No Love Lost

In a previous entry (“Some Armenian Words That Sound (Almost) Like English... Or Not,” June 20, 2013), we spoke about some words, like English hair and Armenian her (հեր “hair”), which look very similar in their writing and synonymous in their meaning, but which actually have no direct relation.

Another interesting case is the couple formed by English hate and Armenian ad(el) (ատել “to hate,” from which adelootioon / ատելութիւն“hate, hatred”). It looks very enticing, especially when we recall that the letter տ sounded t in Classical Armenian (the same as in Eastern Armenian today).

Again, as the saying goes, one should not judge a book by its cover. Words most frequently change their appearance over time, even within the same language. They change even more when they pass from one language to another!

Thus, English hate comes from the reconstructed Proto-Germanic root *haton, from which cognates in various Germanic languages have derived. So far, everything is fine. But if you go further back, you will find that the initial h disappears when you find its ultimate origin:  another reconstructed root in the Proto-Indo-European language, *kad , which meant “sorrow, hatred” and originated similar words in several Indo-European historical languages, like Avestan (the language of the Iranian pre-Islamic sacred book), Greek, and Welsh.

Instead of a change in consonants, we find a change in vowels when we go to Armenian adel, whose present form in Classical Armenian was ateam (ատեամ “I hate”). It also has an Indo-European origin, but comes from another Proto-Indo-European root, *od, which meant “hate.”

In the end, then, both words have unrelated origins. But readers should be reminded that *od is actually the root of two English words: Old English atol (“dire, horrid”) and English odium (“hatred”). Granted, we do not use odium anymore, a word borrowed from Latin into English in the seventeenth century, but we still utilize odious (= Armenian adeli/ատելի), which had entered English from French a few centuries before.

As it should have been expected, there is no love lost between the odd couple hate and adel.

Write “Right” in the Right Way

You can say that something is right, accurate, or true in Armenian with the word ooghigh (ուղիղ).(*) You say ooghigh jampa (ուղիղ ճամբայ) “right road.” Note that when the word ooghigh becomes a compound word of any kind, the intermediate i is lost. This is why you have some words like:

ooghghagi (ուղղակի “direct”). Example: ooghghagi gab (ուղղակի կապ) “direct link."

ooghghel (ուղղել “to straighten; to direct”). Example: poghgabe ooghghel (փողկապը ուղղել) “to straighten the tie”; tebi harav ooghghel (դէպի հարաւ ուղղել) “to direct to the south.”

ooghghootioon (ուղղութիւն “direction”). Example: jisht ooghghootioon (ճիշդ ուղղութիւն) “accurate direction” (ooghigh ooghghootioon does not sound right...)

ooghghakrootioon (ուղղագրութիւն “orthography”). Example: hayereni ooghghakrootioon (հայերէնի ուղղագրութիւն) “Armenian orthography”

Now, there is a word that makes trouble, ooghi (ուղի) “road,” which is a synonym of jampa and janabarh. Many usual words are derived from ooghi and are all related to the notion of “road” or “travel,” such as:

ooghargel (ուղարկել “to send”)

hooghargavorootioon (յուղարկաւորութիւն “gravesite service,” when you send the soul of the deceased to its final rest)

ooghevorootioon (ուղեւորութիւն “travel”)

yergatooghi (երկաթուղի “railway”)

Many people tend to confuse ooghi with ooghigh, perhaps due to the closeness of meanings between “direction” and “travel,” and to write, for instance, ooghargel with two gh (ուղղարկել), which is plainly wrong. How do you avoid common spelling mistakes of this kind?

Memo to yourself: if you write any Armenian word related to the English concept of right, whether the root is Anglo-Saxon (“straight”), Latin (“direct”) or Greek (“ortho”), you are dealing with ooghigh (ուղիղ). If you remember that, you will always be using two gh-s and you will always be... right.

(*) Ooghigh, of unknown origin, entered the Armenian language in the fifth century. Its synonym shidag (շիտակ), of equally unknown origin, appeared in the Low Middle Ages. Although both are utilized interchangeably, shidag has a more colloquial use and cannot be always used as a full synonym of ooghigh.

Barons Are Not What They Used to Be

Barons are not very fashionable these days, except when someone with this title has a mention in the press for good or bad reasons. (Their title is still used to remind us of the “robber barons” of the 19th century in American economic history.) However, they are alive and well in the Armenian language, even if on a lower ranking.

The origin of the word baron (պարոն) is common for both English and Armenian: Old French baron, which comes from Latin. It entered the Armenian language in the early period of the state of Cilicia (11th-12th century), with the meaning of “ruler, prince.” The form պարոն seems to show that the transcription of the sound b as բ in Classical Armenian was not working properly any more.

It appears that the word followed the French model, where monsieur first meant “ruler, prince,” and became the equivalent of “mister” or “sir” in modern times. We say:

Baron Kevork Boghosian (Պարոն Գէորգ Պօղոսեան, “Mister Kevork Boghosian”)

Harkeli baron (Յարգելի պարոն, “Dear Sir”)

The word is also used to say “gentleman,” as in:

Barone ov e? (Պարոնը ո՞վ է, “Who is the gentleman?”)

However, when you need to say “Mr. and Mrs.,” you cannot use baron. You have to say Der yev Diguin (Տէր եւ Տիկին). As we see, the well-known word Der (“Lord”) has some use among ordinary people, besides being the title utilized to address God, high-ranking and low-ranking ecclesiastics, and, in other times, noblemen of all sorts.

In the nineteenth century, diar (տիար, plural deark/տեարք) appeared in Western Armenian as a purely native equivalent of baron. Perhaps its creators had either French monsieur or English milord somewhere in their mind. It was born from the combination of the words di (տի “great”) and ayr (այր “male”), and followed the model of digin (տիկին, “Mrs.,” “Madam,” “lady”). This same combination had also originated the word der. The genitive singular of der in Classical Armenian is dearn (տեառն “of the Lord”); Dearnentarach (Տեառնընդառաջ) literally means “Meeting of the Lord.”

Diar may be considered a fancier word than baron and for this reason it seems to confer an aura of elegance. Sometimes it is used to address personalities. In any given case, you can say Harkeli diar nakhakah (Յարգելի տիար նախագահ, “Dear Mr. President”) or simply Diar Boghos Kevorkian (Տիար Պօղոս Գէորգեան, “Mr. Boghos Kevorkian”). However, you cannot use diar to say “gentleman” or “Mr. and Mrs.”

As a side note, the use of baron in Armenia was restricted to name “capitalists” during Soviet times; Soviet citizens had to address each other as enger (ընկեր “comrade”). After the collapse of the Soviet Union, baron was restored and, with it, the word diar also entered Eastern Armenian.

Sometimes We Do Not Need to Invent Words

We all know that there are differences between colloquial and written language. Some things are more or less tolerable when speaking, but not when writing.

The problem with improper words, rather than their use in a conversation, is that their inaccurate usage may pass for accurate and become part of regular speech. We have already discussed the case of various words of Turkish/Arabic origin commonly used in conversation, which are “believed” to be Armenian. This time, we will discuss a parasite use of an Armenian suffix, -ութիւն (-ootioon).

This suffix is commonly used to make a noun out of an adjective, as in angakh (անկախ, “independent”) / angakhootioon (անկախութիւն, “independence”), or a new noun from another noun, as in kir (գիր, “letter”) / krootioon (գրութիւն, “writing”). But sometimes, people tend to overkill their knowledge, especially those who are fluent in the Armenian language. This is how we come across the use of ootioon to create useless and wrong nouns, because they actually mean the same as the original. For instance, we hear people saying:

• Ես ջուրի պէտքութիւն ունիմ (Yes choori bedkootioon oonim, “I need water”)
• Այդ խօսքերը նախանձութեան արդիւնք են (Ayt khoskere nakhantsootian artioonk en, “Those words are the result of envy”
• Մենք հիւրութեան գացինք (Menk hioorootian katsink, “We went as guests”).

The abovementioned sentences would be perfectly right if the words bedk (պէտք “need”), nakhants (նախանձ “envy”), and hioor (հիւր “guest”) were used, instead of the words bedkootioon, nakhantsootioon, and hioorootioon, which simply do not exist in Armenian.

If you avoid the use of these and other artificial words finished in ootioon that have no right to exist (if you are in doubt, open a reliable dictionary), at least you will give one less reason to those who are fond to say that Armenian words are too long. We do not need to pile up by inventing words.

An Old Ship that Looks to the Stars

Both English terms that designate vessels, boat and ship, have Germanic origin, and both are possibly from old Indo-European roots. The same happens with a third term that does not designate a vessel, but is sea-related: navy. While navy comes from Old French navie (“fleet”), the ultimate origin of this word is navis (“ship”). This Latin word is also behind other English words, like naval or navigate, while the Greek naus (“ship”) is behind the English word nautical.

More importantly, Latin navis and Greek naus belong to a widespread family of Indo-European sister words (the term is also present in Sanskrit and Iranian languages, among others) that include the Armenian word նաւ (nav) “ship.” The ultimate source for all of them is a word that theoretically existed at the time when a single Indo-European (also called Proto-Indo-European) language existed. That word has been reconstructed as *nau “ship” (the asterisk symbolizes that the word does not exist in any written text, but it is only a reconstruction).

Historically, Armenia did not have seashores (except on the Caspian Sea and, during the Armenian kingdom of Cilicia, on the Mediterranean Sea), and Armenians were not great seafarers—even though they traveled quite a lot over the seven seas from ancient times. But the Armenian language had a wide collection of words related to nav since the fifth century. We will mention just three of the many words from that time that are commonly used today:

նաւակ (navag): “small boat”
նաւորդ (navort): “navigator” (there you have a possible way to say “GPS” in Armenian)
նաւահանգիստ (navahankisd): “port”

Therefore, all sea-related English words starting with nav- or naut- are actually related to their Armenian distant cousin nav. And even if one day you prefer to go to the stars instead of the sea, remember that an astronaut is called... աստղանաւորդ (asdghanavort) in Armenian.

A Particular Way to Enjoy

Western Armenian has an interesting couple: վայելել (vayelel) and վայլել (vaylel). It is interesting because both words derive from Classical Armenian vayelel, and also because . . . the couple does not exist in Eastern Armenian, which has only adopted the latter.

What is the difference between them? One has kept the original meaning, while the other has turned into a specialized meaning. Thus,

1. Vayelel means “to enjoy.” For instance, «Ես ընթրիքը վայելեցի» (Yes entrikuh vayeletsi – “I enjoyed the dinner”).
2. Vaylel means “to suit” (which may be regarded as a certain way of enjoying). For instance, «Խօսելու այս ձեւը քեզի չի վայլեր» (Khoseloo ays tsevuh kezi chi vayler – “This way of talking does not suit you”).

This is not an isolated case. We may recall the Classical Armenian word աշակերտ (ashagerd, “student”), which in both branches of Armenian also gave birth to a second word: աշկերտ (ashgerd, “apprentice”).

It is common to confuse vaylel with vayelel. In any case, you cannot say «Ես ընթրիքը վայլեցի» (Yes entrikuh vayletsi). How could you “suit” the dinner?

What Do You Prefer to Pick Up?

How many people out there are not afraid of picking and reading weighty tomes? (Users of Kindle and Nook, so-called “tree huggers,” and the like are excused). But probably any of them will gladly pick up a couple of տոմս or տոմսակ (Western Armenian doms or domsag, Classical/Eastern Armenian toms or tomsak). Otherwise, they would not be able to set foot in a theater or board a plane without a “ticket.”

(The same as French billet “ticket,” both Armenian words have also another meaning: when you scribble a short message to someone, you say that you have written a doms or a domsag.)

Interesting, tome and doms/domsag “ticket” come from the same place, even though they are so different in size and weight. How come?

We know that a tome is a book, especially a heavy one. The word comes from French tome (equivalent to English volume, as in “two-volume book”), but its ultimate origin, via Latin, is Greek τόμος (tomos “section, roll of papyrus, volume”).  The diminutive of this word is τομαρίων (tomarion “small volume”). In the fifth century A.D., Armenian had borrowed both words from Greek

1. The abovementioned տոմս (toms), with the meaning of “section,” which later evolved into a piece of paper to mean a “ticket” or a billet, and the addition of the diminutive suffix ակ (ag/ak);
2. The word տոմար (tomar, Western Armenian domar), with the meaning of “section, volume,” but also “calendar.” That’s why today we use domar both in the sense of “registry book” (a bookkeeper is called a տոմարակալ /domaragal ) and “calendar” (Հայ Եկեղեցւոյ տոմար /Hay Yegeghetsvo domar “calendar of the Armenian Church”).

You will be surprised to learn that tome, doms, and domar are also related to another little English word: atom.  Atoms were thought to be indivisible, hence the name (a-tom “non-divisible”), even though they found out that they were actually divisible at the turn of the twentieth century! Incidentally, Armenian, unlike English and other Western languages, has a word of its own to say “atom,” which, by the way, is also... of Greek origin: հիւլէ (hiwle).