Here is someting from romanian historian Neagu Djuvara (although he credits someone else for the ideea, but I can't remember whom):
He points out that the romanian words
plecare/a pleca (to leave) is realated to the spanish word
llegar (to arive). He claims that both these words are derived from the latin
plicare (to fold) which has allso given in romanian the word
a apleca (to lower, to bow). Apparently, "Plicare!" was an order in the Roman army for folding the tents and breaking camp, and allso an order in the Roman navy for folding the sails and stopping the ship in a port. So a legion dispatched from Rome to Iberia could, upon meeting a native, tell him that they had "
plicated"
just a few hours ago in the nearby harbour, while a legion dispatched from Rome to Dacia could inform the locals that they had "
plicated" in Rome some weeks ago. So the word was understood in one place as a term for arriving and in the other as a term for leaving.
This is by far the most fascinating item among all the interesting things I learned in this thread. Thank you for sharing!
Isn't it from the matt/gloss distinction that a lot of Indo-Europeans used - Latin has seperate words for matt black (fuscus) and gloss black (niger).
That's also a nice aspect.
This sharpens the attention that different languages often have different borders of categories; this is especially surprising with colours.
Another Latin example:
sanguinis is blood in a living organism, while
cruor and
aser mean shed (clotted, incrusted) blood. Enjoy your tea.
(This distinction seems to be a Latin novelty: The Slavonic languages use a cousin of "cruor" for blood in general.)
Remark: In the Romance languages, "sanguinis" has taken over the whole domain of meanings, while "cruor" has also led to words like 'crude' and 'cruel'.
Perhaps less exciting, another example of Latin diligence of distinction:
Hannibal may have appeared
ante portas (in front of the gates, looking to the city) - but guards were always standing
pro portis - in front of the gates, but looking away!
Redefining the domains for prepositions tweaks my mind even more than the same for colors. Different languages draw completely different pictures of the world - close to being parallel worlds themselves.
It turns out that I can't stop from adding more examples:
One of the hardest aspects to understand about the alleged Indoeuropean mentality is the attitude towards fire and water.
According to the established opinion, there were two words for either one: One describing it as a material, and one as a living being!
Accordingly, the material words are neuter in grammatical gender, while living water is female and living fire male.
Representative words:
water-material: English
water, Greek
hydor, Russian
voda
water-being: Latin
aqua
fire-material: English
fire, Greek
pyr
fire-being: Latin
ignis, Sanskrit
agnih, Russian
ogon'
I've always liked the etymology for the word 'black,' as an example of just how far things can go over time.
I wondered why English had both the words "black" and "swarthy" to mean roughly the same thing. In German, the word "schwartz" means 'black,' but no such word exists that sounds similar to "black." It turns out that "black" shares the same ancestor as the word "bright," and other assorted words in Indo-European languages that all mean "white" (ie. Bela-, blanc, alba, etc.)
Yes, I like that story very much. As it turns out, Old English (=Anglo-Saxon) had both words:
blæk meaning 'black', and
blak meaning 'white'! Both are related to the same root. I can understand that only one of them could stay.
As I recently learned, this also works for the most decisive contrast of all, death and life:
The word
to die seems to be related to a Indoeuropean root also meaning "live". The shift may have worked like this:
Basic meaning "to breathe"
1) --> "to live".
2) --> "to exhale" --> "to exhale one's life" = "to die".
The first branch is represented in English by the word
deer: The originally meaning in Protogermanic was "living being > aninmal > wild animal, beast".
While English specialized the meaning extremely, the German cousing of this word,
Tier, has generalized back to the meaning "animal" (including domestic ones).
(I think the Swedish
djur went the same path; while I'm not sure how much the Dutch
dier and Icelandic
d'yr still stick to the "wild" aspect.)
This is also an interesting aspect for me as a German speaker: Many languages still distinguish "domestic animal" and "wild animal". English at least has a remainder of this in the form of the word "beast"; in German the distinction is largely eliminated.