American Language (66 page)

In Middle English the diphthong
oi
was pronounced like the
oy
of
boy
, but during the early Modern English period the pronunciation became assimilated with that of
i
in
wine
, and this usage prevailed at the time of the settlement of America. The colonists thus brought it with them, and at the same time it lodged in Ireland, where it still prevails. But in England, during the late Eighteenth Century
this
i
-sound was displaced in many words by the original
oi
-sound, not by historical research but by deduction from the spelling, and that new pronunciation soon extended to the polite speech of America. In the common speech, however, the
i
-sound persisted, and down to the time of the Civil War it was constantly heard in such words as
boil, hoist, oil, join, spoil, joist, pennyroyal, poison
and
roil
, which thus became
bile, hist, ile, jine, spile, jist, pennyr’yal, pisen
and
rile
. Even
brile
for
broil
was sometimes noted. Since then the schoolmarm has combated the
i
-sound with such vigor that it has begun to disappear, and such forms as
pisen, bile
and
ile
are seldom heard. But in certain other words, perhaps supported by Irish influence, the
i
-sound still persists. Chief among them are
hoist
and
roil
. An unlearned American, wishing to say that he was enraged, never says that he was
roiled
, but always that he was
riled
. Desiring to examine the hoof of a horse, he never orders the animal to
hoist
but always to
hist
. In the form of
booze-hister
, the latter is almost in good usage. In the coal-mines of Southern Illinois
hoist
is pronounced correctly in
hoisting-engineer
, but he always
hists
the coal.
⁷⁶
Jine
as a verb has retired to certain dialects, but the noun
jiner
, signifying a man given to joining fraternal orders, is still in common use. Most of the other vowel changes in vulgar American are also to be encountered in the British dialects. A flat
a
displaces the long
e
in
rear
(
e.g.
, as a horse) and the short
e
of
thresh
and
wrestle
, producing
rare, thrash
and
wrassle
. In the days before the Civil War a short
i
displaced
o
in
cover
and
e
in
chest
and
kettle
, producing
kiver, chist
and
kittle
, but now only
kittle
is heard.
Jedge
for
judge
and
empire
for
umpire
survive more or less, but
jest
and
jist
for
just
are almost extinct. So are
leetle
for
little, fust
for
first, sech
for
such
, and
tech
for
touch
. But
shet
for
shut
is still in use and so is
gal
for
girl
. The substitution of
guardeen
and
champeen
for
guardian
and
champion
is very common. So is that of
snoot
for
snout
. So is that of
muss
for
mess
. In
jaundice
not only is the
a
flattened, but the final syllable becomes
-ers
. One
stamps
a letter but
stomps
with the foot. This last differentiation seems to have a number of parallels in English: the case of
strap
and (razor)
-strop
suggests itself at once. In vulgar American a horse
chomps
its bit, but
champ
remains a good shortened form of
champeen
. Similarly, a cow
tromps
her fodder,
but a vagrant remains a
tramp
. By assimilation
cartoon
(a drawing) has been substituted for
carton
(a cardboard package). The last syllables of
engine
and
genuine
often rhyme with
line
. Webster said in his “Dissertations on the English Language” (1789) that
mought
for
might
was then “heard in most of the States, but not frequently except in a few towns.” It has now gone out, but the American Freemasons still use the archaic
mote
for
may
in their occult ceremonials.

I have spoken of the American pronunciation of a few foreign words,
e.g., piano, tornado, alma mater
, the medical terms in
-itis
and the chemical terms in
-ine
. George O. Curme, a distinguished authority, says that in the plural of Latin words in
-a
the final
-ae
is “pronounced as
e
in
react
”
⁷⁷
but it is my observation that
-ay
is more often heard, and Larsen and Walker give it as a variant. Certainly
vertebray
is commoner than
vertebree
, and
alumnay
is at least as common as
alumnee
. On the level of refined discourse some effort is made in the United States to approximate the correct pronunciation of loan-words from living languages, and it would be unusual to hear an American medical man pronounce
röntgenogram
as if the first two syllables were
runtgen
— the pronunciation recommended to English radio announcers in “Broadcast English.” Even among the plain people loan-words brought in by word of mouth are commonly pronounced more or less plausibly,
e.g., kosher, cabaret, buffet, chauffeur, chiffon, chef, négligé, frau, seidel, gesundheit, männerchor
and
café
. I have, however, heard
kaif
for
café
, and among the words first apprehended in print
brasseer
is common for
brassière, porteer
for
portière, jardeneer
for
jardinière, ratskiller
for
ratskeller, huffbrow
for
hofbräu, vawdvil
for
vaudeville, dash’und
for
dachshund, camoofladge
for
camouflage, shammy
for
chamois, fyancy
for
fiancée, massoor
for
masseur, de-bút
for
début, likkare
for
liqueur, née
for
née, premeer
for
première, meenoo
for
menu, switeser
for
schweizer, ródeo
for
rodéo
, and
coop
for
coupé
. In the
Hin-terwald
the musical terms brought it by wandering performers undergo a radical transformation.
Prélude
becomes
prelood, berceuse
becomes
bersoose, étude
becomes
ee-tude, scherzo
becomes
shirt-so
, and
träumerei
becomes
trowmerai
. Some years ago the word
protégé
had a brief vogue in fistic circles, and was often used by
announcers at prize-fights. They always pronounced it
proteege
. I once heard a burlesque show manager, in announcing a French dancing act, pronounce
M
. and
Mile
, as
Em
and
Milly
. And who doesn’t remember

and

Charles James Fox, it is said, called the red wine of France
Bordox
to the end of his days. He had an American heart; his great speeches for the revolting colonies were more than mere oratory. John Bright, another kind friend in troubled days, had one too. He always said
Bordox
and
Calass
.

The generally more distinct utterance of Americans preserves a number of consonants that have begun to decay in Standard English. The English have not only made a general slaughter of
r
; they also show a tendency to be careless about
l
,
d, g
and
t
, at least in certain situations, and even on the level of the best usage they drop a few
h’s
. An American always sounds the first
l
in
fulfill
; an Englishman commonly makes the first syllable
foo
. An American sounds the
d
in
kindness
; an Englishman doesn’t. An American sounds the final
t
in
trait
, and usually the
t
in
often
also; an Englishman makes the first word homologous with
tray
and reduces the second to
off’n
. In the United States the final
g
in the
-ing
words is usually sounded clearly, at least by speakers of any education; in England it often disappears, and indeed its omission is fashionable, and a mark of social status.
⁷⁸
Next after the use of the broad
a
, the elision of
r
before consonants and in the terminal position is the thing that Americans
are always most conscious of in English speech. In 1913 the late Robert Bridges belabored the English clergy for saying “the
sawed
of the
Laud
” instead of “the
sword
of the
Lord
”
⁷⁹
and six years later he drew up a list of homophones, showing that the following pairs and triplets were pronounced exactly alike by his countrymen:
alms-arms, aunt-aren’t, balm-barm, board-bored-bawd, hoar-whore-haw, lorn-lawn, pore-paw, source-sauce, saw-soar-sore, stalk-stork, taut-taught-tort, father-farther, ah-are, bah-bar-baa, taw-tore, raw-roar, more-maw, floor-flaw
.
⁸⁰
“The majority of educated Englishmen,” says Robert J. Menner, “certainly do not pronounce the
r
before a consonant. Just as certainly the majority of educated Americans pronounce it distinctly.”
⁸¹
John S. Kenyon estimates that two-thirds of all Americans do so.
⁸²
The violent Anglophile, Henry James, revisiting the United States after many years in England, was so distressed by this clear sounding of
r
that he denounced it as “a morose grinding of the back teeth,”
⁸³
and became so sensitive to it that he began to hear it where it was actually non-existent, save as an occasional barbarism,
e.g.
, in
Cuba-r, vanilla-r
and
California-r
. He put the blame for it, and for various other departures from the strict canon of Oxford English, upon “the American school, the American newspaper, and the American Dutchman and Dago,” and went on piously:

James’s observations must have been made west of the Connecticut river and north of the Potomac, for in the Boston area and in all of the South save the mountain region
r
is elided in something
resembling the English manner.
⁸⁴
H. C. Wyld offers evidences
⁸⁵
that it was lost before consonants “at least as early as the Fifteenth Century,” and especially before
-s
and
-sh
, as in
sca’cely
and
ma’sh
. Krapp gives many examples from the early American town records, and calls attention to the fact that there are survivals in vulgar American, as in
cuss, bust, passel
(for parcel) and
hoss
.
⁸⁶
Toward the end of the Eighteenth Century it became fashionable in England to omit the
r
and Samuel Johnson helped that fashion along by denouncing the “rough snarling letter.” It is now omitted in the middle of words before all consonants, and at the end of words unless the following word of the sentence begins with a vowel. It is retained, says Wyld, “initially, and when preceded by another consonant, before vowels,” as in
run
and
grass
; “in the middle of words between vowels,” as in
starry
and
hearing
; and usually, “at the end of words when the next word begins with a vowel, and there is no pause in the sentence between the words,” as in
for ever, over all
and
her ear
. But Wyld admits that even in the last-named situation “the younger generation” denies it clear utterance. In the American South it is boldly omitted. No Tidewater Virginian says
over all
; he says
ovah all
. Krapp speculates somewhat inconclusively regarding the preservation of the
r
in General American. He says that the emigration to the West was largely made up of New Englanders from west of the Connecticut, and that in that region the
r
was always sounded. He alludes, too, to the probable influence of Scottish and Irish immigrants. “Perhaps also,” he adds,