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Braciare.

So I found out that talk page editing on the dictionary‘s been broken, possibly for quite a while now. I should have realized the spambots were being mighty quiet. It should be working again now; and now that it’s back in operation Iustinus noticed my entry for ‘brew‘ only had a phrasal translation—the Romans weren’t known to be all that into beer—and brought my attention to the later word braxare, which I’d somehow overlooked in my sources… So I ran to look it up.

The word is often referred as a derivative of a word bracis marked as Gaulish and mentioned in Pliny:

Galliæ quoque suum genus farris dedere, quod illic bracem vocant, apud nos sandalam, nitidissimi grani.

The Gaulish countries, too, have given their own kind of spelt, which they call bracis there, sandala in our country, which has a very light grain.

(Both bracis and sandala are variously spelt spelts; the former is brace in Lewis and Short, among other places, brance in others, and the latter is also given as scandala and scandula.  Any or all of these grains might also be emmer instead of spelt, depending on who you ask.)

More to the point, though, as far as brewing goes, the word gets related to several Celtic words for malt, like Irish braich [bˠɾˠaç] and Welsh brag [brɑːɡ], which are sometimes recognized as Pliny’s bracis anyway, regardless of the change in meaning.

Anyway, from bracis we get a few medieval/late Latin words:

  • braciare ‘brew’
  • braciator ‘brewer (m.)’
  • braciatrix ‘brewer (f.)’
  • bracina, braciatorium, and braciarium ‘brewery/malthouse’

—the last of which is a parallel formation to ‘brasserie’ and is thought to be attested in Vindolanda tablet 595, which if true would actually put some of this usage well back into the Roman era.

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Anointment.

All right, so my bugbear for the week has been anointment.  In particular, unguere (or ungere), a Latin word meaning “to anoint”.

My problem is that “anoint” is one of those 1913ese words that doesn’t correspond well to anything we talk about today.

In its historical or ceremonial context—where you might anoint someone king, say—the word is fine enough, though probably not something that would come up in daily conversation.

But this is a specialized use of a word which has at base a rather wider meaning.  It doesn’t do for commonplace usage, as in a passage I was working on out of Cicero, Ad Atticum 13.52:

Post horam viii in balneum. […] Unctus est, accubuit.

After two o’clock he went to the bath. […] He was *anointed and lay down for dinner.

Now, besides ‘anoint’ a 19th-century dictionary like Lewis & Short gives for unguere other words like smear or besmear (“with any fat substance”). A more modern dictionary like Traupman’s gives to oil, grease.  All these synonyms work fine for anointing inanimate objects, but smearing implies sloppy application (which I wouldn’t say applies) and oiling or greasing someone up usually suggests a whole other category of activity.

So I went looking for alternatives.  Apparently there’s some debate as to whether anointing, being an application of oil applied by rubbing, might correspond to massage; from what I can make out, though, massage is more about the rubbing (frictio), while anointment is more about the oiling (unctio), and both were treated separately, even if it’s difficult to do either without much of the other.

So the method of anointment wasn’t helpful in finding a translation; I looked next to the purpose.  Anointment with oil seems to have been done to improve the quality or health of the skin.  But while the image of someone applying moisturizer or similar lotions is a familiar one, I don’t think it comes with a convenient verb to express the action.

In the end I went with “he was rubbed down with oil”, a nasty circumlocution.  If you can find me a better way to say it, I’d love to hear your comments.

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The plural of “ibis”.

The matter of this plural is something I happened to fall into by accident this week. I was working on this out of Cicero, De Natura Deorum 2.50:

Vomitione canes, purgatione autem alvos ibes Ægyptiæ curant.

Dogs treat their stomachs by vomiting, while the ibises of Egypt do it by purging the bowel.

I went to Wikipedia to see what the current plural of “ibis” was—I know, I know—but got no help there; some persistent vandals had taken it into their heads that it ought to be “ibi”.

More than one ibis.

More than one ibis.

I’ve run into worse cases than this before, but I’ll say it again: Just because it ends in something that sounds like -us—or even if it does end in -us—doesn’t mean it takes a plural in -i, or -ii, or anything like it. Of course the classical plural of “ibis” is its own special matter: it belongs to one of those sets of words that are attested being declined in a couple of different ways: with a stem in -i- and with a stem in -id-. (In a dictionary you’d see: ib|is, -is or -idis.)

Cicero, for example, uses ibes in the nominative plural twice and the d-less form (ibes or ibis, depending on your edition) in the accusative plural once, all in De Natura Deorum, as in the example above. (He also uses ibin for the accusative singular, though this is not a point for either side: the regular Greek declension would be ἶβιν whether the stem is in -id- or not.)

On the other hand, Ovid uses the form with -id- in his poetry—and actually wrote a whole vicious poem about a person he titled Ibis.

Anyway. The upshot of all this is that the Latinate plural of “ibis” in English could be either “ibides” or “ibes”. “Ibes” is, so far as I can tell, rarer, but neither of them is common; the purely English plurals “ibises” and “ibis” without an ending (like ‘grouse’) are more usual these days.

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Ibnalach?

So I was transcribing some out of Lexicon Universale for Vicifons the other day.  Usually I don’t pay much attention to what I’m copying, but this entry in particular had me looking for a bit:

IBNALACH, Saracenorum Rex, Hispaniam obtinuit, A. C. 777.

Ibnalach, King of the Saracens, acquired Spain in 777 A. D.

Now, near as I can tell, nobody won Spain in 777, and I can’t quite make out who Ibnalach is supposed to be.   Clearly it’s a name in ibn al-, but which?   I’ve taken the assumption that it might be an ibn al-Hakam, but that’s just a guess, and Google isn’t helping.

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‘To play’ in Âdlantki

I don’t know if it’s a function of free time, lack of attention span, or old age, but I’m finding it takes me disproportionate amounts of time to create words these days.  Of course my a posteriori conlanging methods are at the best of times somewhat haphazard. The process of determining:

šožvi, šož, žeki v. intrans. play

—took an hour. The first step, which I’ve found myself taking more often lately, is to pull out my Sanskrit-French dictionary file (Huet’s) for a suitable root; after that, I hunted, for some reason, for a correspondent to the root in my copy of IEED‘s Pokorny, failing; then ended up picking an entirely different root that appealed to me instead.

With a characteristically Kirumb stem formation applied to it, I got pseudo-PIE *gnd-, underlying Kirumb šojóm, and from there on to Âdlantki šožvi.

And then I discovered I don’t really have my Âdlantki verb laid out, so I couldn’t really do anything with it. It’s possible that the form I was deriving for would be (?)žeÅ‹t (off the stative stem) but I’m not entirely certain.

Contrast this with my a priori languages which are more along the lines of ‘push a button to generate a few roots… choose the best’ and it’s no wonder these languages have been languishing.  I’ll have to come up with a better workflow.

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Quae dantur, ut a domino.

Cicero, Ad Atticum 11.20:

Sed et alia timenda sunt ab aliis Quintisque, et ab hoc ipso quæ dantur, ut a domino, rursus in eiusdem sunt potestate.

But there are also other things to be feared from, among others, the Quinti, and the things given by [Caesar] himself, as by a master, are back in his own power.

This ends pretty poorly, if I try and keep the translation ad litteram (which I’m trying to do, since this is for potestas.)  What he’s trying to indicate, of course, is that the things given by a master to a slave are really only moved, you might say, from his right hand to his left; the slave may possess it, but the master still owns it—and whatever Caesar grants is ‘given’ in the same way.

Not seeing offhand if there’s a better way to render it that’s both faithful to and as expressive as the original.

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Measure and proportion.

Vitruvius, De Architectura 1.2:

Uti in hominis corpore e cubito, pede, palmo, digito ceterisque particulis symmetros est eurythmiæ qualitas, sic est in operum perfectionibus.

As in the body of man the eurhythmy is of a symmetrical sort, from the forearm, the foot, the palm, the finger, and all the other small parts, so it is in perfecting buildings.

This works better in Latin where all the body parts mentioned are also names for units of measurement that go into each other evenly—four digiti in a palmus minor, four palmi in a pes and six in a cubitum. It can’t really carry its sense in English at all since only the foot is generally felt as both a measure and a body part, and the other measurements don’t divide evenly anyway: a digit is 3/4 of an inch, a palm or hand is four inches, a foot twelve and a cubit eighteen.

[For qualitas.]

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Foster-children of fresh water.

Cicero, Ad Atticum 15.16a:

Equidem etiam pluvias metuo, si Prognostica nostra vera sunt; ranae enim ῥητορεύουσιν.

I’m actually also worried it may rain, if our Prognostics is correct, as the frogs are making their speeches.

The Prognostics (Διοσημεῖα), considered part of the Φαινόμενα of Aratus Solensis, was translated into Latin by Cicero in his youth.   The line about frogs is given in Cicero’s De Divinatione, where, echoing Aratus’ original πατέρες γυρίνων ‘fathers of tadpoles’ and Aristophanes’ λιμναῖα κρηνῶν τέκνα ‘the waters’ marsh children’, they are referred to as aquai dulcis alumnae.

I couldn’t find a way to translate ῥητορεύουσιν and keep its sounding foreign.

[For pluvia.]

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Tribulus.

Pliny, Naturalis Historia 21.54:

Tribulo proprietas, quod et fructum spinosum habet.

The caltrop has the distinctive property that it even has a spiny fruit.

There are a few plants called tribulus ‘caltrop’, in both English and Latin.  The one that today has Tribulus as its scientific name, the puncturevine, is probably not the one being referred to, as it does not have the thorny-based leaves Pliny mentions the plant as having a couple of sentences prior.

I might better render the second half as ‘…even its fruit is spiny,’ though I’m not sure it fits as well.

[For proprietas.]

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What eye can't stand…

Cicero, Ad Atticum 10.8:

Pati poterunt oculi me cum Gabinio sententiam dicere, et quidem illum rogari prius?

Will my eyes be able to stand the sight of myself giving my opinion alongside Gabinius—or even his being asked it first?

It looks clumsy, probably for the ‘eyes standing the sight of,’ which is probably a bit redundant, though the more literal ‘will my eyes be able to stand giving my opinion…’ wouldn’t be able to stand by itself in English.  “Will I be able to stand the sight of…” would probably be more idiomatic, but it wouldn’t be the same idiom.

[For rogo.]

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