"When I was a soldier, I ended up in Greece"

It's been a little while since I've put up a language sample of an obscure variant of Greek; this is a sample of the Greek spoken in Calabria.

Of the Greek spoken in Italy, the Greek of Salento is healthiest, with something like 20,000 speakers; the Greek of Calabria has less than a tenth of the speakers, but is significantly more archaic. The sample is taken from Minuto, D., Nucera, S. & Zavettieri, P. 1988. Dialoghi Greci di Calabria. Reggio Calabria: Laruffa. pp. 56–58.

The book includes four recorded conversations in Greek from the early 1980s, from Chorio di Roghudi, Gallicianò, and Bova. The texts were gathered by Domenico Minuto, who taught himself Greek and participates in the conversations; they include both old-timers, and younger semi-speakers.

The text below is from villagers originally from Chorio di Roghudi, including the 19–year-old Pietro Zavettieri (whose idea the collection was), his father, his grandmother, and his uncle. The text's spelling is based on Italian (e.g. <scero> /ʃero/ "I know", corresponding to standard ξέρω), with the following additions:

<ch>	x
<gh>	ɣ
<th>	θ
<ddh>	ɖː
<j>	j
<sz>	z
<z>	ts
<zz>	tːs

<ddh> is a convention of Calabrese; as in Calabrese, <ddh> reflects historical /ll/. So <addho> /aɖːo/ "other" sounds something like an American drawled "add-draw", but corresponds to earlier Greek ἄλλο, /allo/. (Just as Calabrese iddha "she" comes from Latin illa.)

The story is revealing, of the type I like to feature in The Other Place: what happens when the Greek-speakers of Italy find themselves at war with the Greek-speakers of Greece. It's very easy for Greeks to lose sight of it, but through the inhabitants of Roghudi and Calimera spoke Greek, they live in Italy, and their ancestors have lived in Italy for anything between a thousand and three thousand years. Which means they are Italian. Still, Pietro's unnamed uncle did not end up the worse for wear for it, when he was with the occupation forces in Greece.

I'll post linguistic commentary separately. Following a common convention of Italiot Greek texts, I italicise the Romance words (many of which are inflected in Greek).

Zio: San immo ssordàto ejàna stin Grècia; ce ìmmaston dio; mu ipe: «Pame oden abucàto pu echi tundo spiti na tu zitìome ticandì na fame.» Ipan egò: «Pame, ma egò en tu ccapèo.» Ecìno ipe «Esù tu ccapèi ti platèi to greco.» Ipan egò: «En tu ccapèo.» Allùra tu ipan egò: «Platèspe esù: an ecìni platèu ce tu ccapèguo, allùra egò platèo; andè, den platèo proprio.» Tutos ode ejài ecì; tu ipe: «Thelo ligon alàdi, enan pumadòro, ligon ala, na camo mian nzaláta, na fao, ti immo nisticò.»	Uncle: When I was a soldier, I ended up in Greece. And there was two of us. He told me: "Let's go down here where that house is, to ask them for something to eat." I said: "Let's go, but I won't understand them." He said: "You will understand them, because you speak Greek." I said: " I won't understand them." So I said: "You talk: if they talk and I understand them, then I'll talk; if not, I'm not talking at all." This man goes there; he told him: "I want some oil, a tomato, some salt, to make a salad to eat, because I have not eaten."
Tutos ode, o greco, canni: «Ma egò, san de capèguo, ti en scero ecìno pu leghi, en scero, ecìno pu den mu leghi! Ti mu steki lègonda?» San egò ecàpespa ecìno ti eplàtespe manachòstu, ce ipe ola tunda pràmata, tu ipan egò: «Scerise ti theli? Mian stampa alàdi, enan pumadòri, enan crommìdi, na cami mian nzalàta na fai, ti pinài.»	That man, the Greek, goes: "But me, if I can't understand him, I don't know what he is saying, and I don't know what he is not saying to me! What is he telling me?" When I understood what he said on his own, and he said all that, I said to him: "You know what he wants? A little oil, a tomato, an onion, to make a salad to eat, because he is hungry."
«Ah! Esù leddhé! leddhé! leddhé! Pùtthen isson esù? Putthen isso?» «Putthen immo? Stratiòtes, italiàno.» «Pos' ecàmese na pàise me tin Italìa? Esù isso leddhé!» Ipan egò pos' ècama na pao in Itàlia! «M' epiàsan priguinèri ce arte immo obblighemméno na pao methétu!» Leghi: «Esù leddhé! Ecìno pu thélise, issa a disposiziòni sto spiti ton dicòmmu!»	"Ah! You, brother! brother! brother! Where are you from? Where?" "Where am I from? Soldiers, Italian." "How did you end up going with Italy? You are a brother!" I told them how I ended up going with Italy! "They captured me as a prisoner and now I am forced to go with them!" He said: "You, brother! Whatever you want is at your disposal in my house!"
Pietro: Vrete esì! Zio: En calò o den en calò? Minuto: En calò, po den en calò? Pollì calò.	Pietro: Well look at that! Uncle: Is that nice or what? Minuto: It's nice, how can it not be? Very nice.
Zio: Arte canno àddonen discúrso. To stesso in Grècia. Poi immasto dio pu epìgame viàta ismìa; ejàmmasto ce etrovèspame enan tabakkìno. Sce tundo tabakkìno etrovèspame octò, deca eciúndo greco. Pos arrivèspame ecióssu, mas efèrai ena, ena giro peròtu, possi ìssai eciòssu, na pìome. Poi egò eghìrespa na tus offrèspo ecinòne. C' ecìni mu errifiutèspai; iche ton bbarìsta, ipe: «Sanàrte sa offrèusi ecìni, avri, methàvri, tu sonnite offréspi esì.» Dopu ti epìame nduttu, ce mas edùcai ciòla enan pakètto sicarètte, peròma ti ìmmasto dio, èrchete o barrìsta ce mu ipe: «Vre ti avri su amènome ode.» «Ma egò den ercho ode» tu ipan egò, «jatì egò en iscèro ta fatti po ppasi.» «Esù avru èrchese ode; sto tali oràrio ti s' amènu tèssere, pende ghinèke, ti thelu na ivru po pplatèvghise esù to greco.»	Uncle: Now I'll tell another story. Also in Greece. There were two of us who always went together. We went and found a tobacconist. At that tobacconist's we found eight, ten of those Greeks. As we arrived there, they brought us a round for each, everyone who was there, to drink. Then I tried to treat them. And they refused me; the barman was there, he said: "For now they are treating you; tomorrow, the day after, you can treat them." After we drunk everything, and they moreover gave us a packet of cigarettes each, there being two of us, the barman came and told me: "Look, tomorrow we'll wait for you here." "But I won't come here", I said to him, "because I don't know how things will go." "You're coming here tomorrow, at such and such a time four or five women will be waiting for you, because they want to see how you speak Greek."
Ejàmmasto! Ejàmmaston ecì. Epettòame eciàpanu, pu iche mian addhi stanza ce eciòssu accheròai crùnnonda ce chorèonda ce na gustèspu emmè pos to eplàtegua to greco. Pinnonda, cànnonda ecì, emmèna to fucìli mómine. Dopu ti epìame, echorìstima c' ejàssame ta fàttima. San arrivèspame a un certu puntu, mu canni tutos addo: «Ce to fucìli to dicòssu pu ene?» Tu ipan egò: «Ecì èmine.» Leghi: «Pu to thorìse ple! En su to donnu ple.» Ipan egò: «Condofèrrome, thorùme, an mu to donnu mu to donnun.» Me tin strata ortèo ena pu èrcheto me ton fucìli ton dicòmmu. Mu ipe: «Esù isso leddìdi dicòmma. An den isso leddìdi dicòmma to muskètto en to ìthore ple.» C' ecòspame ecì.	We went! We went there. We got up there, where there was another room, and inside they started playing music and dancing and enjoying how I spoke Greek to them. Drinking and entertaining myself there, I left my gun behind. After we drank, we started to leave. When we got to a certain point, this man goes to me: "And where is your gun?" I told him: "It's back there." He said: "You're not seeing it again! They won't give it back." I said: "We'll go back, we'll see: if they give it to me, they give it to me." Along the way I meet a man coming with my gun. He said to me: "You are our brother. If you weren't our brother, you would never have seen your musket again." And we broke off there.

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Trakatroukika on YouTube

First up, thank you again to Butcher of Yore—and now Stazybo Horn as well—for sending me links continuously about Kızderbent. There is a lot to go through and assimilate, so this blog is going to turn into Kızderbent Central for the next week or so.

[You will note btw that I keep saying Macedonian Slavonic instead of Macedonian (or "Skopian"). I hope you appreciate why (see for starters Macedonia (terminology), Macedonian language naming dispute, and the relative numbers agains the flags on the sidebar.) If you don't appreciate why, well, it's my blog, and it's your right; but I have to pick which constituency to offend the least among my readers.]

Because the YouTube video is being asked for, I'm posting it first. The video doesn't have any context, and as I said in comments it has been exploited for interminable online debates about Macedonia; comments on the video are disabled, so I'm translating the Greek forum link to it.

The videos came up in the discussion thread Ένα τραγούδι, πολλές ιστορίες Jovano Jovanke ("one song, many stories: Jovano Jovanke"), about a South Slavic song, and how it is used by a host of speakers of Slavonic languages with different national identities. The original poster, dna, has a good chuckle about the Bulgarian/FYROM argling over the song on YouTube:

Στη συνέχεια στα σχόλια μπινελικώνονται Βούλγαροι και κάτοικοι της ΠΓΔΜ.
- "γιατί τραγουδάτε μακεδονικά τραγούδια αφού δεν μπορείτε να τα πείτε καλά"?
- "έλα ρε, βουλγάρικα είναι, και εσείς βούλγαροι είστε, τι παριστάνετε τώρα"?
- "ουστ αποδώ μογγολοτάταροι, να πάρετε τον πρόγονό σας τον Ασπαρούχ και να πάτε στο Ταταρστάν, εμείς είμαστε
α)γνήσιοι σλάβοι
β) γνήσιοι μακεδόνες
Thereafter, Bulgarians and inhabitants of FYROM start flaming each other:
"Why are you singing Macedonian songs when you can't speak it properly?"
"Oh come on, they're Bulgarian songs, and you're Bulgarian too, stop pretending."
"The hell with you, Mongol Tatars, take your ancestor Asparukh and go back to Tatarstan, we're (a) genuine Slavs and (b) genuine Macedonians."

To my mind, the discussion on the forum quickly degenerates to that level anyway. But by way of rebuttal, poster kukos says the following (my comments in square brackets):

So, friend dna69, the people dancing and singing in this video:

are members of the Kizderventiot Association of Thessalonica. In the next video:

Mr "Christos" [I think he means Sotiris], who was singing, chats to some ladies also descended from the same region of Asia Minor (Kızderbent), and who ARE NOT LOCALS, as is erroneously subtitled. [Subtitled on the YouTube clip—i.e. they are not indigenous speakers of Macedonian Slavonic. "Local" (ντόπια) is the preferred way of referring to Macedonian Slavonic within Greek Macedonia.]
The guy who subtitled it in English is somewhat confused, so he draws wrong conclusions.
The lady speaking the most clearly states, of course, that "… I am Greek". So when she says "our language matches theirs" but "we count in Turkish", she means that the REFUGEE dialect matches the "local" dialect. [i.e. that Trakatroukika is similar to the indigenous Macedonian Slavonic of the village of Polypetro, where these Trakatroukides have settled].
But this local dialect is not used as a main language. The proof: the lady in question does not know how to count over four in "Bulgarian". Whereas I have spent long enough among Yugoslav tourists [who have long been visiting Greece, and Chalkidike in particular], and I can count as much as you want: devet xiliante tsetrista dvananteset (9412)
[Followed by a history of the village of Polypetro in Kilkis, and of Kızderbent, copypasted from elsewhere.]

For my part, I'll comment that no, the lady in question knowing only 1–4 in Slavonic does not prove that Bulgarian wasn't their main language; it proves that their Slavonic was heavily Turkicised. Large numbers as opposed to small are the province of the marketplace rather than the hearth, so it's common for languages to borrow large numbers from the local trade language, which would certainly have been Turkish.

So, turning to the video itself. Stazybo Horn has done detective work on Google through Wikipedia deletions—a curse on them; and he mailed me about the programme that featured this after I wrote the first draft of this post: it is from «Κάθε τόπος και τραγούδι» "A song from every region", a Sunday programme on ET3 (State TV, Northern Greece), presented by Giorgos Melikis, and this episode was shown on Jan 21, 2007. From Googling, I see Melikis' show does feature other languages of Northern Greece. Butcher of Yore tells me that Κυριακή στο Χωριό "Sunday in the Village", on the same channel, has done so as well. Here's the thread where the YouTube user announces he has posted it on the same day: his posting confirms Kukos' surmise that he didn't realise they were refugees from Turkey.

The video starts with 45 seconds of chat in Trakatroukika. Please God, someone who knows Bulgarian or Macedonian Slavonic, do tell me how Turcisised this sounds.

The English subtitles are pretty much correct, though summary. Sotiris (the man talking to the women at the start) is from Thessalonica: the host Melikis says so at 0:53. I don't know if that means Sotiris is a native speaker of Macedonian Slavonic (in which case it is mutually intelligible with Trakatroukika), or that he is also a Trakatroukis. The Trakatroukides count up to four in "Bulgarian" (notice the chuckle when the B-word is spoken at 1:32); at Sotiris' village they count in Slavonic at least up to six. That, and his initial question, make me suspect Sotiris is not a Trakatroukis.

The woman talking describes their party as Trakatroukides (right at 1:00—"he asked us, how you are here in the village, the Trakatroukides"). She says their languages "*almost* matches" the indigenous Slavonic; and their odam matches "local" vode "water". (Another woman interjects at 1:15 "We talk the same [language]" and "We get along very well"—which suggests Trakatroukika and the Macedonian Slavonic of Polypetro are mutually intelligible anyway.) They explicitly claim Trakatroukika is not mutually intelligible with Turkish, and is partially mutually intelligible with Bulgarian, Serbian, and the Macedonian Slavonic of Gevgelija, on the FYROM side of the border. (Sotiris at 1:52 says, after Serbian is mentioned, "they'd catch the odd word".)

"And one last question" (at 2:00)—"to come back to our songs and dances", because this is a folklore show—but the question is not about songs or dances. "How do you feel inside?" "What, about our language?" one man says. Another realises where this is going, and says: "Our homeland is Greece"—straightforwardly. (It's not like, if they felt differently they could very well say differently on Greek State TV—but Butcher of Yore informs me that has indeed happened, e.g. with a show by Maya Tsokli on villages in Florina, and that has made it to YouTube too.)

"Not just Greece", the host adds expansively. "Greater Greece!" (Μεγάλη Ελλάδα). Um, somewhat unsophisticated of the host, in my opinion (and I'm not looking forward to discussing why I think that). He shouldn't have to solicit proof of loyalty from Greek citizens who happen to speak a Turkicised Slavonic, and the phrasing is reminiscent of the irredentist Megali Idea. But anyway, it's great that we have this document.

If we have to discount Sotiris' language as not Trakatroukika, admittedly we have far less than 45 seconds' worth; and if these Trakatroukides have lived for three generations together with Macedonian Slavonic speakers, their language will be much less Turkicised, and more similar to the local dialect. So it's not pristine Trakatroukika (if it's even meaningful to speak of such a thing). If you're looking to avoid interference from other dialects of Bulgarian or Macedonian Slavonic, your best bet is in fact New Triglia, in Chalkidike.

Or Roditis. Roditis (formerly Proktio) is in Rodopi, 5km from Komotini, and Rodopi also is home to Pomaks, who are Bulgarian-speaking Muslims. But it is unlikely there has been any real contact between the Trakatroukides and the Pomaks. As an acquaintance from Komotini reminds me, the Pomaks were subject to travel restrictions until 1992; as he put it, "the Pomaks this side would come down to market in Komotini every Tuesday; the Pomaks that side would come down to market in Xanthi every Saturday—and that was it." Moreover, as a Christian village Roditis would have had no contact with the Muslim ethnic Turks of the region either; and the village is now a suburb of Komotini.

One last thing: one of Pontus and the Left's (Πόντος και Αριστερά) regular commenters, Partizana, is from the same village of Polypetro. Comment #36 in this thread is about how moved she was to discover her grandmother's language documented elsewhere.
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Shevchenko in Mariupolitan and Urum

The following are translations of Taras Shevchenko's Testament into Mariupolitan Greek and Urum. They appeared in 1993 side by side, in a volume of (mostly Greek) translations of Shevchenko, the Ukraine's national poet.

The texts appeared in Cyrillic—including Kostoprav's abridged translation, which would originally have appeared in the Soviet phonetic Greek alphabet. The transliterations into (sort of) Greek historical orthography and Turkic Latin (again, sort of) are mine. As standard in Mariupolitan Cyrillic, дъ тъ are δ θ, ти corresponds to palatalised κι, and the typically Slavic central vowel ы appears; I've transliterated it in Greek as <ɨ>. Greek linguists don't believe the latter two phonetic phenomena are real, and there'll be a separate post about that.

The Urum doesn't quite come out looking like Crimean Tatar: I can't tell where <ğ> has gone, and <ä> is new. (I'm confused from the comparison with Tatarstan Tatar on whether they actually have the same vowels, including <ä>.)

There will be more on the sociolinguistics of Urum; the publication these appeared in are in fact part of that story.

Mariupolitan Greek: Georgii Kostoprav (†1937)
Вісият Ан путъену—сикусет-ме пас т уба, педъыя. Пес ту чол платы ки ису, пес ту Украныя. Ас драну платэя занья ки ас сон ста фтыя-м ас Днипро та тьорка ярья т фувиро-т лалыя! Сикусет-ме—сикутъэты, сикутъэт апану. Фуртиксеты пес ту эема-т т атху тун душману! Ки атотыс, анда стэкит дугкуши ты флога, ми змунат на ме ангкевит дъыхос атху логу! (25 ту дъэкември 1845, ас ту Переяслав)	Βισιιάτ Αν πουθαίνου—σήκουσετ' με πας τ' ουμπά, παιδɨ́ια. Πες του τσ̌ολ πλατɨ́ κι ίσου, πες του Ουκρανɨ́ια. Ας ντρανού πλατέια ζάνια κι ας σών' στα 'φτɨ́ια μ' ας Ντνιπρό τα τιόρκα ιάρια τ' φουβηρό τ' λαλίια! Σήκουσετ' με—σηκουθέτɨ, σηκουθέτ' απάνου. Φούρτιξετɨ πες του αίμα τ' τ' άτ'χου τουν ντουσ̌μάνου! Κι ατότɨς, άντα στέκιτ' ντούgουσ̌η του φλόγα, μη ζμουνάτ' να με αγκέβιτ' δɨ́χος άτ'χου λόγου! (25 του Δεκέμβρη 1845, ας του Περεϊασλάβ)
[Shevchenko, Taras. 1993. Кобзар. Билыгмена пиимата пас та румейка ки урумика глоссис . [Kobzar: Selected poems in the Rumeic and Urum languages.] Ed. Kir'jakov, Leontii. Kiev: Україньский письменник. p. 174]
Mariupolitan Greek: Leontii Kir'jakov
Висият Ан путъану, парахосит пас т уба сис мена, с миданлыдъку т Украина, сту агапимену. Ап ату ту чол на феныт, ту Днипро чаларку, на виглызы, на акугу ту даушт хулчарку. Н та тъа рекс ах т Украина ема душманытку сту яло чах… го атотыс, та чоля намлыдъка— Фину ола-па, пету го, с тун тъэо паэну прощину-тун… ос атоты, тен тъэос ста мена. Парахосет-ме, скутъеты ки та пхавя хасит, ки н ту ема душманытку ту ратлых ифтясит. Ки атот, сн тайфа тюнурю, ол н та нышкны соя, ми змонат на ме ангкепсит н та кала та лоя. (25 ту дъекември 1845 ас ту Переяслав)	Βισιιάτ Αν πουθάνου, παραχώσιτ' πας τ' ουμπά σεις μένα, σ' μιντανλɨ́δκου τ' Ουκραΐνα, στου αγαπημένου. Απ' ατού του τσ̌ολ να φένɨ́τ', του Ντνιπρό τσ̌αλάρκου, να βιγλɨ́ζου, να ακούγου του νταούσ̌τ χουλτσ̌άρκου. 'Ντα θα ρέξ' αχ τ' Ουκραΐνα αίμα ντουσ̌μανɨ́τκου στου ιαλό τσ̌αχ… γω ατότɨς, τα τσ̌ολιά ναμλɨ́δκα— 'Φήνου όλα πα, πετού γω, στουν Θεό πααίνου προστσ̌υνού τουν… ως ατότɨ, τ' έν Θεός στα μένα. Παραχώσετ' με, σκουθέτɨ κι τα πχάβια χάσιτ', κι 'ν του αίμα ντουσ̌μανɨ́τκου του ρατλɨ́χ ιφτιάσιτ'. Κι ατότ, σ'ν ταϊφά τιουνούριου, ολ 'ν τα νɨ́σ̌κνɨ σόια μι ζμονάτ' να με αγκέψιτ' 'ν τα καλά τα λόια. (25 του Δεκέμβρη 1845, ας του Περεϊασλάβ)
[Shevchenko, Taras. 1993. Кобзар. Билыгмена пиимата пас та румейка ки урумика глоссис . [Kobzar: Selected poems in the Rumeic and Urum languages.] Ed. Kir'jakov, Leontii. Kiev: Україньский письменник. p. 175]
Urum: Valeri Kior
Сонти лаф Мен о'льсем, мены го'мерсыз, мезара хойарсыз, чо'лу'н орта бир йэрнэ-де Вкраиндэ агларсыз. Беретет мешерелеры, Днепрын ко'пу'рлеры мен го'ру'рду'м, мен шитырдым, насын бу'нгу'рлердыр. Тетырсе-дэ Украиндан сийа дэнызе-де душман ханы… сора мендэ джапнан изаннары— мен брахырдым, дэ учарым Аллага го'кэ мен хачетмейе… ну олмаздан Аллагы бильмем мен. Нас го'мерсыз, аман халхныз, путлары парланыз, душманнарын йаман ханнан вола'йа тамнаныз. Дэ мены йены достларнан, балабан тайфанан унутманыз анмайа сиз ийи йуваш лафнан. (25 декабырин 1845 Перейаславда)	Sonti laf Men öl'sem, menı gömersız, mezara hoyarsız, çölün orta bir yerne-de Vkrainde aglarsız. Beretet meşerelerı, Dneprın köpürlerı men görürdüm, men şitırdım, nasın büngürlerdır. Tetırse-de Ukraindan siya denıze-de duşman hanı… sora mende capnan izannarı— men brahırdım, de uçarım Allaga göke men haçetmeye… nu olmazdan Allagı bil'mem men. Nas gömersız, aman halhnız, putları parlanız, duşmannarın yaman hannan voläya tamnanız. De menı yenı dostlarnan, balaban tayfanan unutmanız anmaya siz iyi yuvaş lafnan. (25 dekabırin 1845 Pereyaslavda)
[Shevchenko, Taras. 1993. Кобзар. Билыгмена пиимата пас та румейка ки урумика глоссис . [Kobzar: Selected poems in the Rumeic and Urum languages.] Ed. Kir'jakov, Leontii. Kiev: Україньский письменник. p. 176]
Ukrainian: Taras Shevchenko	English: John Weir
Заповіт Як умру, то поховайте Мене на могилі, Серед степу широкого, На Вкраїні милій, Щоб лани широкополі, І Дніпро, і кручі Було видно, було чути, Як реве ревучий. Як понесе з України У синєє море Кров ворожу... отоді я І лани і гори -- Все покину і полину До самого Бога Молитися ... а до того Я не знаю Бога. Поховайте та вставайте, Кайдани порвіте І вражою злою кров'ю Волю окропіте. І мене в сім'ї великій, В сім'ї вольній, новій, Не забудьте пом'янути Незлим тихим словом. 25 декабря 1845 в Переяслові [Cited in Brama.com]	Testament When I am dead, bury me In my beloved Ukraine, My tomb upon a grave mound high Amid the spreading plain, So that the fields, the boundless steppes, The Dnieper's plunging shore My eyes could see, my ears could hear The mighty river roar. When from Ukraine the Dnieper bears Into the deep blue sea The blood of foes ... then will I leave These hills and fertile fields -- I'll leave them all and fly away To the abode of God, And then I'll pray .... But till that day I nothing know of God. Oh bury me, then rise ye up And break your heavy chains And water with the tyrants' blood The freedom you have gained. And in the great new family, The family of the free, With softly spoken, kindly word Remember also me. 25 December 1845, Pereiaslav Translated in Toronto, 1961 [Cited in Wikipedia]

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Soviet Orthography of Greek

I'm working on a post on the Greek language politics of the USSR, which glancingly mentioned the spelling reform that took place there in 1925. Because it's a topic that deserves to be presented separately, I'll put it in a separate blog post.

The material isn't mine, it's from the blogger Πόντος και Αριστερά (Pontus and the Left), who in turn draws on the work of the historian Vlasis Agtzidis (who has his own blog, and who has worked extensively on the period: great to see his PhD on the Greek press of Sukhumi has just been published.) But information on the Soviet spelling reform isn't widely available in English, so I'm translating their material here.

Pontus and the Left has posted a series of posts on the Soviet Interbellum, dealing with the flowering of Greek culture in the Soviet Union during the Springtime of the Nationalities, the decade when the Soviet state encouraged nation-building for ethnic groups, including elevating their languages to literary status. Pontus and the Left's particular interest is because the majority of ethnic Greeks in the USSR were Pontians, who had migrated to Christian Russia in the 18th and 19th century. A minority were the Mariupolitans, who originally lived in the Crimea; they are linguistically intriguing, and I'll post about them one of these days.

For a summary of the spelling reform, which was used uniformly in the Soviet Union for the decade of nation building, I cite Pontus and the Left citing Agtzidis:

[Vlasis Agtzidis [Βλάσης Αγτζίδης]. 2005. "Το γλωσσικό ζήτημα στις ελληνικές κοινότητες της Σοβιετικής Ένωσης" [The language question in the Greek communities of the Soviet Union], Τα ιστορικά 43 (December): 421-448.]

The initiative for officially establishing Demotic and historical orthography began from Batumi. It was discussed and decided in teachers conventions at Kuban, Sukhumi, and later Crimea. On May 10 1926 in a Union-Wide Meeting of Greek intellectuals in Moscow, it was decided to establish Demotic instead of Puristic, and to replace the 24-letter alphabet with a 20-letter alphabet. This decision abolished [orthographic] diphthongs, preserved only ι and ο, replaced ου with υ, preserved only ς in lower case and abolished σ, wrote double consonants analytically (i.e. ξ as κς and ψ as πς) and required a hyphen for possessive pronouns.

Essentially the meeting accepted the proposal of the Central Committee for a New Alphabet to make Demotic official and replace historical orthography with phonetic. As for accentuation, stress was abolished on monosyllables and words stressed on the last syllable. These moves were completely in line with the new attitudes to language which had predominated in the Soviet sphere. The origin of these attitudes can be located in Marxist thought, where there is an effort to analyse superstructure phenomena in class terms.

The decisions of the meeting included a proposal to deal with illiteracy by publishing books in local dialects. The meeting selected Psichari's Demotic:
"A demotic pure and guileless, freed of every dead and false element, so we are not forced to revise it every so often."
“Δημοτική αγνή και άδολη, λυτρωμένη από κάθε στοιχείο νεκρό και ψεύτικο για να μην αναγκαστούμε κάθε λίγο και λιγάκι να κάνουμε αναθεώρηση”,
or, as it was written:
“Διμοτικι αγνι κε άδολι, λιτρομένι απο κάθε ςτιχίο νεκρο κε πςέφτικο για να μιν ανανκαςτύμε κάθε λίγο κε λιγάκι να κάνυμε αναθεόριςι.”

To spell out the rules:

Historical	Soviet
αι	ε
ει	ι
οι	ι
η	ι
υ	ι
ω	ο
ου	υ
ξ	κς
ψ	πς
σ	ς
γκ	νκ
γγ	νκ
αυ	αφ, αβ
ευ	εφ, εβ

The hyphen for enclitic possessives disambiguates them from the identical stressed pronouns: ο άντρας-μυ ίπε "my man [= husband] said", ο άντρας μυ ίπε "the man told me". The hyphen was also being proposed for the monotonic in Greece in the 1970s—it's in the first few volumes of Kriaras' dictionary; but it was abandoned in the official spelling, in favour of the harebrained rule that accenting the stressed pronouns is optional (ο άντρας μου είπε, ο άντρας μού είπε). Harebrained, because leaving it optional means noone will do it, and noone does.

The excerpt is in the Demotic of Greece, which was initially the language used officially by the Greeks of the Soviet Union. The alphabet was also used for Pontic and Mariupolitan, and its digraphs have been taken up in the spelling used on the Pontic Wikipedia: ςς for /ʃ/, ζζ for /ʒ/, τζ for /tʃ/, ντζ for /dʒ/, γκ for /ɡ/, νκ for /ŋɡ/. Topkharas in his grammar codifying Pontic writes [æ ø] < /ia io/ phonologically as ια, ιο, without clearly explaining how they are different from Demotic ια ιο [ja jo]—though he does point out how hard it was for Pontian schoolchildren to learn Demotic ια, ιο. He also used no accents at all.

[Τοπχαράς, Κ. 1998 [1928, 1932]. Η γραμματική της ποντιακής: Ι γραμματικι τι ρομεικυ τι ποντεικυ τι γλοςας. Thessalonica: Κυριακίδης]

(The Wikipedia orthography, which otherwise uses historical orthography, adopts Topkharas' ςς ζζ, and makes its own diphthongs εα εο for [æ ø]. I alluded to it briefly this time last year.)

I thought I should put up a more extensive sampler. This is from the collection Φλογομινίτρες Σπίθες, "Sparks foretelling a Flame".

[Leo, L., Marmarinos, A. & Kostoprav, G. (eds) 1933. Φλογομινίτρες Σπίθες; Φιλολογικι σιλογι απτα καλίτερα έργα τον ελίνον καλιτεχνον τις Σοβιετικίς Υκρανίας. Mariupol: Εκδοτικο τον εθνικον μιονοτίτον—ελινικο τμίμα.]

The collection includes works both in Mariupolitan and in Demotic. This is from L. Lefteri: Πέρα απτα ςίνορα… γιορτάζυμε, αγονιζόμαςτε, "Beyond the borders, we celebrate, we struggle." (pp. 15-16). The rule on not accenting the last syllable has not been applied. You'll have to pardon me for not translating this particular specimen of agitprop…

Κίνο το βράδι ι προκίρικςες πέςανε ςα βροχί. Παντύ—ςτο δρόμο, ςτι φάμπρικα, ςτο εργοςτάςιο, κάτο απτον πάνκο τις δυλιάς, κάτο απτο ςφιρί, το εργαλίο, ςτο ςκολιό, ςτο γραφίο—πλιμίρα ι προκίρικςες.
Ι αςτινομία λίςακςε απτο κακό-τις. Βάλτικε όλι ςε κίνιςι. Έπρεπε με κάθε θιςία να μαζεφτύνε αφτά τα «καταραμένα χαρτιά τις Μόςχας», έπρεπε να καθαριςτί ο τόπος, να βρεθύνε ι ένοχι!
Μα ι προλετάριι πίρανε μιρυδιά. Κςέραμε απτα τέτια. Ι προκίρικςι πὔπεφτε ςτα χέρια ενός διαβαζότανε από δέκα. Τι διαβάζαμε κε τι μεταβιβάζαμε από χέρι ςε χέρι. Τι διαβάζαμε με λαχτάρα, μ' ενθυςιαζμό. Μέςα ςτις λίγες φλογερές γραμές-τις βλέπαμε ζοντανί, ολοκόκινι να κςεπιδάι τιν επανάςταςι. Βλέπαμε το ρόςο προλετάριο να κςεςικόνετε ενάντια ςτο λιςτί–καπιταλιςτί, ενάντια ςτον τςάρο· το μυζίκο τις απέραντις Ροςίας να κςεςικόνετε πάνο ςτον τςιφλικά, ν' αρπάζι τι γι ςτα χέρια-τυ. Βλέπαμε μάχες, έματα, παραζάλες, νίκες, θρίαμβο… Ι μάζα νικάι. Τςακίζυντε ι οχτρί.
Βλέπαμε τι λίςα τις πανκόζμιας μπυρζυαζίας. Ι μπυρζυάδες όλον τον χορόν τρίζυνε τα δόντια-τυς, γιατί ςιντελίτε το ιροικό, νικοφόρο, μεγαλόπρεπο ςοςιαλιςτικό χτίςιμο. Βλέπαμε το λέφτερο πια μυζίκο να καλιεργί το κολεχτιβικό χοράφι με τράκτορ, μ' αγροτικές μιχανές. Στο εργοςτάςιο ι ζοί βράζι. Ι ςτρατιές τον υντάρνικον εχτελύνε τα βςτρέτςνι. Πςιλά τα τέμπα τις ςοςιαλιςτικίς ανικοδόμιςις. Αλάζι το πρόςοπο τις απέραντις χορας το Σοβιέτ. Νέα ζοί προβάλι. Ο οχτρός πιότερο τρίζι τα δόντια-τα. Λιςάι. Ετιμάζι επίθεςι.
Κε μιλύςε ακόμα το χαρτί, μιλύςε, καλύςε ςε προςοχί: «Προλετάριι όλυ τυ κόζμυ ιπεραςπίςτε τι μαχιτικί μπριγάδα τις πανκόζμιας επανάςταςις!»

⁂

Θ' άκςιζε αςφαλός να κατεβύμε τι μέρα ετύτι ςτυς δρόμυς, να γιορτάςυμε με το λέφτερο ρόςο εργάτι κι' αγρότι, να δίκςυμε τιν αγάπι-μας, να δόςυμε τον όρκο-μας, πος θα ςταθύμε πάντα πιςτί ιπεραςπιςτές τις προλετάρικίς-μας πατρίδας, να ςιςφίκςυμε πιότερο τις γραμές-μας, να παλέπςυμε διαδιλόνοντας, πος κ' εμίς θα τραβίκςυμε ςτον ίδιο δρόμο.

⁂

Κςιμέροςε ι μέρα τις επανάςταςις—ι μέρα τυ γιορταζμύ, μα κε τυ αγόνα.
Ι πόλι ίνε γιομάτι από ένοπλες δίναμες. Το φάζμα τυ κομυνιζμύ τρομάζι τι μπυρζυαζία—Ι ΕΣΣΔ φοτίζι το δρόμο—Κινιτοπιί λιπόν τις δίναμές-τις.
Μα ι προλετάριι δεν κλονίζυντε. Ίνε αποφαςιζμένι να γιορτάςυνε, ν' αγονιςτύνε, να κατεβύνε ςτυς δρόμυς. Δεν κερδίζετε ι λεφτεριά δίχος πάλι, δίχος έμα.
Τραβάμε κατά ομάδες ςτον τόπο τις ςινκέντροςις. Τα όργανα τις αςτινομίας μας διαλίυνε, μας χτιπάνε, μα εμίς πάλι μαζεβύμαςτε, τραβάμε ένας-ένας ίτε διο-διο κι πυ μας έλεγε το «καταραμένο χαρτί», εκί πυ μας καλύςε ι κοματικί οργάνοςι.

⁂

Ι μάζα τριγιρίζι ένα πρόχιρο βίμα. Στα πρόςοπα ολονόν-μας λάμπι ι χαρά, ο ενθυςιαζμός… Ένας λεβέντις εργάτις ανεβένι ςτο βίμα. Σικόνι πςιλά τι γροθιά-τυ. Τα λόγια-τυ απλά, μα… γιομάτα φοτιά. Ι ςπίθες, πυ βγένυνε απτο ςτόμα-τυ, ανάβυνε ολόγιρα μια πιρκαγιά. Κάθε τυ λόγο ι μάζα τον κάνι δικό-τις.
Μιλάι… για τι ροςικί επανάςταςι, για τι ςτράτα τυ Λένιν. Καλί ς' αγόνα. Το… «Εμπρός τις γις ι κολαζμένι» ςκεπάζι τα τελεφτέα λόγια-τυ.
Ένα λιςαςμένο ςκιλολόι κςεφιτρόνι απτιν άκρι τυ δρόμυ. Πλακόςανε τα ένοπλα ςκιλιά. Ορμάνε. Βαράνε. Ιποκόπανι, πιςτολιές, φοτιά, βόλια…
Ι μάζα άοπλι αμίνετε, επιτίθετε, χτιπάι με πέτρες, με κςίλα, μ' ότι βρίκι μπροςτά-τις.

⁂

Το ντυφέκι, ι ένοπλι δίναμι, ο ματοβαμένος φαςιζμός «θριάμβεπςε», «νίκιςε»!… Κάμποςι πλιγομένι… ένας νεκρός… γιομάτι έμα ι δρόμι.
Το τίμιο έμα τις εργατιάς χίθικε πάλι. Μα πάνο ςε τύτο το έμα δόςαμε τον όρκο-μας. «Νίκιςε» ακόμα μια φορά ο οχτρός μια «δοκςαζμένι νίκι»…
Μα ο προλετάριος—ετύτος ο γίγαντας, ο αγονιςτίς τυ δρόμυ ςφίνκι πιότερο τι γροθιά-τυ, πικνόνι πιότερο τις γραμές-τυ ίςτερα από κάθε τέτια «νίκι» τυ οχτρύ.
Δεν ίνε μακριά ι τελιοτικί νίκι, ι δικιά-μας νίκι, ι προλετάρικι νίκι. Ι ςτράτα πὔδικςε ο Λένιν, μέςα απτιν οπία διαβένυνε νικιφόρα τα εκατομίρια τον προλετάριον τις χόρας το Σοβιέτ ίνε ολόφτι.
Ι δίναμες τις επανάςταςις ςιςφίνκυντε. Το προλεταριάτο πικνόνι τις γραμές-τυ. Σιμένι ι αποφαςιςτικί μάχι!

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Maximus of Gallipoli, Geneva, 1638: Mark 13:1-22

I've been off for a week, and things on this blog have been a little salty-languaged of late (and will get so again: there's a nice list of slang.gr idioms I'm planning on walking through). To offer some respite from all that, I'm posting an excerpt from the translation of the New Testament into Modern Greek by Maximus of Gallipoli (Maximos of Kallipolis), sponsored by Cyril Lucaris and published posthumously in 1638.

The translation itself and its publication history is a fascinating story, but I haven't had the time to go through the secondary literature (including a 1200 pp recent treatise on the translation.) For now, there's an article from the Jehovah's Witnesses comprehensively reviewing past translation efforts, and a glancing mention in a recent article by Paschalis Kitromilides:

I did want to use a passage to illustrate the language of the time; that's always tricky with Bible translation, which tends to linguistic conservatism at the best of times—let alone in Modern Greek, under the heavy shadow of the original. I thought about 1 Cor 13, which aside from being the passage everyone knows contains that delightful crux at verse 3 which gave birth, I have argued, to a brand new tense of Greek.

(Andrew Malone's recent paper on the crux has the incredibly good taste to cite my paper. And/or, Andrew Malone has the incredibly good taste to be a friend of mine...)

But Paul is Paul, whatever language you translate him into, and the translation was as a result too formal to illustrate what I wanted it to. The same goes for the other recommendation I had, Ephesians 3 (which would have had the added advantage of being a shoutout to Mike Aubrey's Ἐν Εφέσῳ blog on New Testament Greek linguistics.)

So I opened up the Gospels volume of the recent edition semi-randomly, and came across the Little Apocalypse in Mark. There's a fair bit of archaism to be seen still; but not surprisingly, its language was vivid enough to illustrate the grammatical points I was after. I'll post a grammatical analysis as I did with Chantakites; and if anyone's interested, I'll go through the photocopies I have for more information about the translation.

Mark 13:1-22.

1 Και εβγαίνοντας από το ιερόν ο Ιησούς, λέγει τον ένας από τους μαθητάς του: «Διδάσκαλε, για δες, τι λογής πέτρες, και τι λογής οικοδομήματα!»
2 Και απεκρίθη ο Ιησούς και λέγει τον: «Βλέπεις ετούτες τες μεγάλες οικοδομές; Δεν θέλει απομείνει πέτρα απάνου την πέτραν οπού να μην χαλασθεί».
3 Και καθεζόμενος αυτός εις το όρος των Ελαιών, αγνάντια του ιερού, τον ερωτούσαν κατά μόνας, ο Πέτρος και ο Ιάκωβος και ο Ιωάννης και Ανδρέας:
4 «Διδάσκαλε, ειπέ μας πότε θέλουν γένει ετούτα; και τι είναι το σημάδι όταν μέλλουσιν ετούτα όλα να τελειωθούν;»
5 Και ο Ιησούς, έστοντας να τους αποκριθεί, άρχισε να τους λέγει: «Έχετε τον νούν σας να μην σας πλανέσει κανένας.
6 Διατί πολλοί θέλουσιν έλθει εις το όνομά μου να λέγουν ότι “Εγώ είμαι [ο Χριστός]„, και θέλουν πλανήσει πολλούς.
7 Και όταν ακούσητε πολέμους και ακοάς πολέμων, μην συγχυσθείτε· διατί κάμει χρεία να γενούσιν ετούτα—αμή ακόμη δεν είναι το τέλος.
8 Διατί θέλει σηκωθεί έθνος απάνου εις άλλο έθνος· και βασιλεία απάνου εις άλλην βασιλείαν· και θέλουσι γένει σεισμοί κατά τόπους· και θέλουσι γένει πείναι και σύγχυσες.
9 Ετούτα είναι αρχές των πόνων. Και φυλάγετε εσείς του λόγου σας· διατί θέλουν σας παραδώσει εις τα συνέδρια, και εις τες συναγωγές θέλετε δαρθεί· και θέλουν σας πάγει [42] ομπροστά εις τους αυθεντάδες και βασιλείς δια λόγου μου, εις μαρτυρίαν αναντίαν τους. [43]

• [42] ή θέλετε σταθεί
• [43] ήγουν να μην ημπορούν να απολογηθούσι

10 Και ανάγκη είναι να κηρυχθεί πρώτον το ευαγγέλιον εις όλα τα έθνη.
11 Και όταν σας υπάγουν να σας παραδώσουν, να μην μεριμνάτε πρωτύτερα τι να ειπείτε, μηδέ μελετάτε· αλλά εκείνο οπού σας δοθεί εκείνην την ώραν, τούτο λαλείτε· διατί δεν θέλετε είσται εσείς οπού λαλείτε, αλλά το Πνεύμα το Άγιον.
12 Και θέλει παραδώσει αδελφός τον αδελφόν εις τον θάνατον· και ο πατέρας το παιδί του· και τα παιδία θέλουν σηκωθεί απάνου εις τους γονείς τους και θέλουν τους θανατώσει.
13 Και θέλετε είσται μισημένοι από όλους δια το όνομά μου· αμή όποιος υπομείνει έως το τέλος, εκείνος θέλει σωθεί.
14 Και όταν ιδείτε το “σίχαμα της ερημώσεως„, εκείνο οπού είπεν ο Δανιήλ ο προφήτης, να στέκει εκεί οπού δεν πρέπει (εκείνος οπού το διαβάζει, ας γρικά), τότε εκείνοι που είναι εις την Ιουδαίαν ας φεύγουσιν εις τα βουνά.
15 Και εκείνος οπού είναι απάνου εις το δώμα, ας μην κατέβει εις το σπίτι του μηδέ να έμπει μέσα να πάρει τίποτες από το σπίτι του.
16 Και εκείνος οπού είναι εις το χωράφι, ας μην γυρίσει οπίσω να πάρει το ρούχον του.
17 Και αλίμονον εις τες εγκαστρωμένες και εκείνες οπού βυζάνονται εκείνες τες ημέρες.
18 Και παρακαλείτε να μην γένει το φευγατίον σας [εις την ώραν] του χειμώνος.
19 Διατί θλίψις έχει να γένει εκείνες τες ημέρες, οπού τέτοια δεν έγινεν από την αρχήν της κτίσεως, την οποίαν έκτισεν ο Θεός, έως τώρα, και μηδέ να γένει.
20 Και εάν ο Κύριος δεν ολιγόστευσε τες ημέρες εκείνες, δεν ήθελε σωθεί καμία σάρξ· αλλά δια τους διαλεμένους τους οποίους εδιάλεξε εκόντεψε τες ημέρες.
21 Και τότε, εάν σας ειπεί κανένας: “Να, εδώ είναι ο Χριστός„ ή “Να, εκεί [είναι]„, μην τον πιστεύσετε.
22 Διατί θέλουσι σηκωθεί ψευδόχριστοι και ψευδοπροφήται και θέλουσι κάμει [44] σημεία και τέρατα, εις το να πλανούν και να σύρουν (αν ήτον δυνατόν) και τους διαλεμένους.»

• [44] ήγουν δώσει

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Manuel Chantakites, Away from Crete, 1420

Rather than continue from the previous post by presenting the theoretical framework of documentary texts, I will instead give a sample of that kind of text. This is one of the absurdly few private letters we have in the vernacular from the Early Modern period. It's such a rare thing, Kriaras' online dictionary abbreviates it as just Γράμμα κρ. διαλ., "letter in Cr(etan) dial(ect)", with no risk of ambiguity.

The letter has survived through a fluke of history. The State Archives of Venice, "Duke of Candia" (= Crete) section, include a few documents copied for the benefit of Cretans, anxious to have the colonial power's backup for their legal claims. Most of them are dry contracts, and most of those are in Latin: there are several published collections of notary documents in Cretan dialect, but they are all from the 16th and 17th century.

In this instance, we have something different. The widow of Manuel Chantakites, goldsmith of Chandax (= Iraklion), asked for this letter to be notarised and entered into the Venetian archives on March 15, 1446. The letter was from her husband, who had been forced to abandon her and leave Crete. Manuel wrote his letter to be used as a will, because of the dispute over their houses with his father. From the parenthetical note at the end, we know he wanted his wife as much as his father to read the letter. His wife already had witnesses authenticate the letter in December 1420, so we can surmise the letter was sent earlier that year, or maybe a year or so before.

This was the only will the widow had from Manuel, which suggests he never did come back. Given the extraordinary step of having a private letter witnessed in Iraklion and copied in Venice, she clearly continued to be at odds with her in-laws.

As a human interest story, the letter is rich stuff. Manuel admits to abandoning his wife unwillingly: the letter's editor, Manousakas, suspects he had committed homicide. The Kriaras dictonary calls him 'Manuel "Chantakites"', because "Chantakites" just means "from Chandax"; so Manuel was not necessarily using his surname. The letter itself has a potent mix of indignation, threats, and affection. (The sarcasm was potent enough that I contemplated using the irony mark; but this is a 1420 letter, not a 2010 instant message, so that would be a distraction.) I'll let the letter stand on its own, though in a follow-up I'm going to comment on its language extensively.

The vernacular is unusually clean for the period—although Crete was always less macaronic about its Greek writing than the mainland was. There's only one errant δέ "but" in the end of the first paragraph. The author is literate, but not a scholar (like the other vernacular letter writer of the time, Cardinal Bessarion). To be literate meant you were exposed to learnèd Greek, and your writing would reflect that; but given that caveat, this letter is as good as we're going to get as linguistic evidence, without the conscious manipulation of language that characterises literature (vernacular no less than learnèd).

Maybe Machairas' chronicle is a better witness still, come to think of it, simply because there's more of it. But that's Cypriot dialect, and an entirely different post.

I'm reproducing the text from Manousakas' 1962 edition—which appeared in the kind of occasional publication that has guaranteed most copies in existence are photocopies. I've put the text in monotonic, because it's straightforwardly Modern Greek. (I've already posted about the debate over accentuation of editions.) I've respelled the orthographic subjunctives as contemporary indicatives—not because I have any particular enthusiasm for doing so, but to preempt TAK saying I should have. :-) (Manousakas already spells the subjunctives without iota subscript anyway, so he was just using the Modern Greek spelling of his time.)

[Manousakas, M.I. 1962. Ένα παλιό (1420;) ιδιωτικό γράμμα σε κρητική διάλεκτο: Τα παράπονα του ξενιτεμένου Μανουήλ Χαντακίτη για την απονιά του πατέρα του. Kρητική Πρωτοχρονιά 2. 35-39.]

Archivo di Stato di Venezia—Duca di Candia 11: Atti antichi 2, volume 25 bis (1443–1456) folio 3, p. 21v.

† Εις τον πατέραν μου και την μητέραν μου πολλά προσκυνήματα από εμέναν τον υιόν σας τον Μανοήλ τον Χαντακίτην.

Ήξευρε, πατέρα, ότι πολλά με επρίκανες, ωσάν ήκουσα να γυρεύγεις της νύφης σου νοίκια και να τηνε πρικάνεις. Και σώνει την η εδική μου πρίκα οπού της έκαμα (οκαί κατέχεις καλά και μεγάλην πρίκαν της έκαμα εγώ). Και εθάρρουν εις εσέναν, άματά ’μουν μιαν φοράν το παιδίν σου και εξενιτεύτηκα, να φλογοτομάς το αίμα σου να ποτίζεις την νύφην σου και ποτέ πρίκαν να μηδέν έχει από σένα. Και εγώ έμαθα ότι έκαμες ωσάν ήθελες. Και δοξάζω τον Θεόν. Και τούτον σου θυμίζω, ότι, α δώσει ο Θεός, γλήγορα θέλω είσταιν αυτού· οκαί, αν εμίσσεψα από χολής μου πολλής, έλθει θέλω, α δώσει ο Θεός. Και θάρρουν ότι όχι και ήτονε γυναίκα μου, αμέ αν ήθελεν είσται καύχα μου, ουδέν ετύχαινεν να κάμεις ωσάν μού ’παν ότι ήκαμες. Και ευχαριστώ σου πολλά. Και, α δώσει ο Θεός να έλθω και εγώ αυτού, εγνωρίσει θέλω τους καλούς μου εδικούς και τους καλούς μου φίλους. Όμως δε ο Θεός μετά σας.

† Όλα μου τα αδέλφια πολλά καταφιλώ. Και το περιπλέον την σπλαχνικήν μου αδελφήν την κερ-Αντωνίαν την Μαρμαράδαιναν πολλά καταφιλώ χέρια της και τα πόδια της. Ομοίως και τους γαμπρούς μου και τους εδικούς μου όλους.

† Ήξευρε, πατέρα, ότι ήμαθα και ήλεγες να εβγάλεις την νύφην σου από τα σπίτια της, α μου έρθει τίβοτας. Κ’ ήλεγες το θέλημά σου. Και εγώ λέγω, οκαί αν έχω χίλιες χιλιάδες δουκάτα, όχι και α δεν έχω τίβοτας, θέλω να είναι όλα εδικά της, τόσο σπίτια, ωσάν άλλα πράγματα. Και τούτον θέλω το γράμμα να έναι τεσταμέντο και ό,τι γράφω να έναι στερεόν.

Εγώ ανωγεγραμμένος Μανουήλ ο χρουσοχός έγραψα με την χέραν μου.

(† Τούτον, ωσάν το αναγνώσεις, πέψε το του κυρού μου και της μάννας μου.)

† Εγράφη μηνί Μαγίω εις την πρώτην.


To my father and my mother, many obeisances from me, your son Manuel Chantakites.

Know this, father, that you grieved me a lot, when I heard that you are asking for rent from your daughter-in-law, and are grieving her. And the grief I've given her was quite enough. (And you know well that I have given her much grief.) And since I was after all your child and have gone away, I trusted in you even to bleed your own veins for your daughter-in-law to drink, and that she should never have grief from you. And I have learned that you have done as you willed. And I give thanks to God. And I remind you of this: that, should God grant it, I will be back there soon; and though I have gone away with much bitterness, I will indeed be back, should God grant it. And I trusted that, never mind if she were my wife, not even if she were my whore should she deserve for you to have done what they've told me you've done. And I thank you a lot. And should God grant that I will come back—I shall know my true relatives and my true friends. But God be with you all.

Many kisses to all my siblings. And especially my dear sister Lady Antonia Marmaras, I kiss her hands and feet. The same goes for my brothers-in-law and all my relatives.

Know this, father, that I have learned you've been saying that you would kick your daughter-in-law out of her houses, if anything should happen to me. And you have been speaking your will. And I say that, even if I had thousands of thousands of ducats, never mind the nothing that I do have, I want it all to be hers, the houses as much as the other things. And I want this letter to be a will, and whatever I write to be fixed.

I the above-signed Manuel the goldsmith have written this with my own hand.

(When you have read this, send it to my mum and dad.)

Written on the first of the month of May.

...Read more

Malamirovo, Bulgaria, 813

We have very, very, very little vernacular material from the Dark Ages, between Leontius of Neapolis in vii AD, and Michael Glycas' Prison Verses from 1158. A couple of acclamations, the odd proverb, a song half-written down by Anna Comnena, a song reconstructed from a 16th century curse against mice, a few legal deeds from Southern Italy; that's pretty much it.

Except for:

• Beševliev, V. 1963. Die Protobulgarischen Inschriften. Berlin: Akademie Verlag.

These are the inscriptions placed around Bulgaria by the Bulgars in the eighth and ninth centuries. The Bulgars still spoke a Turkic language: they had not yet been assimilated to the Bulgarians they ruled. There are a few Turkic words in their inscriptions, but for the most part, they are in Greek. The presumption is, they were carved by Greek prisoners of war.

So these inscriptions potentially mark the earliest instances of Modern Greek—which is assumed to have formed exactly during that period. Maybe, maybe not: the phonology is certainly Modern Greek and accurate, except that υ and οι are still conflated as /y/ (λυπά). (The first evidence we have of them switching to /i/ is from around 1030.) Only some prepositions have switched from the genitive to the accusative. The texts are the earliest evidence for the Northern Greek use of the accusative in indirect objects (έδοκε[ν] αυτόν ο θεός). But they aren't particularly rich syntactically, so they don't tell us as much as they might.

The proto-Bulgarian inscriptions (to use the Bulgarian name for the Bulgars) don't get a lot of airplay in histories of Greek. Part of the reason is, they're not literary texts. Surely part of the reason is, they are texts unabashedly hostile to the Greeks. And the illustration I'm posting is particularly chilling: it's Krum, boasting of his victories against the Byzantines between 811 and 813, and then going back to recounting the atrocities of Nicephorus I, emperor of "The Lower Land" (modern Eastern Thrace). After the Battle of Pliska in 811, likely commemorated at the end of this inscription, Krum drank wine out of Nicephorus' skull. A year after the inscription, Krum himself was dead.

The inscription, Beševliev no. 2 was originally found in a hill near the village of Hambarli (now Malamirovo), and is now in the archaeological museum of Varna.

This is an inscription, and some of you may not be familiar with the conventions for transcribing inscriptions. Quoting from the first site I googled:

[ ] Square brackets enclose letters which are thought to have been originally engraved but which have been lost through the breaking or defacement of the stone.

( ) Round brackets enclose letters which have been added by the epigraphist to complete an abbreviated word; or, less commonly, which have been substituted by him to correct a blunder.

< > Angular brackets enclose letters which the epigraphist believes were included in error.

| A vertical bar indicates the beginning of a fresh line on the stone.

Ạ A dot placed under a letter indicates that it is not fully legible (through decay or erasure). (Your font may mangle that to a blank square.)

[ο Κρουμος ο] [ά]-
ρχον Ϲ̣ΒΗΝΝΟ. ε-
ξήλθεν ης (Κονσταν)ηνόπο-
(λη)ν (με τον λαόν) αυτού.

or:

[Ομουρταγ ο] [ά]-
ρχον Ϲ̣ΒΗΝΝΟ. ε-
ξήλθεν ης (την πό)λην ο πα-
(τ)ήρ (μου με τον λαόν) αυτού.

[κ]ε ο αδελφός αυ-
[τ]ού ουκ εληθάρ-
[γ]ησεν αυτόν κε εξήλ-
[θ]εν κε έδοκε[ν]
αυτόν ο θεό-
ς κε τόπ[ου]ς κ[ε]
κάσστρα ερ-
ήμοσεν [τ]άδε
<ϹΕ> την Σερδη-
κήν, την<ν> Δεβελ-
τόν, την Κονστα-
ντήαν, την (Βερσ)ηνι-
κίαν, Αδρηαν[ού]-
πολην. Το̣ύτα
(ερυμνά) τα
κάστρα [έ]λαβε-
ν. τα δε λυπά κ[άσ]-
τρα έδοκεν ο θε[ό]ς
φόβον κε ά[φ]ηκ-
[α]ν κε έφυγαν κ-
ε ο κά[τ]ου τόπος (ουκ) λ-
ηθάργησεν τον τό-
πον τούτον, <τ> όπου ε[ξ]ή-
λθε(ν με) τον όλον λαόν κε
έκ(α)ψ(εν τα) χορήα ημόν<ν> α[υ]-
τό(ς) ο γέρον ο βασηλεύ[ς]
ο φαρακλός [κ]ε επήρεν
όλα κε τους όρκους ε-
λησμόνησεν κε εξ-
[ή]λθεν επή (αυτόν) ο άρχον <ο ά>
ο Κρο[υ]μος προς [τ]ο πολ(εμήσε)
[κε τον βασ]ηλέ[α] ε[νίκησεν? εφόνευσεν?]
ΟΝ̣Ε .. κε απήλθεν ήνα
...... [κ]ε ερήμ(ο)σα την
---

... Lord Krum ... went forth to Constantinople with his people [Or: (Krum's son) Lord Omurtag ... my father went forth to the City with his people.] And his brother neglected him not, and went forth, and God granted to Krum, and so he laid the following places and fortresses to waste: Serdica [Sofia], Debeltos, Constantia [location uncertain], Versinicia, Adrianople [Edirne]. These strong fortresses did he conquer. The other fortresses, God gave them fear and they left and fled. And the Lower Land—he did not forget that land, whence the old bald emperor himself came out with all his people, and burned our villages and took everything away, and forgot his oaths. And Lord Krum went forth against him, to make war on him, and he has (defeated? killed?) the emperor, ... and he left to ... and I have laid to waste the (Lower Land). ...Read more

Tsakonian song online

For our next text in our tour of Greek linguistic oddities: this collection of Tsakonian songs has been online for something like ten years, and it's about time I tried to translate the one song in Tsakonian.

Before I do, a trap for the unwary. The first song, Σου 'πα, μάνα, πάντρεψέ με "I told you mother, marry me off", is not in Tsakonian but standard Greek. It is however the song to which the Tsakonian dance is danced. At least one Internet denizen who didn't know Greek and found the song on YouTube was misled to say how she liked the sound of Tsakonian.

Our Tsakonian song, posted without translation, is this. Exercise to Greek readers: do you have any idea what this says? Coz if not, Tsakonian is a language distinct from Greek.

Απατζά τσυρά Μαρούα
Απατζά το Μαρασία
Απατζά το Μαρασία
Τσ ' ακατούσε τθάν Ελία
Τσ ' ακατούσε τθάν Ελία
Εκεί έχα τθα κουνία
Ζατσ ' οβού τσυρά Μαρούα
Ζατσ ' οβούε τθαν Ελία
Ζατσ ' οβούε τθαν Ελία
Τσε κατσούτσε τθα κουνία
Τσίντα βου τσυρά Μαρούα
Τσιντα βούα κακομοίρα
Τσιντα βούα κακομοίρα
Πε κατσούτε α κουνία
Πε κατσούτε α κουνία
Πφού θα ζάει το τσίε Λία

OK, lemme try and make sense of this. I'll use my transliteration (which is pretty much the lay translation plus my hobbyhorse τχ), and I'll put a literal Greek gloss next to it to illustrate how the Tsakonian happened.

• ρζ [r̝, ʒ] < [rj]
  
• σχ [ʃ]
  
• τσχ [tʃ]
  
• τθ [tʰ]
  
• πφ [pʰ]
  
• κχ [kʰ]
  
• ννι [ni] < /ne/
  
• νι [ɲi] < /ni, mi/
  
• λλι [li] < /le/
  
• λι [ʎi] < /li/
  
• τχ (or τζ) [tɕ] (or [tsʰ] < [c]
  
• ντζ [dz]
  

My Tsakonian rendering	Greek crutch
Απαντζά (α) τχυρά Μαρούα Απαντζά το Μαρασία Τχ ' ακατούσε τθάν Ελία έκι έχα τθα κουνία Ζατχ ' ο βού' τχυρά Μαρούα Ζατχ ' ο βούε τθαν Ελία Τχαι κατσχούτχε τθα κουνία Τσχίντα βου' τχυρά Μαρούα Τσχίντα βούα κακομοίρα Πφ' έ' κατσχούτε α κουνία Πφού θα ζάει το τσίε Λία	όπᾳ-αντί (α) κυρά Μαρία όπᾳ-αντί το Μαραθία και κάτωσε σταν Ελέα ήτο έχουσα στα κωνίς. Διάβηκε ο βους κυρά Μαρία διάβηκε ο βους σταν Ελέα και τσάκωσε στα κωνίς τσίζουσα βοών κυρά Μαρία τσίζουσα βοώσα κακομοίρα που ένι τσακωμένο α κωνίς πώς θα διαβείς (σ)το zio Ηλία
Standard Greek	English
Απέναντι η κυρά Μαρία απέναντι το Μαραθία και αποκάτω στην Ελέα είχε (σ)τη στάμνα Πήγε το βόδι κυρά Μαρία πήγε το βόδι στην Ελέα κι έσπασε τη στάμνα. Λύπηση–κλάψα κυρά Μαρία λύπηση–κλάψα κακομοίρα που είναι σπασμένη η στάμνα Πώς θα πας στο μπάρμπα-Λία.	Opposite—Lady Mary— opposite Marathias and under Elia she had a jar The ox went, Lady Mary, the ox went to Elea and broke the jar. Sorrowing and lamenting, Lady Mary, sorrowing and lamenting poor thing that the jar is broken. How will you get to Uncle Elias?

Not terribly confident in the emendation of the transcription, but that's what I've come up with. There are alternations of τo "the" and τθο "to the" in the text given which don't make sense, and I'll put down to mishearng? Note that κουνία "jar" is *not* κούνια "cradle" (which also exists in Tsakonian). οβού is likely ο βού, but βούε is the plural oxen, which doesn't make sense after singular article ο: poetic license, or utter misunderstanding on my part? In Tsakonian κακομοίρα should be only κακόμερε according to Costakis' dictionary (feminine as well as masculine), and κακομοίρα is a loan from Standard Greek which matches the metre; so the song would have been composed with Standard Greek influence on the vocab. I'm hoping I got τσχίντα βούα right as the active participles "sorrowing and lamenting", which is not at all a Standard Greek way of saying things.

[EDIT: Translation confirmed.] ...Read more

Judaeo-Greek Genesis 11:1-9

What text to publish as a sample of the 1547 Judaeo-Greek Torah? The obvious Genesis 1 has already been scanned in by the Jewish Languages site. And a good thing too, because my photocopy of that page is really crap. Valetas included Genesis 9, the story of Lot.

Well, if you've been trained as a linguist, there is only one text to do. Gen 11:1-9: to wit, Tower of Babel.

You've been warned about it being a word for word translation...

1. και ήτον όλη ηγής γλώσσα μνι̯α και λόγι̯α μόνα.

2. και ήτον όντεν εσυνεπήραν από ανατολή και ευρήκαν κάμπο εις την ηγή της Σινεαρ και έκατσαν εκεί.

3. και είπαν ανήρ προς το σύντροφό του· κονόμησε να πλιθι̯άσωμε πλίθους και να κάψωμε εις καψιμό. και ήτον εκείνων η πλιθά ι̯α πέτρα και η λάσπη ήτον εκείνων ι̯α πηλός.

4. και είπεν· κονόμησε να χτίσωμε εμάς κάστρο και πύργο και η κορφή του εις τον ορανό και να κάμωμε εμάς όνομα πρόςποτε να σκορπίσωμε ιπί πρόσωπα όλης της ηγής.

5. και εκατέβην ο Κύρι̯ος να ͜ιδή το κάστρο και το πύργο ός έχτισαν παιδι̯ά του άθρωπου.

6. και είπεν ο Κύρι̯ος· ιδού λαός ένας και γλώσσα μνι̯α εις όλους τους και ετούτο οπού εχέρισαν να κάμουν· και τώρα δε θέλει εμποδιθεί [Paris: να μηδέν εμποδισθή] από εκείνους όλο ός ελογάρι̯ασαν σαν να κάμουν.

7. κονόμησε να κατέβουμε και να ανακατώσωμε εκεί τη γλώσσα τους ως να μην ακούσουν ανήρ γλώσσα του σύντροφού του.

8. και εσκόρπισεν ο Κύρι̯ος εκείνους από εκεί ιπί πρόσωπα όλης της ηγής και έπαψαν να χτίσουν [Paris: του χτίσει] το κάστρο.

9. ιπί έτσι έκραξεν το όνομα της Βαβελ ότι εκεί ανακάτωσεν ο Κύρι̯ος τη γλώσσα όλης της ηγής, και από εκεί εσκόρπισέ τους ο Κύρι̯ος ιπί πρόσωπα όλης της ηγής.

Tsakonian on YouTube

User kepleon has uploaded this past month four vids of someone telling primary school kids in Lenidi about Tsakonian, with examples, and singing in Tsakonian. Must follow up.

I don't agree with everything the guy says, but the nitpicking is not relevant. (But no, they don't still speak Tsakonian in Turkey, and Costakis' dictionary was just 3 vols, not 6.) Nice to know a kid in class knows about the dictionary too!

And damn me if fronted /k/ doesn't sound just like /dzʰ/. Like Haralambopoulos said. Maybe that τχ wasn't such a good idea after all. :-( I'll keep it for now though.

Also, the sounds that are supposed to be /ɲ/ and /n/ sound to me the other way round. Eek. [EDIT: I heard right, and got the rule wrong. /ni/ > /ɲi/. /ne/ > /ni/. But /mi/ > /ɲi/, not /ni/.]

So some transcriptions from the lessons. I'm sure I'm mishearing bits, and my Tsakonian was never that crash hot; I'll fix it as I get time.

• Τχ' έσι ποίου;
  
• [cut?]
  
• Εζβαΐκατε καμπρζία;
  
• Εζβαΐαμε.
  
• Έσι ζβαΐχου Νικόα;
  
• Φίλε.
  
• Τσ' έννι ποίου ο φίλε ντι;
  
• Έννι κα.
  
• 'Εννι μορζούα α χέρα σι ακόνη.
  
• Α τηλεόραση.
  
• Οράτσερε τθαν τηλεόραση τον Ολυμπιακό πφ' ήγκαϊ παίζουντε;
  
• Οράκα. Τσ' έκι;
  
• Δράγκε, τσ΄έσι κασήμενε;
  
• Κια έσι; Κια οράτχερε;
  
• Σάμερε εκάνα από ταν Αμεριτχή.
  
• Τσ' έσι ποίου; Ένι κα.
  
• Εζβαΐερε; Νι εμαθήτσερε το μάθημα;
  
• Σάμερε εκινάκα.
  

• Άφε νι, νι αφήτσωμε.
  
• Άφε νι, όννι καλέ.
  
• Όνι πλερούκχου.
  
• Μάτη, κάτσε ορεγί, τχ' άμα ντι το τηλέφωνε, θα νίερε ότσι όνι ορεγί ο Νιχάλη. Έννι ζατέ τθον Άη Λήδη να ψωνίσει.
  
• Όννι ορεγί ο Νιχάλη.
  
• Όννι ορεγί σι επέκα.
  
• Αφού όσι νίντα, νι εκατσούκα τχ' εζού τα τσουφά.
  
• Όκη νίντα.
  

• Πουάτσα πφ΄ έτθε έκχουντε ...
  
• να δήτε χαιρεκίσματα ότσ' έμε τθο Τχιβέρι.
  
• Τα σύνταχα θα φύτσωμε θα ζάμε τθο Δερβένι
  
• να πολεμήμε μέκουντε (?) του Δράμαλη τ' αζέρι
  
• πουρτέσ' ένε ο Νιτχηταρά κίσω ο Κολοκοτρώνη
  
• τχαι παρακίσω οι Τσάκωνες.
  
• Έα να ζα τθά βρύση να κρίσωμ' άχανα
  
• να ντι μοσχοϊθυλύου τα δύ ντι μάγουα
  
• Έα πέρα όι περούα γιατσι μ' έσ' πετσχοβοούα
  
• Θα περάε θα περάε τχαι το τσχέρβουλε θα χάε
  

...Read more

Μετά χαράς: archaisms in spoken Greek, 1350

When I was researching the background to the Entertaining Tale of Quadrupeds in 1999, I came across Charles Gidel's 1864 Imitations faites en grec depuis le douzième siècle, de nos anciens poèmes de chevalerie, which was the first mention of the Quadrupeds in scholarly literature. Early Modern Greek studies officially kicked off in 1870, with Wilhelm Wagner and Émile Legrand's simultaneous publication of editions of literary texts; Gidel is pretty early, and as the title gives away, not a terribly objective literary critic.

I kept reading to see what else Gidel knew about. Gidel mentioned that the poem Dittamondo by Fazio degli Uberti, started in 1346, has some bits of Greek in it, in an imaginary conversation with a peasant (2.23. 28-45). Pasting from the online edition:

E giunto a lui, de la bocca m’uscio 
“Jiá su” e fu greco il saluto, 
perché l’abito suo greco scoprio. 30 
Ed ello, come accorto e proveduto, 
Calós írtes allora mi rispose, 
allegro piú che non l’avea veduto. 
Cosí parlato insieme molte cose, 
ípeto: xéuris franchicá? Ed esso: 35 
Ime roméos e xéuro plus glose. 
E io: Paracaló se, fíle mu; apresso 
mílise franchicá ancor gli dissi. 
Metá charás, fu sua risposta adesso. 
Udito il suo parlar, cosí m’affissi, 40 
dicendo: “Questo è me’ ch’io non pensava”; 
e gli occhi miei dentro al suo volto fissi. 
Poi il dimandai lá dov’ello andava; 
rispuosemi: “Qui presso a una chora, 
dove il re Pirro anticamente stava”. 45 

This looks like the earliest attestation of γεια σου "health to you = hello". For that reason, I passed the finding on to Nikos Sarantakos, who among his many linguistic interests was tracking down the history of common expressions in Greek. Ten years later, he's blogged about it (in Greek).

Let's get the quick observations out of the way before I talk about "Metá charás":

• From the metre, “Jiá su” is still three syllables, and not two: [ʝi.ˈa su]. On the other hand "roméos" is probably two syllables already, though the verse is garbled. (Sarantakos sees πολλούς in "plus", and I don't know what else it would be.)
  
• "Paracaló se" has the old order of clitics after the verb. In modern times, there's a mainland Greece–to–Anatolia gradient of clitic placement (which Dawkins had written up quite neatly back in the day). Of course, the peasant is supposed to be in Macedonia, which now would only have σι παρακαλώ; but we have no idea where degli Uberti picked up his Greek from, and the word order of clitics looks to have been pretty unstable at the time, judging from the literary texts.
  
• The stress on "franchicá" is as it should be, on the ultima; many vernacular ethnic adjectives ended up accented on the antepenult, so the Modern language has φράγκικα (when it deigns to use the word at all). So τούρκικος/τουρκικός is now a colloquial/formal doublet. Φραγκικός is impossible in Modern Greek, because "Frankish" cannot have a formal form: the word's ideology ("we are not Western Europeans") is all wrong for that.
  
• Ξεύρω is no longer εξεύρω, but is not yet ξέρω. Ξεύρω did survive in dialect; Smyrna, right?
  

So:

“Jiá su”

Γειά σου "hello".

“xéuris franchicá?”

Ξεύρειες φραγκικά; "Do you know Frankish?" (i.e. Western European, which includes Italian. The Greeks of Corsica actually distinguished Φρανǧία "Italy" from Φράντσα "France".)

"Ime roméos e xéuro plus glose."

Είμαι ρωμαίος (κ)αι ξεύρω π(ο)λλούς [sic: πολλές] γλώσσε(ς). "I am a Rhomaios [Greek], and know many languages.

"Paracaló se, fíle mu, mílise franchicá"

Παρακαλώ σε, φίλε μου, μίλησε φραγκικά "I pray you, my friend, speak Frankish."

"Metá charás"

Μετά χαράς "With pleasure"

"chora"

Χώρα "Country, town"

The intrigue here is μετά χαράς. The phrase is commonly used to this day; but it's clearly not vernacular: it has the ancient form of "with", and a preposition taking the genitive. The vernacular way of saying it was already με χαρά.

Now, Modern Greek is dotted with archaic phrases, lifted from the Church (Δόξα σοι ο Θεός "Glory to Thee, God" with a dative), or from Puristic (Εντάξει "In order = OK" with a dative, here a calque of German in Ordnung). The romantic perception of the history of diglossia was that cassocks and suits were the only sources contaminating the pure vernacular with antiquarian must; left to their own devices, the simple folk spoke a pure Demotic, that has never since been recaptured. The early literary texts don't reflect that, but the literary texts are themselves written by people schooled in Ancient Greek.

The romantic perception is pretty widespread; the Concordance> of Makryiannis' Memoirs (one of the few works held to have escaped the miasma of antiquarianism) was subtitled "How Greeks used to speak before Our Language was Raped by Puristic Greek". But it is romantic: studies have pointed out that while Makriyannis' syntax is very much vernacular (which is why he is so important stylistically), his morphology was influenced by Puristic, as would the morphology of any public figure in 1840 Athens. Diglossia has deep roots in Greece.

And what this fragment *may* suggest is that even in 1350, they were deeper than the romantic perception allows. We don't know much at all about what Greek diglossia looked like in the Middle Ages. We know from people like Filelfo that the aristocracy of Mystras and Constantinople spoke a more "refined" language than the common herd, so some archaic forms were used orally as well as in writing; we don't know how much. Sylvester Syropoulos' diary of the Council of Florence, conversely, suggests that the emperor and the patriarch did not speak pure Ancient Greek; but we don't know how much Ancient Greek he's adding in, and how much he's transcribing faithfully (particularly as it looks like he was reconstructing events later).

We know that the Byzantine scholars wrote in Ancient Greek, and some of their texts had to be translated (metaphrases), not into the vernacular, but at least into less recondite Koine. We know that archaic phrases from the Church would circulate (because they still do), but often enough they were not well understood; witness the fate of τα καλά και τα συμφέροντα in Modern Greek, liturgically a prayer for God to grant our souls what is good and appropriate spiritually, but now a castigation of self-interest. (There are better examples of misunderstandings than this, I just can't think of them right now.)

Now, degli Uberti probably never met a Macedonian peasant; he probably learnt his Greek from some pedant or other (though it was a century before the Italian countryside was thick with them). But there is a good chance that μετά χαράς was already in as common usage as γειά σου, with neither cassock nor suit to blame for it. It could have just survived in spoken use, unparsed, as a formula. But the common folk were not insulated from the pedants; and I suspect this was not a recollection from 700 AD (or whenever the prepositional genitive died). Rather, I think this was a 1300 AD learnèd (or, more to the point aristocratic) formula, that percolated synchronically down to the common herd. The common herd may well have been the expression of the Romeic native genius in their everyday talk; but they were not above imitating their betters (especially in a politeness formula).

This has consequences for the analysis of how oral the Early Modern poems are. Early Modern Greek poems are pretty formulaic, like a lot of oral poetry is. But unlike oral poetry, the formulas are (a) pretty boring, and (b) often archaic. Which, given the romantic perception that the spoken language was very different from the written, suggests to people that the formulas were artificial, and the oral-like construction of the poems was fake: these poems were written by learnèd poets, and made to sound like ballads by using formulas; but those weren't the real formulas that an untutored bard would use.

I think the conclusion is correct; it remedies the even more unrealistically romantic perception that the Early Modern poems are verbatim transcriptions of untutored bards. But not all ancient-looking clichés in Early Modern poems are fake formulas. They can quite well real clichés that the tutored—and even the untutored—used in real life. I used Dittamondo to argue this in our translation of the Quadrupeds (although I still thought then that this was an oral survival, and not an instance of diglossia):

One should be careful in applying this theory, however. Mohay (1974–75:178–9), for instance, concludes μετὰ χαρᾶς μεγάλης must be literary in origin since it uses the outdated genitive after "with" (though he allows that the form μετά itself could have survived as a variant of its Modern reflex με—particularly as traces of μετά are still to be found in Modern Greek dialect). But the fourteenth century Italian poet Fazio dgli Uberti uses the phrase μετὰ χαρᾶς "with pleasure" in an imaginary conversation with a peasant in Macedonia—the remainder of the onset of which is in impeccable Modern Greek (Dittamondo 3.23.49; degli Uberti 1952:249). This formula uses the genitive, and in fact survives to this day. There is good reason to believe that formulaic phrases of everyday conversation retain grammatical archaisms that have died out in productive use; and the verse formula μετὰ χαρᾶς μεγάλης could have been merely an elaboration of a surviving vernacular μετὰ χαρᾶς. So the formula would be archaic not being used by bards of old (whose existence is hard to pin down, anyway), but being used conversationally of old.

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