Hebei Province) 218 Tongwei 通渭 (Gansu Province) 233 tongyao 童謠 (ballad) 109 tongzhi 同志 (comrade) 203 tou 頭 (classifier) 167 tou 頭 (measure noun) 94 tou 頭 (suffix) 159, 164, 274 transcription(s) 39, 44-45, 121, 136-137, 144, 146, 161-162, 174 triphthong(s) 67, 187-190, 222, 230, 248, 250, 254, 259, 264; see also diphthong(s), monophthong(s) ts’ang 長 (Pek.: long) 229 **tsek/ze 則 (conditional marker) 126

Tu 土 (ethnic group) 35 Tujia 土家 (ethnic group) 35 tu-wu 土物 (products of the earth) 90 tu-zhi-wu 土之物 (products of the earth) 90 Tuzi paode bi wugui kuai 兔子跑得比烏龜 快 (The hare ran faster than the turtle) 269 tun 豚 (young pig) 85 Tung Tso-pin (Dong Zuobin) 董作賓 (1895–1963) 66 tuolaji 拖拉機 (tractor) 46 verb(s): intransitive – 96, 119, 156, 198, 201; modal – 54, 99, 119, 168, 197; transitive – 96, 119, 123, 156, 198; verb-object structure 51, 71, 119-120, 136, 152, 155, 160, 162, 269, 274 Vietnamese 5, 11, 13, 17, 38, 40, 42, 58, 133, 145, 185, 209-210, 216, 222, 258, 259, 266; see also Sino-Annamite, SinoVietnamese vowel(s) 15, 72, 77, 79-80, 100, 130, 162, 189, 232-234; – inventory 185-188, 248, 254, 264 Wa 佤 (ethnic group) 35 wanichuan 挖泥船 (scoop dredger) 195 wan 晚 (late) 268 wan 萬 (ten thousand) 41, 135 Wan sheng zhi guo 萬乘之國 (a country [having] ten thousand battle chariots) 94 Wanquan 萬全 (Hebei Province) 228 wan-wu 萬物 (all things) 135 wang 王 (king) 87 wang 罔 / 亡 (negation) 93 wang Kai 王愷 (the king Kai) 55 Wang Li 王力 (1900–1986) 27, 68, 116, 146 Wang qian-huan ta ku 王遣還他窟 (The king caused [him] to return to his nest) 156 Wang ru shan zhi ze he wei bu xing 王如善 之則何為不行？ (If you think that it

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY [i.e., my teaching] is good, then why did you not realize it?; Mengzi) 98 Wang wang er zheng zhi 王往而征之 (The king is gone and punished him; Mengzi) 125 Wang you san zi 王有三子 (The king had three sons) 140 wangren 亡人 (dead man) 159, 274 wei 未 (not yet; imperfect negation) 93, 155, 180 wei 為 (to do, to be; affirmative) 41, 92, 141 wei 微 (if not) 99 wei 為 … suo 所 (passive sentence) 124 Wei ru xuan-yang, de ye-wu 為汝宣揚得也 無 (For you I will preach, yes or no?) 155 Wei Yu wu qi yu hu 微禹吾其魚乎 (If there had not been Yu, would not we all have been fish?; Zuozhuan) 99 Wei zhi qu chu 未知去處 (I do not know where to go) 155 wei zhi zhe suo xiao 為知者所笑 (was laughed about by those who knew it) 124 weiceng 未曾 (never) 155, 180 weidang 為當 … weidang 為當 … (whether … whether …) 155 weifu 為復 … weifu 為復 (whether … whether …) 155 weile 為了 (so that) 200 weile shi dajia chedi liaojie, rang women zai juchu liangge lizi 為了使大家徹底 了解，讓我們再舉出兩個例子 (so that everybody understands, …) 200 weishenme 為什麼 (why) 179 weisheng 未生 (never) 155 weitou 尾頭 (end) 159, 274 wei-wei 巍巍 (majestic) 79 wei-xian 危險 (danger) 136 wei-yuan 委原 (causal marker) 157 Wenchang 文昌 (Hainan Province) 264 wendu 溫度 (temperature) 194

315

wendubiao 溫度表 (thermometer) 195 wen-hui 聞會 (knowledge acquired from hearing, from oral transmission) 136 Wenshu 文殊 (Mañjuśri) 46 Wenshui 文水 (Shanxi Province) 131, 210, 228 wen-yan 文言 (written language, i.e., Classical of Literary Chinese) 126 Wenzhou 温州 (Zhejiang Province) 27, 84, 210, 218-220, 243-245, 264, 267 wo 我 (I; first person pronoun) 86, 137, 166, 175, 193, 202, 228 Wo aishang ta le 我愛上她了 (I fell in love with her) 119 Wo ba san ben shu quan du wanle 我把三 本書全讀完了 (I have read the three books) 268 Wo ba shu maile 我把書買了 (I bought a book) 89 Wo ba zheben shu maile 我把這本書買了 (I [have] bought this book) 199 Wo bu gen ni shuole 我不跟你說了 (I did not speak with you) 240 Wo chi yi chi 我吃一吃 (I shall eat a bit) 268 Wo dao Guangzhou qu 我到廣州去 (I go [to] Canton) 257 Wo dui ta shuoguo 我對他說過 (I spoke to him) 238 Wo hai meiyou xilian 我還沒有洗臉 (I still did not wash my face) 269 wo he ni 我和你 (I and you) 176 Wo mai shule 我買書了 (I bought a book) 89 Wo maile yiben shu 我買了一本書 (I bought one book) 199 Wo mei quguo 我沒去過 (I used not to go) 268 wo min 我民 (our people) 91 Wo mingtian laile 我明天來了 (I shall have come tomorrow) 196 Wo quguo 我去過 (I used to go) 268

316

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

Wo shou liang 我受涼 (I have caught a cold) 262 Wo shu maile 我書買了 (I bought a book) 89 wo tong ni 我同你 (I and you) 176 Wo xian jiang, ni hou jiang 我先講，你後 講 (I’ll speak first, and you’ll speak after) 250 Wo xian zou 我先走 (I [will] go first) 263 Wo yao chuqu 我要出去 (I will go out) 265 Wo yexu lai, mei yiding 我也許來,沒一定 (I’ll perhaps come, but not for sure) 268 Wo yijing gei ni maile 我已經給你買了 (I bought already for you) 199 Wo yijing maile gei ni 我已經買了給你 (I bought already for you) 199 Wo you ge pengyou hui changxi 我有個朋 友會唱戲 (I have a friend who can perform operatic arias) 202 Wo yuan bu yu, suo-yi bei-qi 我原不遇所 以悲悽 (Because I haven’t seen him, I’m crying) 157 Wo zuotian shang Guangzhou qu 我昨天上 廣州去 (Yesterday I went to Guangzhou) 262 wode 我的 (mine) 51, 193 wodeng 我等 (we) 159, 176, 274 wojia 我家 (I, my) 175 wo-jia 我家 (mine) 139, 153 women 我們 (we) 139, 176, 193 women de fangzi 我們的房子 (our house) 257 Women jintian bu dao chengwai qu, yinwei tianqi buhao 我們今天不到城外去，因 為天氣不好 (Today we will not go to the country, because the weather is bad) 200 Women shi Zhongguoren 我們是中國人 (We are Chinese) 47 womende 我們的 (our) 193 wo-shen 我身 (I myself) 138 “Word-Families in Chinese” (Karlgren) 71 wu 勿 (negation) 93, 180

wu 毋 (negation) 93 wu 吾 (I, we) 86, 137, 153, 166, 175 wu 無 (not to have, not to be; negation) 93, 123, 155 wu 無 (without, un-, in-, non-, -less) 196 wu han 惡寒 (to hate cold) 96 Wu shi ru qi 吾是汝妻 (I am your wife) 141 Wu tou Chu wei 吳頭楚尾 (having its head in Wu and its tail in Chu) 242 Wu 吳 (languages) 4, 5, 29, 80, 101, 103, 185, 210, 211, 214, 216-222, 232, 233, 241-247, 249, 250, 252, 254, 264, 265, 267 Wu 吳 (region) 146 wubi 無比 (incomparable) 196 wude/wudi 兀的 (demonstrative pronoun) 176 wugui dianche 無軌電車 (trolley bus) 196 Wuhan 武漢 (Hubei Province) 227 Wuhua 五華 (Guangdong Province) 254 Wuming 武鳴 (Guangxi Province) 83, 236; see also Zhuang (languages) wuming 無名 (nameless) 196 wuna 兀那 (demonstrative pronoun) 176 wuren 烏人 (who) 179 Wushan 武山 (Gansu Province) 233, 234 “Wushengge” 烏生歌 (Song of the Birth of a Crow) 137 Wuwei 武威 (Gansu Province) 227 Wuweishan [si] 無畏山 [寺] (Abhayagiri, Sri Lanka) 137 Wuxi 無錫 (Jiangsu Province) 243 wuxiandian 無線電 (wireless electricity) 260 Wuyi 五邑 (Zhejiang Province) 233, 234 Wuyin jiyun 五音集韻 (Collected Rhymes of the Initial Five Sounds) 143 Wuzhou 婺州 (Zhejiang Province) 244 Wuzhou 梧州 (Guangxi Province) 258 wu-zi 屋子 ([little] room) 116 xi 兮 (final particle) 90

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY xi mao 細毛 (delicate hair) 73 Xi’an 西安 (Shaanxi Province) 105, 144, 150, 185, 210, 227-229, 230, 231 Xibe/Sibo 錫伯 (ethnic group) 35 xifajing 洗髮精 (liquid for hair washing) 47, 205 xifang 西方 (western part) 159, 274 Xijiang 西江 (Western River) 258 xinan 西南 (south-western) 227 Xining 西寧 (Qinghai Province) 235, 238, 240 Xixia 西夏 (Tangut) 133 xia 下 (to go downwards, to float down) 86, 164 xia ying qu 下營去 (go down to the camp) 160, 275 Xiaguan 下関 (Shimonoseki) 38 Xiamen 廈門 (Amoy, Fujian Province) 210 xiayu 下雨 ([it is] raining) 218 xiazi 瞎子 (blind man) 266 xian 見 (to show, to become visible, to make visible) 123 xian 咸 (generalising word) 93 xian ma yu Ji Wu-zi 獻馬於季武子 (to give the horses to Ji Wu-zi; Zuozhuan) 96 Xian ren zhi shi qi nü 仙人知是其女 (The immortal knew that she was his daughter) 141 xiandai Hanyu 现代汉语 (Modern Chinese) 37 Xiandai Hanyu cidian 现代汉语词典 (Contemporary Chinese Dictionary) 45n6 Xiandai Hanyu fangyan da cidian 现代汉 语方言大词典 (Great Dictionary of Modern Chinese Dialects) 1 xiansheng 先生 (master, teacher, Mr.) 85, 203 xian-sheng-men he nü-shi-men 先生們和女 士們 (ladies and gentlemen) 139 Xianxian 獻縣 (Hebei Province) 227 Xiang 湘 (language) 211, 214, 216-221, 248-250, 252

317

xiang 驤 (horse with a white right rear) 85 Xiang wu bai tou 象五百頭 (elephants – five hundred [heads]) 141 xiangbo 香波 (shampoo) 47, 205 xiangrikui 向日葵 (sunflower) 238 xiao Lu 小魯 (to make Lu look small) 96 Xiao Wang bu shi Qinghairen 小王不是青 海人 (Little Wang is not from Qinghai) 239 xiaochemen 小車們 ([shopping] carts) 235 xiao-chen lou-yi bu-sheng qu-qu 小臣螻蟻 不勝區區 (little servant, small ant, unimportant subject; self-reference) 138 xiao-de 曉得 (to know) 166 xiaojimen 小雞們 (chicks) 234 xiaoshi 小時 (lit.: “small time”) 235 xiao-xiao 小小 (very small) 163 xiaozhe 小者 (younger) 159, 274 xiaozhuan 小篆 (Small Seal characters) 66 xiaozi 小子 (some) 154 xie 些 (several; indefinite pronoun) 154, 176 xie 鞋 (shoes) 230, 249 xie 諧 – mei 眉 (rhyme) 109 xiexin 寫信 (to write a letter) 194 xiezi 些子 (some) 154 xiezi 鞋子 (shoes) 232, 260 xiezi 寫字 (to write) 120, 194 xin 心 (heart) 209 xin 信 (letter) 266 xin laile 信來了 (a letter has come) 240 xin yi 新邑 (new town) 90 Xinhua zidian 新华字典 (Xinhua Dictionary) 45 Xinhui 新會 (Guangdong Province) 258 Xinyang 信陽 (Henan Province) 227 *xin-zhi-yi 新之邑 (new town) 90 xing 行 (to go) 255 Xing shu shi bu 行數十步 (to go several tens of steps) 94 xingli 行李 (luggage) 15, 191 xingli 行禮 (to salute, salute) 15, 191 Xingning 興寧 (Guangdong Province) 254

318

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

xingqi 星期 (week) 203 xingr 杏兒 (almond) 232 Xingxian 興縣 (Shanxi Province) 210 xiongdi 兄弟 (brothers) 194 Xiongnu 匈奴 (the Huns) 113, 253 xiu 休 (particle of prohibition) 93, 155, 180 xu 須 (must, have to) 197 Xu Shen 許慎 (ca. 58 – ca. 147) 43, 45, 73, 126 xuci 虛詞, see empty word(s) Xuda(duo) 須達(多) (Sudatta: the chief lay disciple of Gautama Buddha) 158, 273 xudianchi 蓄電池 (storage battery) 237 Xuzhou 徐州 (Jiangsu Province) 227, 240 xue 雪 (snow) 260 Xun ji fang xiang huan fu-mu suo 迅即放象 還父母所 (He at once ordered the [small] elephant to be allowed to return to its parents’ place) 142 yan 言 (to speak) 117 Yan 燕 (territory) 105 yanjing 眼睛 (eye) 266 Yantai 煙臺 (Shandong Province) 227 Yanzhou 兖州 (Shandong Province) 230 yang 陽 tones (clear tones) 147-149, 259 Yang Dingjian 楊定見 ( fl. 17th c.) 174 Yang Xiong 楊雄 (53 BC – 18 AD) 104, 105, 126 Yang Xuanzhi 楊衒之 (d. 555?) 129, 134 Yang, Paul Fu-mien 楊福綿 (b. 1925) 80 Yangchun 陽春 (Guangdong Province) 258 Yangjiang 陽江 (Yang River) 258, 259 yangping 陽平 (type of tone) 227 yangru 陽入 (type of tone) 218 yang-yang 洋洋 (vast water surface) 79 Yangzhou 揚州 (Jiangsu Province) 131, 210, 219 Yangzi 揚子 River 90, 101, 103, 146, 227 yao 要 (to want to) 76, 168, 197 Yao 堯 96 (emperor) Yao 瑶 (language) 222, 266 Yao 瑶 (ethnic group) 35, 248, 258

ye 也 (final particle) 91 Ye Guoqing 葉國清 ( fl. 1930s) 264 Ye mei yi-si 也沒意思 ([This] also makes no sense) 167 yebu 也不 (or not?) 155 ye-ji 野雞 (field hen) 85, 121 yeshi 也是 (also) 181 yi 一 (one) 166, 193 yi 以 (to take; particle introducing direct object) 97 yi 亦 (as well, also) 98, 125 yi 伊 (third person pronoun) 151, 153 yi 伊 (you [sg.]) 175 yi 衣 (upper dress/garments) 114, 194 yi 益 (to increase) 124 Yi 夷 (barbarians of the east) 59 Yi 彝 (ethnic group) 35 “Yi li da-po tou” 以梨打破頭 (To Strike with a Pear One’s Head Broken) 140 Yi ru wei xiao zi 噫汝為小子 (Really, you are a little child) 92 yi tian-xia yu Shun 以天下與舜 ([Yao] gave the empire to Shun; Mengzi) 96 yi tiao gou 一條狗 (a dog) 166 Yi zheng se, shang jian se 衣正色，裳間色 (The upper dress should be in a basic colour, the lower dress should be in a secondary colour) 114 Yi zhi gou yaozhe ren 一隻狗咬著人 (A dog bit a man) 262 yibu 已不 (or not?) 155 Yidali cuibing 義大利脆餅 (Italian shortcake/cracknel, pizza) 204 yijibang 一級棒 (first and very best) 267 yi-re 益熱 (hotter) 124 yishang 衣裳 (clothes, garments) 114, 121, 194 Yixian 嶧縣 (Shandong Province) 231 Yiya 逸雅 (The Lost Erya 爾雅) 132 yizi 椅子 ([little] chair) 116, 233 yizi 蟻子 (ant) 274 Yin 殷 dynasty 91 yin 陰 tones (dark tones) 147-149, 259

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY Yin ma yu he 飲馬於河 (to water the horse in the river; Zuozhuan) 96 Yinchuan 銀川 (Ningxia Province) 227, 239, 240 yinping 陰平 (type of tone) 149 yinru 陰入 (type of tone) 218 yinwei 因為 (because) 200 Yinwei jintian tianqi henhao, suoyi women dao chengwai qu 因為今天天氣很好,所 以我們到城外去 (As the weather is nice today, we will go to the countryside) 200 Yinxu 殷墟 (Ruins of Yin) 49 Yinxu buci zongshu 殷虚卜辞综述 (A General Description of Oracle Bone Inscriptions in the Ruins of Yin) 55, 89 yingyin 影印 (copy) 205 yong 用 (use) 41, 76 yong 永 (eternal) 229 Yong’an 永安 (Kaohsiung, Taiwan) 208 Yongkang 永康 (Zhejiang Province) 243, 245 you 又 (and also, also) 98 you 尤 124 (in the highest [degree]) you 有 (to have, to be) 93, 123, 155 You Rujie 游汝杰 81, 101-103, 213 You zhuangshi qu wuliang zuiren rulai 有壯 士驅無量罪人入來 (The guardians drove many sinners inside) 160, 275 you2piao4 郵票 (stamp) 234 you2piaor4 油票兒 (gasoline voucher) 234 youmo 幽默 (humor) 236 Youxuan shizhe juedai yu shi bieguo fangyan 輶軒使者絕代語釋別國方言 (Local Expressions of Other Countries in Times Immemorial Explained by the Light-carriage Messenger) 104, see Fangyan yu 余 / 予 (I; first person pronoun) 86 yu 於 (particle preceding an object) 96, 97 yu 語 (speech) 143 Yu ru jie yin 與汝偕隱 ([I] and you we are withdrawing [from public life]) 93

319

Yuci 榆次 (Shanxi Province) 229 yu-fu 漁夫 (fisherman) 85 yu-lu 語錄 (noted conversations) 151 yuren 愚人 (stupid man) 159, 274 Yuan 元 dynasty 169 yuan 原 (because) 157 Yuan Hong 遠宏 (328–376) 108 Yuan Jiahua 袁家骅 (1903–1980) 211, 217, 232, 243, 248, 252, 255, 257, 259, 261, 263, 265 Yuan Shao 袁紹 (153–202) 152 Yuan wang wang zheng zhi ye 願王往征之 也 (He wanted that the king goes to punish him) 125 Yuan Wuya 袁無涯 ( fl. 1614) 174 Yuanchao mishi 元朝秘史 (Secret History of the Mongols) 174 Yuanling 沅陵 (Hunan Province) 217 Yuanqu xuan 元曲選 (A Selection of Yuan [Dynasty] Theatre Plays) 173 yuan-wei 原委 (because) 157 yuanyi 願意 (wish, desire) 197 Yue 粵 (languages) 37, 92, 101, 104, 139, 148, 190, 208, 210, 211, 214, 216-222, 251, 252, 254, 255, 258-263, 264, 265267; see also Gao-Lei, Gui-Nan, Si-Yi, Qin-Lian, Yue-Hai yue-fu 樂府 (folk-songs) 134, 139 yueguang 月光 (moon) 219 Yue-Hai 粵海 (language) 258; see also Yue (languages) yueliang 月亮 (moon) 219 Yuncheng 運城 (Shanxi Province) 227, 228 yunhe 云何 (why, what for) 154 yun-ming 運命 (fate) 136 za 咋 (imperative particle) 177, 178 za 咱 / 喒 / 偺 (I, we) 175 zajia 咱家 (I, my) 175 zai deng yihuir 再等一會兒 (wait a moment) 257

320

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

Zai jiali mei you yige ren liaojie wo 在家裡 沒有一個人了解我 (There is nobody at home who would understand me) 202 zai zuo 在做 (just doing) 202 zaijian 再見 (goodbye) 191 zan 咱 / 喒 / 偺 (we) 175 zanba 糌粑 (zamba, fried noodles) 208, 235 zanburi 喒哺日 (Hakka: ts’iup(b)unit [yesterday]) 256 Zang Jinshu 臧晉叔 (1550–1620) 173 zao 遭 (causative marker) 156 zaoshi 早是 (earlier, before) 181 ze 則 (conditional particle) 95, 98, 157 ze 則 (only) 180 ze 則 (phonetic element) 178 ze 則 (then) 141 Ze jian ta shang qiao 則見他上橋 (We have just seen him climb the bridge) 180 zege 則個 (imperative particle) 178, 179 zeng 增 124 zeng-bai 增白 (very white) 124 “Zhang Yichao bianwen” 張義潮變文 (The bianwen on Zhang Yichao) 160 Zhangye 張掖 (Gansu Province) 227 zhangzhe 長者 (elder) 159, 274 zhao 著 156 (verbal suffix) zhao 着 164 (verbal suffix) Zhao Qi 趙岐 (108–201) 106, 116 Zhao Yuanren 趙元任 (1892–1982) 190 “Zhaonan” 召南 (Shijing) 74 zhaopai 招牌 (signboard) 205 zhe 者 (imperative particle) 177 zhe 者 (nominal suffix) 159, 274 zhe 者 (particle of a relative clause) 99 zhe 這 (this) 176 zhe 着 (imperative particle) 164, 177, 178 zhe 着 / 著 (durative suffix) 197 zhe shi wode xiangpian 這是我的相片 (this is a photo belonging to me, this is a photo of me) 91 “Zhe yangliuzhi ge” 折楊柳枝歌 (Song of Breaking off a Willow Branch) 139

zhebi 這壁 (here) 176 zhebian 這邊 (here) 179 zhege 這個 (this) 176 zheli 這裡 (here) 176, 179 zhen 朕 (I; first person pronoun) 86, 90, 153 Zhen bu bing ji 貞卜並吉 (My oracles are all auspicious) 92 Zhenjiang 鎮江 (Jiangsu Province) 227, 243 zhenna 真那 (why, what for) 154 zhenru 真如 (why, what for) 154 zhensi 真似 (why, what for) 154 Zheng Dekun, see Cheng Te-k’un Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 (127–200) 116 Zhengzhou 鄭州 (Henan Province) 150, 227, 230, 231, 233 zhi 之 (determinative particle) 90, 99, 124, 138, 157 zhi 之 (him/her/it) 175, 176 zhi 只 / 祇 / 秖 (only) 180 zhi 至 (to reach [the summit, the most distant point]) 124 zhi 雉 (pheasant) 85, 121 Zhi er yi-bu 知兒已不 (Do you recognize the son or not?) 155 zhi wo 知我 (knows me) 97 zhi-bai 至白 (very white) 124 Zhibuzu zhai congshu 知不足齋叢書 (From the Pavilion Belonging to Someone Feeling the Insatiability for Learning) 170 zhi-da 至大 (culminant great, greatest) 124 Zhidaoyuan guyi ba shengyin tigao, hao rang dajia tingjian 指導員故意把聲音 提高，好讓大家聽見 (The instructor purposely raised his voice so that everyone could hear) 200 zhi-hui 智慧 (wisdom, learning) 136 zhi-shi 知識 (to know, to be acquainted with, to make a friend of) 136 zhi-shi fen-zi 知識分子 (intellectual, intelligentsia) 136

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY zhiti 支提 (Sanskrit: caitya) 137 zhizhe 智者 (clever) 159, 274 zhong 眾 (multitude) 140 Zhongguo gudai yufa: Goucifa 中國古代語 法―構詞編 (A Historical Grammar of Ancient Chinese: Morphology) 116 Zhongguo renmin jianlile renmin gongheguo shi you lishi yiyide shibian 中國人民建立了人民共和國是有歷史 有意義的事變 ([The fact] that the Chinese people founded the People’s Republic [of China] is a development of historical significance) 202 Zhongjing zhuan za piyu 眾經撰雜譬喻 (A Collection of Parables) 142 Zhongshan 中山 (Guangdong Province) 259 zhong-sheng 眾生 (pupils) 140 Zhongyong yi 中庸義 (The Meaning of the Doctrine of the Mean) 163 Zhongyuan 中原 (Central Plain) 146, 227, 244 Zhou 周 (dynasty/people) 20, 21, 32, 41, 59-62, 91 Zhou Fagao 周法高 (1915–1994) 82, 116 Zhou Xuan wang 周宣王 (King Xuan of Zhou, 827–781) 66 Zhou Zhenhe 周振鶴 81, 101-103, 213 “Zhounan” 周南 (Shijing) 74 zhu 馵 (horse with a white left rear foot) 85 zhu 諸 (all) 135, 140 Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200) 162 zhu-hou 諸侯 (dukes) 135 Zhuji 諸暨 (Zhejiang Province) 247 Zhujiang 珠江 (Pearl River) 258 zhu-ren 諸人 ([all] men) 140 zhu-wang-chen-min 諸王臣民 ([all] kings, ministers, and people) 140 zhuxia yuyan 諸夏語言 (Chinese languages) 101 zhuyi 主義 (-ism) 195 zhuyin zimu 注音字母 44, 133

321

Zhuzi quanshu 朱子全書 (Complete Works of Master Zhu) 161 Zhuzi yulei 朱子語類 (Sayings of Master Zhu) 161, 163-167 Zhuang 壯 (languages) 21, 31, 34, 36, 39, 83, 236, 258, 259 Zhuangqiao fen 莊橋坟 (庄桥坟) 49 Zhuang-Tai 壯傣 (languages) 82 Zhuangzi 莊子 65, 82, 83, 101, 144 Zhuang-Zong 壯宗 (languages) 81 zhuo 着 [著] (imperative particle) 177, 178 zhuo 著 (verbal suffix) 164 “Zhuonuoge” 捉搦歌 (Song of Grasping Your Love) 139 zi 子 (affix) 196 zi 子 ([nominal] suffix) 115, 139, 159, 164, 232, 260, 261, 274 zi 子 (viscount) 87 zi 字 (a Chinese character) 209 Zi du bu jian 子獨不見 (Only you have not seen; Zhuangzi) 93 Zi fei yu 子非魚 (You are not a fish) 92 Zihui 字彙 (Collection of Characters) 45 zi-ji 自己 (self) 139 zijia 自家 (his, own) 153 zijia 自家 (I; first person pronoun) 175 Zimmer, Thomas 151, 157-160, 271-275 zishen 自身 (self) 154 zixingche 自行車 (bicycle) 260 ziyu 子漁 (the son of a fisherman) 55 Zograf, Irina Tigranovna 129, 130-138, 141, 151, 152, 173, 177, 271 zong 豵 (six-month or one-year-old pig) 85 zou 走 (to go) 255 zu 租 (hire) 229 zu 族 (family, clan) 66 zujia 祖甲 (the first ancestor) 55 zui 最 (most, utmost) 140 zui-duo 最多 (many in the highest degree) 140 zuihao 最好 (the best) 193 zun bao yi 尊寶匜 (this honourable, precious vessel) 41

322

INDEX WITH GLOSSARY

zuo ai 做愛 (to make love) 238 *zuo shenghuo 做生活 (to work, [to earn a] living) 246 Zuo zhe chi bi zhan zhe chi hao xie 坐著吃 比站著吃好些 (To eat sitting is better than to eat standing) 253

zuoshenme 做什麼 (why) 179 zuotian 昨天 (yesterday) 256 Zuozhuan 左傳 (The Zuo Commentary) 65, 96, 99

MONUMENTA SERICA MONOGRAPH SERIES (ISSN 0179-261X) Edited by ZBIGNIEW WESOŁOWSKI, S.V.D. • Institut Monumenta Serica I.–VIII. Out of print. IX. KARL BÜNGER, Quellen zur Rechtsgeschichte der T’ang-Zeit, Peiping 1946, Fu Jen Catholic University Press. Neue, erweiterte Ausgabe, mit einem Vorwort von Denis Twitchett. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1996, 535 S. ISBN 3-8050-0375-7 X.-XIV. Out of print. XV. CH’EN YÜAN, Western and Central Asians in China under the Mongols – Their Transformation into Chinese. Translated and annotated by CH’IEN HSING-HAI and L. CARRINGTON GOODRICH, Los Angeles 1966, 328 pp. Reprint: Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1989 (paperback). ISBN 3-8050-0243-2 XVI. YEN YÜAN, Preservation of Learning. With an Introduction on His Life and Thought. Translated by MANSFIELD FREEMAN, Los Angeles 1972, 215 pp. XVII. CLAUDIA VON COLLANI, P. Joachim Bouvet S.J. – Sein Leben und sein Werk, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1985, 269 S., Abb. ISBN 3-87787-197-6 XVIII. W. SOUTH COBLIN, A Sinologist’s Handlist of Sino-Tibetan Lexical Comparisons, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1986, 186 pp. ISBN 3-87787-208-5 XIX. GILBERT L. MATTOS, The Stone Drums of Ch’in, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1988, 497 pp., Illustr. ISBN 3-8050-0194-0 XX. Out of print. XXI. KARL-HEINZ POHL, Cheng Pan- ch’iao. Poet, Painter and Calligrapher, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1990, 269 pp., Illustr. ISBN 3-8050-0261-0 XXII. JEROME HEYNDRICKX (ed.), Philippe Couplet, S.J. (1623–1693). The Man Who Brought China to Europe. Jointly published by Institut Monumenta Serica and Ferdinand Verbiest Foundation, Leuven, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1990, 260 pp., Illustr. ISBN 3-8050-0266-1 XXIII. ANNE S. GOODRICH, Peking Paper Gods. A Look at Home Worship, Sankt Augu-

stin – Nettetal 1991, 501 pp., Illustr. ISBN 3-8050-0284-X XXIV. MICHAEL NYLAN, The Shifting Center: The Original “Great Plan” and Later Readings, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1992, 211 pp. ISBN 3-8050-0293-9 XXV. Out of print. XXVI. JULIA CHING – WILLARD G. OXTOBY, Moral Enlightenment. Leibniz and Wolff on China, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1992, 288 pp. ISBN 3-8050-0294- 7 XXVII. MARIA DOROTHEA REIS-HABITO, Die Dhāranī des Großen Erbarmens des Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara mit tausend Händen und Augen. Übersetzung und Untersuchung ihrer textlichen Grundlage sowie Erforschung ihres Kultes in China. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1993, 487 S., Abb. ISBN 3-8050-0296-3 XXVIII. NOEL GOLVERS, The “Astronomia Europaea” of Ferdinand Verbiest, S.J. (Dillingen, 1687). Text, Translation, Notes and Commentaries. Jointly published by Institut Monumenta Serica, Sankt Augustin and Ferdinand Verbiest Foundation, Leuven, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1993, 547 pp. ISBN 3-8050-0327-7 XXIX. GERD WÄDOW, T’ien-fei hsien- sheng lu. „Die Aufzeichnungen von der manifestierten Heiligkeit der Himmelsprinzessin“. Einleitung, Übersetzung, Kommentar, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1992, 374 S., Abb. ISBN 3-8050-0310-2 XXX. JOHN W. WITEK, S.J. (ed.), Ferdinand Verbiest (1623–1688): Jesuit Missionary, Scientist, Engineer and Diplomat. Jointly published by Institut Monumenta Serica, Sankt Augustin and Ferdinand Verbiest Foundation, Leuven, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1994, 602 pp., Illustr. ISBN 3-8050-0328-5 XXXI. DONALD MACINNIS, Religion im heutigen China. Politik und Praxis. Deutsche Übersetzung herausgegeben im China-Zentrum von ROMAN MALEK. Eine gemeinsame Veröffentlichung des China-Zentrums und des Instituts Monumenta Serica, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1993, 619 S. ISBN 3-8050-0330-7

MONUMENTA SERICA MONOGRAPH SERIES XXXII. PETER WIEDEHAGE, Das „Meihua xishen pu“ des Song Boren aus dem 13. Jahrhundert. Ein Handbuch zur Aprikosenblüte in Bildern und Gedichten, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1995, 435 S., Abb. ISBN 3-8050-0361-7 XXXIII. D.E. MUNGELLO (ed.), The Chinese Rites Controversy: Its History and Meaning. Jointly published by Institut Monumenta Serica, Sankt Augustin and The Ricci Institute for Chinese-Western Cultural History, San Francisco, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1994, 356 pp. ISBN 3-8050-0348-X XXXIV. Der Abbruch des Turmbaus. Studien zum Geist in China und im Abendland. Festschrift für Rolf Trauzettel. Hrsg. von INGRID KRÜßMANN, WOLFGANG KUBIN und HANSGEORG MÖLLER, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1995, 314 S. ISBN 3-8050- 0360-9 XXXV/1-2. ROMAN MALEK (ed.), Western Learning and Christianity in China. The Contribution and Impact of Johann Adam Schall von Bell (1592– 1666), 2 vols. Jointly published by the China-Zentrum and Monumenta Serica Institute, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1998, 1259 pp. ISBN 3-8050- 0409-5. XXXVI. EWALD HECK, Wang Kangnian (1860–1911) und die „Shiwubao“. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2000, 353 S. ISBN 3-8050-0432-X XXXVII. SECONDINO GATTA, Il natural lume de Cinesi. Teoria e prassi dell’ evangelizzazione in Cina nella Breve relatione di Philippe Couplet S.I. (1623–1693), Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1998, 241 pp. ISBN 3-8050-0404-4 XXXVIII. ZBIGNIEW WESOŁOWSKI, Lebensund Kulturbegriff von Liang Shuming (1893 –1988). Dargestellt anhand seines Werkes Dong–Xi wenhua ji qi zhexue, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1997, 487 S. ISBN 3-8050-0399-4 XXXIX. TIZIANA LIPPIELLO, Auspicious Omens and Miracles in Ancient China. Han, Three Kingdoms and Six Dynasties, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2001, 383 pp. ISBN 3-8050-0456-7 XL. THOMAS ZIMMER, Baihua. Zum Problem der Verschriftung gesprochener Sprache im Chinesischen. Dargestellt anhand morphologischer Merkmale in den bianwen aus Dunhuang, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1999, 287 S. ISBN 3-8050-0428-1 XLI. ULRICH LAU, Quellenstudien zur Landvergabe und Bodenübertragung in der westlichen Zhou-Dynastie (1045? – 771 v. Chr.),

Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1999, 419 S., Abb. ISBN 3-8050- 0429- X XLII. TIZIANA LIPPIELLO – ROMAN MALEK (eds.). “Scholar from the West.” Giulio Aleni S.J. (1582–1649) and the Dialogue between China and Christianity, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1997, 671 pp. ISBN 3-8050-0386-2 XLIII. IRENE EBER et al. (eds.), Bible in Modern China. The Literary and Intellectual Impact, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1999, 470 pp. ISBN 3-8050- 0424-9 XLIV. DONALD DANIEL LESLIE, Jews and Judaism in Traditional China. A Comprehensive Bibliography, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1998, 291 pp. ISBN 3-8050-0418-4 XLV. JOST OLIVER ZETZSCHE, The Bible in China: the History of the Union Version or the Culmination of Protestant Missionary Bible Translation in China, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1999, 456 pp. ISBN 3-8050-0433-8 XLVI. From Kaifeng … to Shanghai. Jews in China. Ed. by ROMAN MALEK. Joint Publication of the Monumenta Serica Institute and the China-Zentrum, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2000, 706 pp., Illustr. ISBN 3-8050-0454-0 XLVII. DOMINIC SACHSENMAIER, Die Aufnahme europäischer Inhalte in die chinesische Kultur durch Zhu Zongyuan (ca. 1616–1660), Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2001, 472 S. ISBN 3-8050-0455-9 XLVIII. JEONGHEE LEE-KALISCH, Das Licht der Edlen ( junzi zhi guang). Der Mond in der chinesischen Landschaftsmalerei, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2001, 188 S. und 80 S. Abb. ISBN 3-8050- 0457-5 XLIX. SHEN WEIRONG, Leben und historische Bedeutung des ersten Dalai Lama dGe ’dun grub pa dpal bzang po (1391–1474). Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der dGe lugs pa- Schule und der Institution der Dalai Lamas, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2002, 476 S., Faksimiles. ISBN 3-8050-0469-9 L/1. ROMAN MALEK, S.V.D. (ed.), The Chinese Face of Jesus Christ, vol. 1, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2002, 391 pp. ISBN 3-8050- 0477-X L/2. ROMAN MALEK, S.V.D. (ed.), The Chinese Face of Jesus Christ, vol. 2, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2003, 480 pp. ISBN 3-8050- 0478-8 L/3a. ROMAN MALEK, S.V.D. (ed.), The Chinese Face of Jesus Christ, vol. 3a, Sankt Augustin –

MONUMENTA SERICA MONOGRAPH SERIES Nettetal 2005, 480 pp. ISBN 3-8050- 0524–5 L/3b. ROMAN MALEK, S.V.D. (ed.), The Chinese Face of Jesus Christ, vol. 3b, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2007, xii, 429 pp. ISBN 978-3-80500542-5 L/4a. ROMAN MALEK, S.V.D. (ed.), The Chinese Face of Jesus Christ. Annotated Bibliography, vol. 4a, Sankt Augustin – Leeds 2015, 658 pp., Illustr. ISBN 978-1-9096-6268-1 LI. WU XIAOXIN (ed.), Encounters and Dialogues. Changing Perspectives on ChineseWestern Exchanges from the Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2005, 406 pp., Illustr. ISBN 3-8050- 0525 -3 LII. CHEN ZHI, The Shaping of the Book of Songs. From Ritualization to Secularization, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2007, 380 pp., Illustr. ISBN 978-3-8050-0541-8 LIII/1-2. W. SOUTH COBLIN, Francisco Varo’s Glossary of the Mandarin Language. Vol. 1: An English and Chinese Annotation of the Vocabulario de la Lengua Mandarina; Vol. 2: Pinyin and English Index of the Vocabulario de la Lengua Mandarina, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2006, 1036 pp. ISBN 3-8050- 0526-1 LIV. DONALD DANIEL LESLIE – YANG DAYE – AHMED YOUSSEF, Islam in Traditional China. A Bibliographical Guide. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2006, 398 pp., Illustr. ISBN 3-8050-0533-4 LV. NICOLAS STANDAERT – AD DUDINK (eds.), Forgive Us Our Sins. Confession in Late Ming and Early Qing China, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2006, 268 pp., Illustr. ISBN 978-3-8050-0540-1 LVI/1-2. Kouduo richao. Li Jiubiao’s Diary of Oral Admonitions. A Late Ming Christian Journal. Translated, with Introduction and Notes by ERIK ZÜRCHER, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2007, 862 pp. ISBN 978-8050-0543 -2 LVII. Zurück zur Freude. Studien zur chinesischen Literatur und Lebenswelt und ihrer Rezeption in Ost und West. Festschrift für Wolfgang Kubin. Hrsg. von MARC HERMANN und CHRISTIAN SCHWERMANN unter Mitwirkung von JARI GROSSE-RUYKEN, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2007, 917 pp. ISBN 978-3-8050- 0550-0 LVIII. CHRISTIAN MEYER, Ritendiskussionen am Hof der nördlichen Song-Dynastie 1034 –1093: Zwischen Ritengelehrsamkeit, Machtkampf und intellektuellen Bewegungen, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2008, 646 pp. ISBN 978-38050-0551-7

LIX. NICOLAS STANDAERT, An Illustrated Life of Christ Presented to the Chinese Emperor. The History of Jincheng shuxiang (1640), Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2007, 333 pp. ISBN 978-3-8050-0548-7 LX. The People and the Dao. New Studies in Chinese Religions in Honour of Daniel L. Overmyer. Ed. by PHILIP CLART and PAUL CROWE, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2009, 542 pp. ISBN 978-3-8050-0557-9 LXI. Miscellanea Asiatica. Mélanges en l’honneur de Françoise Aubin. Festschrift in Honour of Françoise Aubin. Edited by DENISE AIGLE, ISABELLE CHARLEUX, VINCENT GOOSSAERT and ROBERTE HAMAYON, Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2010, 812 pp. ISBN 978-38050-0568-5 LXII. JACQUES GERNET, Die Begegnung Chinas mit dem Christentum. Neue durchgesehene Ausgabe mit Nachträgen und Index, Sankt Augustin 2012, xxi, 413 S. ISBN 978-3-8050-0603-3 LXIII. URSULA TOYKA, The Splendours of Paradise. Murals and Epigraphic Documents at the Early Ming Buddhist Monastery Fahai Si, Monumenta Serica Institute, Sankt Augustin 2014, 2 vols., 990 pp., 279 colour illustr., 13 black and white illustr., ISBN 978-3-80500617-0 LXIV. BERNARD S. SOLOMON, On the School of Names in Ancient China, Sankt Augustin 2013, 161 pp. ISBN 978-3-8050- 0610-1 LXV. DIRK KUHLMANN, „Das Fremde im eigenen Lande“. Zur Historiographie des Christentums in China von Liang Qichao (1873–1929) bis Zhang Kaiyuan (geb. 1926). Sankt Augustin 2014, 452 S. ISBN 978-38050-0624-8 LXVI. PIOTR ADAMEK, A Good Son Is Sad if He Hears the Name of His Father. The Tabooing of Names in China as a Way of Implementing Social Values. Sankt Augustin – Leeds 2015, xvii, 392 pp. ISBN 978-1-9096-6269-8 LXVII. HU QIUHUA, Konfuzianisches Ethos und westliche Wissenschaft. Wang Guowei (1877–1927) und das Ringen um das moderne China. Sankt Augustin – Abingdon, Oxon 2016, xviii, 445 S. ISBN 978-1-9096-6270-4 LXVIII. Rooted in Hope: China – Religion – Christianity. In der Hoffnung verwurzelt: China – Religion – Christentum. Festschrift in Honor

MONUMENTA SERICA MONOGRAPH SERIES of Roman Malek S.V.D. on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday. Festschrift für Roman Malek S.V.D. zu seinem 65. Geburtstag. Edited by BARBARA HOSTER, DIRK KUHLMANN and ZBIGNIEW WESOŁOWSKI S.V.D. Sankt Augustin – Abingdon, Oxon 2017, 2 vols., cviii, 907 pp., Illustr., Tables. ISBN 978-1-1387-1808-1

LXIX. SONG GANG, Giulio Aleni, Kouduo richao, and Christian–Confucian Dialogism in Late Ming Fujian. Sankt Augustin – Abingdon, Oxon – New York 2019, xvi, 420 pp., Illustr. ISBN 978-1-138-58912-4 (hbk); 978-0-42949187-0 (eBook)

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Collectanea Serica  ANNE SWANN GOODRICH, The Peking Temple of the Eastern Peak. The Tung-yüeh Miao in Peking and Its Lore, with 20 Plates. Appendix: Description of the Tung-yüeh Miao of Peking in 1927 by JANET R. TEN BROECK. Nagoya 1964, 331 pp., Illustr.  STEPHAN PUHL, Georg M. Stenz SVD (1869– 1928). Chinamissionar im Kaiserreich und in der Republik. Mit einem Nachwort von R.G. TIEDEMANN (London): „Der Missionspolitische Kontext in Süd-Shantung am Vorabend des Boxeraufstands in China“. Hrsg. von ROMAN MALEK. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1994, 317 S., Abb. ISBN 3-8050- 0350-1  DAVID LUDWIG BLOCH, Holzschnitte. 木 刻 集 . Woodcuts. Shanghai 1940–1949. Hrsg. von BARBARA HOSTER, ROMAN MALEK und KATHARINA WENZEL-TEUBER. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1997, 249 S., 301 Abb. ISBN 3-8050-0395 -1  ROMAN MALEK (Hrsg.), „Fallbeispiel“ China. Ökumenische Beiträge zu Religion, Theologie und Kirche im chinesischen Kontext. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1996, 693 S. ISBN 3-8050- 0385-4  ROMAN MALEK (Hrsg.), Hongkong. Kirche und Gesellschaft im Übergang. Materialien und Dokumente. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 1997, 564 S., 97 Abb. ISBN 3-8050- 0397-8  ROMAN MALEK (Hrsg.), Macau: Herkunft ist Zukunft. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2000, 666 S. ISBN 3-8050-0441-9  Gottfried von Laimbeckhoven S.J. (1707– 1787). Der Bischof von Nanjing und seine Briefe aus China mit Faksimile seiner Reisebeschreibung. Transkribiert und bearbeitet von STEPHAN PUHL (1941–1997) und SIGISMUND FREIHERR VON ELVERFELDT-ULM unter Mitwirkung von GERHARD ZEILINGER. Herausgegeben von ROMAN MALEK SVD. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2000, 492 S., Abb. ISBN 3-8050-0442-7  Martino Martini S.J. (1614–1661) und die Chinamission im 17. Jahrhundert. Hrsg. von ROMAN MALEK und ARNOLD ZINGERLE. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2000, 260 S. ISBN 3-8050- 0444-3  CHRISTAN STÜCKEN, Der Mandarin des Himmels. Zeit und Leben des Chinamissionars Ignaz Kögler S.J. (1680–1746). Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2003, 440 S. ISBN 3-8050-0488-5  KARL JOSEF RIVINIUS, Das Collegium Sinicum zu Neapel und seine Umwandlung in ein Orientalisches Institut. Ein Beitrag zu seiner Geschichte. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2004, 176 S. ISBN 38050-0498-2  ELEANOR MORRIS WU, From China to Taiwan. Historical, Anthropological, and Religious Perspectives. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2004, 274 pp. ISBN 3-8050- 0514-8

 MARIÁN GÁLIK, Influence, Translation, and Parallels. Selected Studies on the Bible in China. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2004, 351 pp. ISBN 3-8050-0489-3  THORALF KLEIN und REINHARD ZÖLLNER (Hrsg.), Karl Gützlaff (1803–1851) und das Christentum in Ostasien. Ein Missionar zwischen den Kulturen. Mit einem Vorwort von Winfried Scharlau†. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2005, 375 S. ISBN 38050-0520-2  ROMAN MALEK (ed.) in connection with PETER HOFRICHTER, Jingjiao. The Church of the East in China and Central Asia. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2006, 701 pp. ISBN 3-8050-0534-2  Contextualization of Christianity in China. An Evaluation in Modern Perspective. Ed. by PETER CHEN-MAIN WANG. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2007. ISBN 978-3-8050-0547-0  Richard Wilhelm (1873–1930). Missionar in China und Vermittler chinesischen Geistesguts. Schriftenverzeichnis – Katalog seiner chinesischen Bibliothek – Briefe von Heinrich Hackmann – Briefe von Ku Hung-ming. Zusammengestellt von HARTMUT WALRAVENS. Mit einem Beitrag von THOMAS ZIMMER. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2008. ISBN 978-3-8050-0553-1  OTTO FRANKE, „Sagt an, ihr fremden Lande“. Ostasienreisen. Tagebücher und Fotografien (1888 –1901). Herausgegeben von RENATA FU-SHENG FRANKE und WOLFGANG FRANKE. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2009, ISBN 978-3- 8050-0562-3  Light a Candle. Encounters and Friendship with China. Festschrift in Honour of Angelo S. Lazzarotto P.I.M.E. Ed. by ROMAN MALEK S.V.D. and GIANNI CRIVELLER P.I.M.E. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2010, 564 pp. ISBN 978-3-8050-05 63-0  MIROSLAV KOLLÁR, Ein Leben im Konflikt. P. Franz Xaver Biallas SVD (1878–1936). Chinamissionar und Sinologe im Licht seiner Korrespondenz. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2011, 910 S., Abb. ISBN 978-3-8050-0579-1  JOHN DEFRANCIS, Die chinesische Sprache. Fakten und Mythen. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2011, 379 S., Abb. ISBN 987-3-8050-0582-1  JOHN T.P. LAI, Negotiating Religious Gaps. The Enterprise of Translating Christian Tracts by Protestant Missionaries in Nineteenth-Century China. Sankt Augustin – Nettetal 2012, 382 S., Abb. ISBN 987-3-8050-0597-5  S.-J. DEIWIKS, B. FÜHRER, T. GEULEN (eds.), Europe meets China – China meets Europe. The Beginnings of European-Chinese Scientific Exchange in the 17th Century. Sankt Augustin, 2014, viii, 224 pp., Illustr. ISBN 978-3-8050-0621-7

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Collectanea Serica ___________________________________________

JOHN DEFRANCIS

Die chinesische Sprache Fakten und Mythen Übersetzt von Stephan Puhl (1941–1997) Institut Monumenta Serica, Sankt Augustin  Steyler Verlag, Nettetal 2011 xvi, 379 S., Abb., £ 36.99  ISBN 978-3-8050-0582-1 Die chinesische Schrift galt lange Zeit als ideographisch – man glaubte, dass jedes Schriftzeichen eine Idee oder Vorstellung unmittelbar wiedergab. Gerade deshalb erschien sie vielen Gelehrten und Wissenschaftlern als Vorbild für ein universales Schriftsystem. Diesen „Mythos der Ideographie“ und andere hartnäckige Mythen zu bekämpfen, war das Anliegen des amerikanischen Linguisten und Sinologen John DeFrancis (1911–2009). Sein Buch The Chinese Language – Fact and Fantasy, das jetzt erstmals in deutscher Übersetzung vorgelegt wird, erschien 1984. Es gilt noch immer als die beste Einführung eines Sprachwissenschaftlers in die chinesische Sprache und Schrift. Das Werk wendet sich an Chinawissenschaftler, Lehrer und Studenten der chinesischen Sprache gleichermaßen. Auch allgemein interessierte Leser finden leicht Zugang zur Materie: John DeFrancis ist es in seinem Buch gelungen, das Wissen darüber, wie die chinesische Schrift tatsächlich „funktioniert“, unterhaltsam und interessant zu vermitteln, ohne dass man Vorkenntnisse in Linguistik mitbringen muss. Außerdem gibt DeFrancis einen historischen Überblick über Versuche, die chinesische Schrift zu reformieren, z.B. durch Vereinfachung von Schriftzeichen oder durch Einführung verschiedener alphabetischer Transkriptionssysteme. Aus dem Inhalt: I. Die chinesische Sprache: 1. Zur Definition von „Chinesisch“ und „Sprache“; 2. Grundlegende Fakten zum gesprochenen Chinesisch; 3. Idiolekte, Dialekte, Regiolekte und Sprachen. II. Die chinesische Schrift: 4. Was Namen besagen; 5. Piktographe – und dann? 6. Wie geben chinesische Schriftzeichen Laute wieder? 7. Wie vermitteln chinesische Schriftzeichen Bedeutung? III. Entmythologisierung der chinesischen Schriftzeichen: 8. Der Mythos der Ideographie; 9. Der Mythos der Universalität; 10. Der Mythos der Nachahmbarkeit; 11. Der Mythos der Einsilbigkeit; 12. Der Mythos der Unentbehrlichkeit; 13. Der Erfolgsmythos. IV. Die chinesische Sprachreform: 14. Die Sprachreform; 15. Die Schriftreform. V. Anhang: Glossar; Bibliographie; Nachbemerkung zur deutschen Ausgabe; Index.

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MONUMENTA SERICA MONOGRAPH SERIES _________________ Vol. XL _________________

THOMAS ZIMMER

Baihua Zum Problem der Verschriftung gesprochener Sprache im Chinesischen Dargestellt anhand morphologischer Merkmale in den bianwen aus Dunhuang Institut Monumenta Serica, Sankt Augustin  Steyler Verlag, Nettetal 1999 287 S. £ 31.99. ISBN 3-8050-0428-1  ISSN 0179-261X Der Begriff baihua entbehrt bis heute einer genaueren Fassung. Wesentliche Merkmale werden zwar in den gängigen Darstellungen erfaßt, bleiben jedoch in der Regel ungenau. Die vorliegende Studie bemüht sich darum, die Erscheinung der baihua auf der Grundlage linguistischer Forschung im Bereich der Morphologie näher zu beschreiben und die Schwierigkeiten bei der Verschriftung eines dem mündlichen Stile nahestehenden Idioms ebenso aufzuzeigen wie den normenden Einfluß durch die klassische Schriftsprache. Nach einer ausführlichen Erläuterung des Problems der baihua werden deren morphologische Besonderheiten anhand der Textgattung der bianwen erläutert, die man mit zu den frühesten Belegen der baihua zählt. Bei diesen bianwen handelt es sich um sogenannte „Wechseltexte“, die in der Tang-Zeit (618– 906) vor dem Hintergrund mündlich vorgetragener Literatur entstanden. – Die Studie wendet sich an Literatur- und Sprachwissenschaftler innerhalb der Sinologie ebenso wie an Linguisten allgemein. “Thomas Zimmer has executed his research in a meticulous fashion and the results are presented in a clear and usable manner. [ ...] this work may be used with profit by everyone interested in the development of the written forms of the Chinese language and everyone engaged in reading and studying early vernacular literature.” WILT I. IDEMA in T’oung Pao “… the author has undertaken a great work with the study and analysis of the bianwen material of Dunhuang. His book can be a useful and indispensable starting-point for the further linguistics researches in this topic, moreover his results must be known by every literary historian, studying the linguistic aspects of the Chinese bianwen-literature. ” ZSOLT TOKAJI in Acta Orientalia Hung.

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