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Manual of Grammatical Interfaces in Romance
MRL 10
Manuals of
Romance Linguistics
Manuels de linguistique romane
Manuali di linguistica romanza
Manuales de lingüística románica

Edited by
Günter Holtus and Fernando Sánchez Miret

Volume 10
Manual of
Grammatical Interfaces
in Romance

Edited by
Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel
ISBN 978-3-11-031178-5
e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-031186-0
e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-039483-2

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data


A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress.

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek


The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie;
detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de.

6 2016 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston


Cover image: © Marco2811/fotolia
Typesetting: RoyalStandard, Hong Kong
Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck
♾ Printed on acid-free paper
Printed in Germany

www.degruyter.com
Manuals of Romance Linguistics
The new international handbook series Manuals of Romance Linguistics (MRL) will
offer an extensive, systematic and state-of-the-art overview of linguistic research in
the entire field of present-day Romance Studies.
MRL aims to update and expand the contents of the two major reference works
available to date: Lexikon der Romanistischen Linguistik (LRL) (1988–2005, vol. 1–8)
and Romanische Sprachgeschichte (RSG) (2003–2008, vol. 1–3). It will also seek to
integrate new research trends as well as topics that have not yet been explored
systematically.
Given that a complete revision of LRL and RSG would not be feasible, at least
not in a sensible timeframe, the MRL editors have opted for a modular approach
that is much more flexible:
The series will include approximately 60 volumes (each comprised of approx.
400–600 pages and 15–30 chapters). Each volume will focus on the most central
aspects of its topic in a clear and structured manner. As a series, the volumes will
cover the entire field of present-day Romance Linguistics, but they can also be used
individually. Given that the work on individual MRL volumes will be nowhere near
as time-consuming as that on a major reference work in the style of LRL, it will be
much easier to take into account even the most recent trends and developments in
linguistic research.
MRL’s languages of publication are French, Spanish, Italian, English and, in
exceptional cases, Portuguese. Each volume will consistently be written in only one
of these languages. In each case, the choice of language will depend on the specific
topic. English will be used for topics that are of more general relevance beyond the
field of Romance Studies (for example Manual of Language Acquisition or Manual of
Romance Languages in the Media).
The focus of each volume will be either (1) on one specific language or (2) on
one specific research field. Concerning volumes of the first type, each of the
Romance languages – including Romance-based creoles – will be discussed in a
separate volume. A particularly strong focus will be placed on the smaller languages
(linguae minores) that other reference works have not treated extensively. MRL will
comprise volumes on Friulian, Corsican, Galician, Vulgar Latin, among others, as
well as a Manual of Judaeo-Romance Linguistics and Philology. Volumes of the second
type will be devoted to the systematic presentation of all traditional and new fields
of Romance Linguistics, with the research methods of Romance Linguistics being
discussed in a separate volume. Dynamic new research fields and trends will yet
again be of particular interest, because although they have become increasingly
important in both research and teaching, older reference works have not dealt with
them at all or touched upon them only tangentially. MRL will feature volumes dedi-
cated to research fields such as Grammatical Interfaces, Youth Language Research,
VI Manuals of Romance Linguistics

Urban Varieties, Computational Linguistics, Neurolinguistics, Sign Languages or


Forensic Linguistics. Each volume will offer a structured and informative, easy-to-read
overview of the history of research as well as of recent research trends.
We are delighted that internationally-renowned colleagues from a variety of
Romance-speaking countries and beyond have agreed to collaborate on this series
and take on the editorship of individual MRL volumes. Thanks to the expertise of
the volume editors responsible for the concept and structure of their volumes, as
well as for the selection of suitable authors, MRL will not only summarize the
current state of knowledge in Romance Linguistics, but will also present much new
information and recent research results.
As a whole, the MRL series will present a panorama of the discipline that is both
extensive and up-to-date, providing interesting and relevant information and useful
orientation for every reader, with detailed coverage of specific topics as well as
general overviews of present-day Romance Linguistics. We believe that the series
will offer a fresh, innovative approach, suited to adequately map the constant
advancement of our discipline.

Günter Holtus (Lohra/Göttingen)


Fernando Sánchez Miret (Salamanca)
July 2016
Acknowledgments
Editing a manual is a collective effort. High standards can only be met by drawing
on the expertise of various scholars from many different linguistic disciplines, be it
as authors of the individual chapters or as reviewers and consultants. The editors
would like to express their gratitude to the many individuals who generously offered
their time and expertise to improve the quality of the present volume. The reviewers
are listed in alphabetical order in the following: Artemis Alexiadou, Elena Anagnosto-
poulou, Theresa Biberauer, Joanna Błaszczak, Ute Bohnacker, Martin Elsig, Anamaria
Fălăuş, Cristina Maria Moreira Flores, Chiara Gianollo, Klaus von Heusinger, Mary
Kato, Imme Kuchenbrandt, Tanja Kupisch, Winfried Lechner, Susanne Lohrmann,
Mihaela Marchis, Thomas McFadden, Trudel Meisenburg, Fabio Montermini, Andrea
Pešková, Florian Schäfer, Horst Simon, Carola Trips, Chiara Truppi, Maria del Mar
Vanrell, Tonjes Veenstra, Jorge Vega Vilanova, Xavier Villalba and Marina Zielke.
Thanks are also due to the following colleagues who have commented on earlier
versions of individual chapters: Mathieu Avanzi (chap. 3), Francesco Maria Ciconte
(chap. 16), Cristina Flores (chap. 18), Jonas Granfeldt (chap. 18), Klaus Grübl (chap. 14),
Marc-Olivier Hinzelin (chap. 18), Dalina Kallulli (chap. 8), Marie Labelle (chap. 6),
Clàudia Pons-Moll (chap. 4), Thomas Scharinger (chap. 14) and Hiyon Yoo (chap. 3).
Many thanks go to the following native speakers for discussing the linguistic
examples in some of the chapters: Fabián Santiago Vargas (chap. 3); Elena Ciutescu
(chap. 6); Roberta D’Alessandro, Susana Barros, Adriana Fasanella, Jordi Fortuny,
José Cruz da Ângela, Norma Schifano, Carmen Ríos García and Juan Quintanilla
(chap. 11); Júlio Matias, Mario Navarro, Jacopo Torregrossa and Jorge Vega Vilanova
(chap. 12); Ariadna Benet, Nicholas Catasso and Benjamin Massot (chap. 14).
We also wish to thank Frédéric Aumaître, Sarah Jobus, Birgitta Pees and Liefka
Würdemann for their assistance with the final proof reading and the cross-checking
of references as well as Kirsten Brock and Derek Fobair for checking the language
and for proof-reading some of the chapters.
Finally, we would like to express our gratitude to the De Gruyter editorial team,
Christine Henschel and Ulrike Krauß, for the constant support we received during
the editing process, and to the series editors, Günter Holtus and Fernando Sánchez
Miret, who provided us with most valuable feedback from the very first sketch of the
volume until the submission of its final version.

Susann Fischer (Hamburg) and Christoph Gabriel (Mainz)


May 2016
Table of contents

Preface V
Acknowledgments VII

Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel


Grammatical interfaces in Romance languages: An introduction 1

I Sound and structure

José Ignacio Hualde and Ioana Chitoran


1 Surface sound and underlying structure: The phonetics-phonology
interface 23

Marina Vigário
2 Segmental phenomena and their interactions: Evidence for prosodic
organization and the architecture of grammar 41

Élisabeth Delais-Roussarie
3 Prosodic phonology and its interfaces 75

Eulàlia Bonet and Maria-Rosa Lloret


4 Phonology and morphology in Optimality Theory 105

Sascha Gaglia and Marc-Olivier Hinzelin


5 Inflectional verb morphology 149

II Structure and meaning

M. Teresa Espinal and Susagna Tubau


6 Meaning of words and meaning of sentences 187

Eva-Maria Remberger
7 Morphology and semantics: Aspect and modality 213

Luis López
8 (In)definiteness, specificity, and differential object marking 241

Roberta D’Alessandro and Diego Pescarini


9 Agreement restrictions and agreement oddities 267

Jaume Mateu Fontanals


10 Auxiliary selection 295
X Table of contents

III Sound, structure, and meaning

Michelle Sheehan
11 Subjects, null subjects, and expletives 329

Susann Fischer and Maria Goldbach


12 Object clitics 363

Judith Meinschaefer
13 Nominalizations 391

Andreas Dufter and Christoph Gabriel


14 Information structure, prosody, and word order 419

Ana Maria Martins


15 VP and TP ellipsis: Sentential polarity and information structure 457

Delia Bentley and Silvio Cruschina


16 Existential constructions 487

IV The role of the interfaces in language acquisition and change

Conxita Lleó
17 Acquiring multilingual phonologies (2L1, L2 and L3): Are the difficulties in the
interfaces? 519

Tanja Kupisch and Jason Rothman


18 Interfaces with syntax in language acquisition 551

Esther Rinke
19 The role of the interfaces in syntactic change 587

Pieter Muysken and Antje Muntendam


20 Interfacing interfaces: Quechua and Spanish in the Andes 607

Ulrich Detges and Richard Waltereit


21 Grammaticalization and pragmaticalization 635

Kristine Eide
22 Changes at the syntax-discourse interface 659

Index 683
Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel
Grammatical interfaces in Romance
languages: An introduction

Abstract: It has been known for a long time that different components of grammar
interact in nontrivial ways. However, in modular theories of grammar, like genera-
tive grammar, it has been under debate what the actual extent of interaction is and
how we can most appropriately represent this in grammatical theory.

Keywords: grammaticalization, Neogrammarians, Prague Linguistic Circle, Govern-


ment and Binding Theory, Minimalist Program, Derivation by Phase, Optimality Theory

1 Interfaces and the architecture of grammar


It is a well-known fact that linguistics started out as a historical discipline. The main
focus for many centuries was the investigation of how language, the parts of speech,
develop, thus how languages change. Language change in general and especially
grammaticalization, the development of new grammatical material from lexical
material, involves not only a single component of the grammar, but cuts across com-
ponents, with contributory changes taking place in phonology, morphology, syntax,
and semantics. Antoine Meillet is considered to be the first linguist to use the term
“grammaticalization” in his article L’évolution des formes grammaticales and to define
what is meant: “le passage d’un mot autonome au rôle d’élément grammatical”
(‘the shift of an independent word to the status of a grammatical element’, Meillet
1912/1921, 131). However the idea that this kind of language change affects several
components of grammar and that the interfaces between those components are
relevant to explaining such changes is far older. Wilhelm von Humboldt in his
lecture Über das Entstehen der grammatischen Formen und ihren Einfluß auf die
Ideenentwicklung (‘On the genesis of grammatical forms and their influence on the
evolution of ideas’, 1825) suggests that the grammatical structure of a language
develops in four stages. He classifies these stages according to the strictness or free-
dom of word order (syntax) and the amount of grammatical material (morphology
and phonology) used in expressing meaning (semantics; cf. von Humboldt 1825,
422–423), thus, in the interaction of the different components of grammar. Von
Humboldt’s insights were subsequently summarized and further investigated by
many prominent linguists, e.g. Franz Bopp, August Schleicher, and Georg von der
Gabelentz to name only a few. Von der Gabelentz (1891/1901) is especially path-
breaking because he offers an explanation of why languages undergo changes
and how components of grammar interact. He proposes that language change, i.e.
2 Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel

grammaticalization, is the result of two competing forces, one being the tendency
towards ease of articulation, the other the tendency towards distinctness: lazy pro-
nunciation brings about sound changes that wear down words, therefore distinc-
tions consequently become blurred. To regain distinctiveness, word order (the strict
syntactic ordering of words) or new forms take over the approximate function of the
old forms. Von der Gabelentz observes that the new forms that have stepped in to
take over the function of the old ones are also subject to the same processes (seman-
tic bleaching and phonetic reduction) and will again be replaced, thus proposing
that language change is cyclic. Under this view not only do components of grammar
interact in nontrivial ways, but words, i.e. the different parts of speech, shift back
and forth across components.
In the 20th century, Hodge (1970, 3) used the slogan “one man’s morphology is
yesterday’s syntax”, which was taken up and reformulated by Givón (1971, 413) as
“today’s morphology is yesterday’s syntax”.1 Givón (1979, 109) suggests that the parts
of speech are to be seen as being located on clines and as shifting between poles,
such as child/adult, creole/standard, unplanned/planned, and pragmatic/syntactic,
and furthermore suggests the following path:

(1) discourse > syntax > morphology > morphophonemics > zero

Grammaticalization theorists such as Lehmann (1982/2002), Kuryłowicz (1965/1975),


Heine/Reh (1984), and Hopper/Traugott (1993), just to mention a few, have developed
these ideas and, at the same time, draw on Meillet’s earlier insights (cf. also Heine/
Kuteva 2002 for an overview). Very much in the spirit of Givón, they refrain from
making unnatural and ad hoc divisions between grammatical categories and modules
and assume instead gradual transitions within a continuum between the two poles
of grammar and lexicon,2 proposing a grammaticalization path.

(2) autonomous word > grammatical word > clitic > affix > Ø

Seen from this angle, grammaticalization may be defined as the diachronic process
in the course of which a lexical item develops into a functional one, passing through
several steps of development, by this cutting across components of grammar (↗21
Grammaticalization and pragmaticalization). Given that such processes take place

1 This idea also has its precursors in the late 19th century; cf. von der Gabelentz (1891/1901), who
states that today’s affixes developed from full words (“Was heute Affixe sind, das waren früher
selbständige Wörter”, 255). 20th century scholars like Hodge and Givón, however, refer not only to
single parts of speech, but to whole grammatical components such as morphology and syntax.
2 This dichotomy might be seen as problematic, since function words, which are often derived from
lexical ones, belong to the lexicon in the same way as their lexical precursors do (cf. Gabriel 2003 for
further discussion).
Grammatical interfaces in Romance languages: An introduction 3

at any time and at different speeds, a given functional area can display items of
different degrees of grammaticalization at any synchronic stage – on the assump-
tion, of course, that we accept the well-known idealizations linked with the concept
of synchrony since de Saussure’s Cours de linguistique générale (1916/2013). An
example of such a functional area is depicted in (3), where the various linguistic
means that are used in contemporary French to express (spatial, temporal, or
abstract) relations between two entities are situated on a four-point grammaticaliza-
tion scale (roughly along the lines of Lehmann 1985, 46; cf. also Gabriel 2003).

(3) à la place (de) au lieu (de) pendant

Grammar
Lexicon

durant sur
dans
à1 à2
[1] [2] [3] [4]

The evolution of a functional item from a lexical one is characterized by certain


concomitants, expressed in terms of grammaticalization parameters (cf. Lehmann
1982/2002, 108–159; 1985), such as declining phonetic and semantic integrity (i.e.
phonetic erosion and loss of semantic features), a decrease in syntactic scope, and
diminishing paradigmatic and syntagmatic variability of the element concerned.
Taking this into account, it can be argued that the prepositional locution Fr. à la
place de ‘instead of’ is syntactically less fixed and thus closer to the lexicon (stage
[1], cf. 3, above) than the expression au lieu de (same meaning, stage [2]), since the
former allows PP-internal modifications such as the substitution of the DP com-
plement by a possessive determiner as in à ta place ‘instead of you’, which is
ungrammatical in the case of au lieu de (yielding au lieu de toi, but not *à ton
lieu). For the very same reason, Fr. durant ‘during’ (stage [2]), which may occur either
pre- or postnominally (cf. durant toute sa vie or toute sa vie durant ‘during his/her
whole life’), is considered less grammaticalized than pendant (same meaning, stage
[3]), which only appears in prenominal position. The preposition Fr. à, finally, can be
argued to occupy two different stages in (3): It may be used either as a meaningful
item as in Fr. il habite à Lyon ‘he lives in Lyon’, where it may be substituted by other
prepositional expressions as in Fr. il habite près de Lyon ‘he lives close to Lyon’ (à1,
stage [3]), or as a case marking item as in Fr. il donne un cadeau à son frère ‘he gives
a present to his brother’ (à2, stage [4]).
Other examples from the history of Romance languages involve the evolution
of personal pronouns and future tense marking. While Latin possesses a set of
strong pronouns (e.g. Lat. ego1 S G .NO M ‘I’, me1 S G . AC C ‘me’), all Romance languages
have developed a set of clitic object3 pronouns (e.g. Fr./Sp. me, It. mi), which need

3 In addition, French and some Northern Italian dialects have developed a series of clitic subject
pronouns (e.g. Fr. je1 S G ), which contrast with their strong counterparts (moi1 S G ).
4 Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel

to be considered both syntactically and phonologically weaker than their Latin


counterparts: They cannot occur in isolation or in a stressed position, and they
undergo systematic phonetic reduction processes such as vowel elision, at least
in some of the Romance languages, among them French and Catalan (↗12 Object
clitics). Loss of syntactic, phonological, and also semantic weight also characterizes
the evolution of the Latin full verb HABERE ‘to have’ to the Vulgar Latin auxiliary,
which forms part of the analytic construction given in (4b), which gradually replaced
the synthetic Latin future form (4a), and subsequently further grammaticalized to
the Romance future tense morpheme (4c).

(4) a. Lat. cantabo


sing-1SG . FUT
‘I will sing’

b. VLat. cantare habeo


sing- INF have-1SG . PRS

c. Sp. cantaré
sing-1SG . FUT

The idea of a close interaction of grammatical components plays an essential role


not only in grammaticalization theory, but is also fundamental to much work done
by members of the Prague Linguistic Circle: Vilém Mathesius (1929), for example,
coined basic notions of information structure such as theme and rheme (↗14 Infor-
mation structure, prosody, and word order, ↗22 Changes at the syntax-discourse
interface) and explained the differences between English and Czech word order by
resorting to the interplay between syntax, prosody (placement of sentential stress),
and information structure. As he points out, the two languages differ in that Czech
preferably marks a constituent as new information by means of word order variation
(cf. the postverbal focused subject in 5a), while English mainly uses sentential (or:
nuclear) stress (indicated through capitalizing, cf. 5b).

(5) ‘Who wrote this letter?’


a. Tenhle dopis napsal tatínek. (Mathesius 1961/1975, 85)
this letter wrote dad

b. DAD wrote this letter.

Historical and typological approaches to language have been concerned with pro-
cesses and continuous phenomena that cut across different components of grammar
and have investigated the interfaces between these components. It thus seems
correct to say that there has never been any doubt concerning the interaction of
grammatical components (cf. Fischer 2010 for an extensive discussion on this matter).
Grammatical interfaces in Romance languages: An introduction 5

The first exception to this view, however, could be seen in the Neogrammarians’
(Otto Behagel, Berthold Delbrück, Hermann Paul etc.) approach to language change.
They were the first to claim that the sound level is autonomous and independent
of grammatical structure – or, to put it more precisely: that phonological rules,
commonly referred to as Lautgesetze (‘sound laws’), can be formulated which make
no reference to morphology, syntax, and semantics. In addition to the autonomy of
the sound level they introduced the principle of the regularity of sound change, i.e.
every sound in the same phonetic environment is affected in the same way. However,
since the regularity of sound change produces morphological irregularities which
interfere with the link between sound and meaning, the Neogrammarians intro-
duced, as the second important process in language change, the process of analogy,
in this way explaining morphological changes that followed sound changes and
obvious exceptions to their proposed sound laws. A Romance example illustrating
the interaction of Lautgesetz and analogy is given in (6).

(6) a. Lat. A ˈ MARE b. OFr. amer c. ModFr. aimer


Sg Pl Sg Pl Sg Pl
1 ˈ AMO A ˈ MAMUS aim(e) amons aime aimons
2 ˈ AMAS A ˈ MATIS aimes amez aimes aimez
3 ˈ AMAT ˈ AMANT aime(t) aiment aime aiment

As can be seen in the Old French paradigm in (6b), Latin [a] regularly undergoes
diphthongization ([a] > [aj]) in stressed open syllables before a nasal consonant,
while its unstressed counterpart remains unchanged (cf. Anglade 1931, 12, 25–27).
The regular application of this stress-dependent Lautgesetz thus yields an allomor-
phic verbal paradigm in Old French, hence morphological irregularity: While for
the 1–3 Sg and 3 Pl forms, the stem is [aȷ ͂m-] (the adjacent nasal consonant triggers
nasalization), it is [am-] for the 1 and 2 Pl forms (OFr. [am]ons, [am]ez). In Modern
French (cf. 6c), the thematic vowel monophthongizes to [ɛ] (still written ai), and the
paradigm is regularized through analogical shift of the 1 and 2 Pl forms (e.g. OFr.
[a]mons > ModFr. [ɛ]mons).
Thus, even though the phonological level is considered to be autonomous in
a Neogrammarian view, the morphological component reacts to the changes in
the phonological or phonetic component, and syntax reacts to changes concerning
morphology and phonology.
Early generative grammar can be seen as the first theory where the different
components are considered as autonomous modules, independent of each other.
In 1957, Noam Chomsky wrote Syntactic structures, a distillation of his dissertation
The logical structure of linguistic theory (1955/1975), and therewith founded genera-
tive linguistics. His approach to linguistics has always aimed to understand why
languages are structured the way they are and to formulate a grammar that is able
to explain all sentences of a particular language, including constructions that hardly
6 Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel

occur in naturalistic data, but are considered grammatical nonetheless, as well


as those sentences that according to normative grammars are ungrammatical, e.g.
examples of double negation like I ain’t no nice guy. In contrast to traditional linguistic
approaches, generative grammar can be described as an explanatory theory in the
tradition of Galileo and Newton. Instead of merely describing and classifying the
different language systems, generative grammar aims at finding the rules that can
generate all possible sentences (and de facto nothing but those sentences) of a
specific language.
In the 1950s, the social sciences were dominated by behaviourism, the school of
John B. Watson and Burrhus F. Skinner. Terms like “know” and “think” were con-
sidered to be unscientific; terms like “mind” and “innate” were branded as being
bad words. Science, it was argued, should concentrate on observable facts, and
the relationship between a stimulus and a response is observable. Behaviour was
studied by looking at rats pressing bars or dogs salivating when hearing a certain
tone, and these were explained by laws of stimulus-response learning. On the basis
of these results, Skinner (1957) developed the notion of operant conditioning –
claiming that human beings operate on their environment. Chomsky criticized this
view, arguing that the interesting aspects of social phenomena, including language,
are psychological or cognitive. The fact that these phenomena are not directly
observable should not hinder us from investigating them. On the contrary, linguists
should concentrate on the study of mental grammar (Chomsky 1959). It is already in
those years that he called attention to some fundamental facts about language and
language acquisition: First, almost every sentence a person utters or understands
is a new combination of words that is uttered for the first time in the history of the
universe. Second, any native speaker of a language has an implicit knowledge about
his/her language, i.e. s/he knows without a doubt which sentences are acceptable
(grammatical) and which are unacceptable (ungrammatical). This holds for both
word order (cf. 7a vs. b) and morphophonological phenomena such as cliticization
(cf. 8). Third, sentences can be grammatically judged without the need to under-
stand their semantics (cf. the examples in (9), below). And finally, every child learns
to speak grammatically well-formed utterances in a fairly short time, without nega-
tive evidence and without receiving explicit instruction.

(7) Eng. a. Yesterday I went to the doctor.


b. *Yesterday went I to the doctor.

(8) Eng. a. Kim is the professor here.


b. Kim’s the professor here.
c. Kim is happier than Tim is.
d. *Kim is happier than Tim’s.
Grammatical interfaces in Romance languages: An introduction 7

There is no doubt that any speaker of English knows that (7a) is grammatically
correct, while (7b) is not. One could argue that English pupils are taught in school
that their mother tongue has a strict subject – verb – object order and therefore the
subject always needs to precede the finite verb. However, the sentences in (8) are of
a different kind. The subtlety of knowing which auxiliary can be reduced in informal
speech is something that is not taught in school. Most of the speakers of English are
not even aware of this difference; nevertheless, they know that the auxiliary is can
be reduced in (8b), as opposed to (8d). But even more importantly for Chomsky’s
argument: The same holds for the sentences in (9).

(9) Eng. a. Colorless green ideas sleep furiously. (Chomsky 1957, 15)
b. *Furiously sleep ideas green colorless.

Every speaker of English will agree that sentence (9a) is grammatically correct and
sentence (9b) is not, despite the fact that they most probably have never heard these
sentences and that neither of the two sentences is semantically well formed. The
examples in (9) are discussed in Chomsky’s Syntactic structures (1957, 15) and show
that syntactic structure can be understood without referring to the semantic level.
This discussion was basically the beginning of the generative view for many years
that the different components of grammar are autonomous. This idea of strictly
separated components of grammar is also fundamental to the classical generative
Principles and Parameters (or: Government and Binding) paradigm (Chomsky 1981/
1993), according to which the linear ordering of the constituents of a given sentence
(surface structure) is derived from an underlying representation (deep structure) and
subsequently interpreted by semantics on the one hand (so-called Logical Form,
LF) and phonetics/phonology on the other (Phonetic Form, PF). This view of the
architecture of grammar is expressed by means of the famous T- (or Y‑)model (cf.
Chomsky 1981/1993, 17), as illustrated in (10) with the example of the French wh-in-
situ interrogative Pierre a vu qui? (‘Whom has Peter seen?’).

(10)
8 Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel

As can be seen in (10), both semantics (LF) and phonetics/phonology (PF) have
access to the output of syntax, i.e. they simply process what is delivered by the
syntactic component after all movement operations have applied (in the case of a
wh-in-situ question, no syntactic movement applies, since the interrogative pronoun
qui remains in its clause-final base position). Phonology and semantics only come
into play when the computation of syntactic structure is completed.
A generative framework that completely dispenses with the separation of gram-
matical components or modules is Optimality Theory (OT; cf. Prince/Smolensky 1993/
2004). Within OT, the grammar of a given language is essentially understood as a
language-specific hierarchy of violable constraints (rather than rules) according to
which the output form is selected from among several competing input forms within
an assumed evaluation process. These constraints can refer to all linguistic levels
and thus be phonological, syntactic, or pragmatic in nature, among other things.
An output form such as Sp. Vendió la casa Pablo ‘It was Pablo who sold the house’
(involving rightmost placement of the focused subject Pablo) is to be interpreted as
the result of an evaluation process involving several competing input forms, among
them, for example, Pablo vendió la casa ([F S]VO) and Vendió la casa Pablo (VO[F S]),
and a constraint ranking with a high-ranked phonological constraint that requires
clause-final position of nuclear stress. In such a view, the relationship of phonological
and syntactic structure does not involve a “mapping” of essentially different sub-
systems of grammar (cf. e.g. Selkirk 1984), but combines them in a rather connec-
tionist fashion.
However, with the rising interest of generative linguistics in language change
and language acquisition, it has been recognized that the different components of
grammar interact in nontrivial ways. In fact, one of the most significant insights of
recent years has been the understanding that the nature of the interfaces between the
individual subsystems of grammar, i.e. Lexicon, (Morphology)4, Syntax, Phonology,
and Semantics, is just as important as the mechanisms within the subsystems.
Different theoretical frameworks have described and formalized the various inter-
faces differently and it has been under debate how many interfaces there actually
are, what the actual extent of interaction is, and how we can most appropriately
represent these in grammatical theory. Although no consensus has yet been reached,
it seems to be clear that research regarding the nature of the interfaces is crucial for
our understanding of language and the language faculty. In other words, under-
standing the interfaces shows us the restrictions on the relevance of the theory as a
whole.
Within the generative paradigm, the view of a strict autonomy of grammatical
components has consequently been more and more undermined in the course of

4 The brackets indicate that in the original generative T- (or Y-)model, syntax has an interface with
phonology and semantics, but not with morphology (cf. the graph in example 10, above), which
simply does not exist as an autonomous component (cf. Jackendoff 1997; 2010).
Grammatical interfaces in Romance languages: An introduction 9

recent theoretical developments towards the so-called Minimalist Program (MP;


cf. Chomsky 1995; 2000), according to which the four distinct levels of the classical
Principles and Parameters approach (deep structure, surface structure, LF, and PF;
cf. 10, repeated in 11a, for convenience) are abandoned in favour of a simplified
model that only consists of two levels of representation, namely LF and PF (cf. 11b).

(11) a. b.

According to minimalist assumptions, it is supposed that at a certain point of the


derivation, called “spell-out”, the syntactic structure is delivered to PF, where phono-
logical rules apply (cf. 11b). The interplay between PF (i.e. phonology) and the phrase
structure building operations becomes relevant from Chomsky’s (2001) “Derivation
by Phase” approach on, according to which it is assumed that the phrase marker is
not delivered to PF as a whole, but in smaller chunks within several phases. As a
consequence, the domain of the phonological component is not restricted to the
application of phonological rules to the output of the whole sentence, but to several
chunks that reach PF cyclically, with the result that the two components seem to
interact with each other. In addition, head movement such as the raising of the
verb from its VP-internal base position to a higher functional head (such as T) is no
longer seen as “part of the narrow-syntactic computation but an operation of the
phonological component” (Chomsky 2001, 37),5 an idea based on the assumption
that the position of the inflected verb form in a given clause has no influence on its
semantic interpretation (cf. Fr. Il [V regarde] [Adv souvent] la télé vs. Eng. He [Adv often]
[V watches] TV). This allows the interpretation of verb movement as PF-syntax and
has been applied to focus-induced word order variation (cf. Erteschik-Shir/Strahov
2004 on Germanic languages; Gabriel 2010 on Spanish, and ↗14 Information struc-
ture, prosody, and word order).
Nowadays the term “interface” can be understood in different ways: as the
connection between linguistics and other disciplines (e.g. philosophy, psychology,
sociology), between the language faculty and other aspects of cognitive domains,
i.e. external interfaces or nonlinguistic interfaces, specifically with the sensory-
motor system at PF (e.g. prosody, phonetics) and with the conceptual-intentional

5 For a different view, cf. Lechner (2005), Matushansky (2006), and Roberts (2010), among many
others.
10 Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel

system at LF (e.g. pragmatics and discourse function), and, in a narrow interpreta-


tion, as the interaction between the core computational systems, i.e. internal inter-
faces between the subsystems of grammar (cf. the discussion in Ramchand/Reiss
2007 and Sorace 2011).

2 Interfaces in Romance languages: The structure


of the volume
This volume addresses problems at the cross-sections of one or more internal or
external interfaces in a number of Romance languages. The individual chapters are
by authors who have been working on specific Romance issues that touch upon
more than one subsystem of grammar, i.e. problems that go beyond traditional
domains of grammar and that cannot easily be accounted for within a modular
conception of the linguistic system where the subsystems do not share information
with each other. Some of the chapters seek to highlight the controversy of the ongo-
ing debate and/or provide data from nonstandard languages, varieties of Romance
that challenge the modular view even more, while others again define the condi-
tions under which grammaticality at the interfaces can be achieved. The volume
is intended to function as a state-of-the-art report on research in the field, but at
the same time as a manual of Romance languages with special emphasis given to
different linguistic phenomena specific to Romance languages.
The volume consists of four main parts, addressing the various interfaces
between the components of grammar: In a first step, we concentrate on the inter-
dependencies between sound and the underlying structure (I. Sound and structure).
The second part is devoted to the interrelations between semantics and structural
form (II. Structure and meaning). The third part investigates the complex interplay
between the three areas mentioned so far (III. Sound, structure, and meaning). The
last part focuses on the acquisition and the evolution of interface phenomena in
Romance languages, where especially external interfaces are of importance (IV. The
role of the interfaces in language acquisition and change).

2.1 Sound and structure


There is no doubt that sound and structure are interrelated to some extent: The
phonetic surface of a language is a concrete and measurable manifestation of a
language-specific phonology. Within the grammar of a given language, underlying
phonological structures form a subsystem which differs in its categorical inventory
and compositional principles from both morphology and syntax, but we know that
each subsystem can hardly be described adequately without reference to the others.
Grammatical interfaces in Romance languages: An introduction 11

The chapters of this section are concerned with clarifying in what way the different
domains are relevant for the generalizations of the other. In a Neogrammarian sense,
phonology has been argued to be autonomous; however, investigations into the field
have often argued that certain syntactic information is available to phonology, but
no phonological information seems to be available to syntax. Generative syntax
during the 1990s, though, did allow so-called “last resort” movements in order to
protect phonologically weak elements – like enclitics – from appearing in sentence-
initial position (e.g. Cardinaletti/Roberts 2002), or posited PF filters to eliminate
unwanted structures.
In chapter 1, Surface sound and underlying structure: The phonetics-phonology
interface, José Ignacio Hualde and Ioana Chitoran focus on the interdependencies
of underlying phonological representation and phonetic surface form and discuss
several consonantal and vocalic processes, such as lenition, fortification, and assimi-
lation as well as reduction and coalescence, with examples from a large array of
Romance varieties. The historical dimension is also referred to when appropriate.
Chapter 2, Segmental phenomena and their interactions: Evidence for prosodic
organization and the architecture of grammar, by Marina Vigário, is devoted to the
interaction of segmental phonology with other components of grammar. In a first
step, it is shown, based mainly on examples from Iberian varieties, how segmental
phonology is closely intertwined with suprasegmental features and prosodic struc-
ture; in a second step, its interface with morphology and the lexicon is taken into
account. Furthermore, specific segmental phenomena related to frequency effects
and the phonological integration of loan words are discussed.
In the third chapter, Élisabeth Delais-Roussarie focuses on Prosodic phonology
and its interfaces, based on the assumption that, first, prosodic units are partly
derived from the morphosyntactic and information structure of a given sentence
and that, second, they constitute domains for the application of phonological phe-
nomena. These are studied within the framework of Prosodic Phonology, which
essentially accounts for the way phonology interacts with the other components of
the grammar. After presenting the main features of Prosodic Phonology, the author
explains, based on examples from various Romance languages and varieties, how
the syntax-phonology mapping is formalized within this framework, with particular
reference to the formation of prosodic phrases, and shows how prosody is con-
strained by information related to discourse.
In chapter 4, Phonology and morphology in Optimality Theory, Eulàlia Bonet and
Maria-Rosa Lloret address the intriguing question of whether or not a model such
as Optimality Theory (OT), which essentially tackles phenomena at the phonology-
morphology interface, should allow intermediate levels of representation. They
address this pending issue by discussing a large array of phenomena from Romance
varieties that challenge the parallel version of OT in order to contrast the additional
mechanisms proposed to maintain parallelism (e.g. output-output and alignment
constraints) with the analyses provided within different serial (stratal, derivational,
12 Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel

or cyclic) versions of OT. The discussion of parallel and serial versions of OT forms
the basis for an in-depth analysis of phonologically conditioned phenomena of
allomorph selection in several Romance languages.
The fifth and last chapter of the first part, Inflectional verb morphology, by Sascha
Gaglia and Marc-Olivier Hinzelin, offers a selection of the most relevant phenomena
in inflectional verb morphology, thereby focusing on issues that play a role at the
morphology-phonology interface, such as stem allomorphy and syncretism, among
other things. In addition, further instances of noncanonical morphology are discussed
such as suppletion, periphrases, overabundance, and defectiveness. The authors
finally discuss the assumption of an autonomous “morphomic” level, thus address-
ing the pending question of the autonomy of morphology.

2.2 Structure and meaning


Part II, Structure and meaning, is concerned with the interface between the structure
of words (morphology), the structure of sentences (syntax), and their meaning
(semantics). Questions about how words’ morphological characteristics influence
their syntactic distribution and/or semantic interpretation, how certain morphol-
ogical markings change the semantic interpretation, and how syntactic distribution
and specific positions of words/categories change the interpretation of sentences as
a whole have been discussed vigorously within linguistics. In the chapters of this
section issues are discussed that were at the centre of investigation long before the
notion of interfaces and their interactions were introduced. The chapters have in
common that they show how structure and interpretation interact and that correct
analyses need to involve the subsystems as well as the interfaces.
In chapter 6, Meaning of words and meaning of sentences, by Teresa Espinal and
Susagna Tubau Muntaña, the question is addressed how the meanings of n-words
contribute to the meaning of whole sentences. The chapter presents up-to-date data
on the use and distribution of n-words in Spanish, Catalan, French, and Romanian,
providing an analysis in terms of ±interpretable features and a semantic operator/
feature, and discussing the interface between syntax and interpretation. The authors
argue that the semantic feature ensures that the n-words behave as polarity items,
and that the syntactic feature guarantees their occurrence in negative concord struc-
tures. In this way they provide an interesting typology of n-words concerning the
four Romance languages mentioned above, contributing to our general understand-
ing of the interaction between semantic and syntactic lexical features on the one
hand and syntactic operations on the other.
Chapter 7, Morphology and semantics: Aspect and modality, by Eva-Maria Remberger,
discusses the interpretative interrelations between modality, mood, aspect, and also
tense in different Romance languages. The chapter pursues a cartographic approach,
assuming that aspect (structural and aspectual verbal meaning, thus including lexical
aspect, i.e. Aktionsart) is syntactically encoded within the vP domain – the domain
Grammatical interfaces in Romance languages: An introduction 13

of predication, and, semantically, the domain of the event situation. Modality under
this view is encoded in a higher domain, namely the IP/TP, which is in close relation
to the CP domain – the domain of contextual/illocutionary anchoring, sentence
mood, and the speech situation. The intermediate functional domain connected
to both aspect and modality is tense in the IP/TP. Thus this chapter shows how
the interplay of aspect, tense, and modality is crucial for the discussion of interface
phenomena, i.e. between morphosyntax, semantics, and pragmatics in general, and
how this interaction can be accounted for in a cartographic account.
Chapter 8, (In)definiteness, specificity, and differential object marking, by Luis
López, investigates the interface of syntax and interpretation and provides evidence
for the restrictions on semantic interpretation in certain syntactic environments. The
chapter shows for a number of Romance languages that exhibit differential object
marking (DOM) that in these languages a subset of direct objects is distinguished
by means of a morphological marking or by syntactic placement. After pointing out
the shortcomings of restricting DOM to, for example, animacy (a semantic feature), it
is proposed that the phenomenon can be compared to scrambling in the Germanic
languages, i.e. DOM and wide scope of indefinites entail scrambling. More specifi-
cally the author proposes that objects marked by DOM are composed by ‘function
application’ (after type shifting), while objects without DOM are composed by means
of ‘restrict’. Thus, syntactic configurations limit the range of possible semantic inter-
pretations.
In chapter 9, Agreement restrictions and agreement oddities, Roberta d’Alessandro
and Diego Pescarini address exceptional agreement patterns, i.e. cases where the
verb does not agree with the subject, where the morphological marking of the pro-
nouns in clusters does not match their coding, and where the pre- or postnominal
modifiers do not agree with the noun in the DP. The phenomenon of so-called mis-
matches or oddities regarding the Romance languages has been known for a very
long time; Marcus Terentius Varro in his De lingua latina (47–49 BC ) already listed
environments where the verb could only show a 3p agreement ending. This chapter
provides an empirically rich overview by discussing the different restriction phe-
nomena in the standard languages, as well as with respect to some Italian and
Spanish varieties, by presenting the theoretical approaches in the literature of the
last decades, and by examining which issues can be seen as settled and which
ones deserve more consideration.
Chapter 10, Auxiliary selection, by Jaume Mateu Fontanals, discusses the different
factors to which auxiliary selection seems to be sensitive, including (in)transitivity,
argument structure (unaccusativity vs. unergativity), lexical semantics, Aktionsart,
tense, modality, clausal aspect, and subject person. The data examined in this
chapter shows that an impressive range of variation is attested in the standard and
nonstandard variations of Romance. After thoroughly discussing and contrasting the
syntactic and semantic approaches that have been proposed so far, the author
argues in favour of accounts that operate essentially at the interface between syntax
and semantics.
14 Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel

2.3 Sound, structure, and meaning


Part III, Sound, structure, and meaning, addresses issues that are related to the
syntax-phonology interface on the one hand and to the syntax-semantics interface
on the other. It seems obvious that all languages can serve the same communicative
needs. However the various languages use different linguistic means in order to
meet these needs. One could say – and it has been suggested – that the standard
and nonstandard variations of Romance languages are just paradigmatic examples
of different diachronic stages and parameter settings (Uriagereka 1995), i.e. they
only vary in which syntactic and semantic features are phonologically realized and
which are not, and that this can account for the differences between the Romance
languages. Nevertheless, without disagreeing with this view, we would like to add
that an important additional aspect of the differences within and across the different
Romance languages concerns the various ways in which the different subsystems
interact. Thus, it is important how phonology/phonetics (the phonetic realization of
syntactic and semantic features) interacts with syntax (the way structure is built up),
but it is also important to understand how discourse function and information struc-
ture interact with the linking between syntax and semantics. The contributions of
this section discuss in what way the interaction and linking between the different
modules can best be captured and explained.
In chapter 11, Subjects, null-subjects, and expletives, Michelle Sheehan investi-
gates the interplay of overt phonological (morphological) realization and infor-
mation structure in licensing null subjects. The author examines the behaviour of
a variety of null-subject languages with respect to the two main minimalist
approaches, i.e. in simplified terms, pro exists and pro does not exist. The two
approaches make very different empirical predictions regarding the status of overt
subjects in pre- and postverbal positions as well as the (non)existence of null exple-
tives. On the basis of ten diagnostic tests (adverb placement, wide/narrow scope of
preverbal subjects, binding of postverbal subjects, non-referential subjects, floating
quantifiers, subject vs. topics, hortative contexts, basic word order, disambiguation,
and parasitic gaps), it is shown that the Romance languages seem to fall into at least
two groups: type (a) null-subject languages, in which either XP or X-movement can
satisfy the EPP, i.e. verbal morphology seems to be pronominal, and type (b) null-
subject languages, in which some XP must always satisfy the EPP and null-subjects
are deleted.
Chapter 12, Object clitics, by Susann Fischer and Maria Goldbach, gives an over-
view of the classic criteria used to define clitics and discusses the specific properties
shared by Romance object clitics, as well as some synchronic and diachronic differ-
ences, concerning for example doubling, climbing, mesocliticization, and opaque
clusters, i.e. the person-case-constraint. By presenting some of the most prominent
(classic) accounts as well as some recent approaches that have been proposed in
order to account for the specific behaviour of Romance clitics, the chapter aims at
Grammatical interfaces in Romance languages: An introduction 15

presenting a state-of-the-art perspective on cliticization and its consequences for the


interaction of the subsystems of grammar.
In chapter 13, Nominalizations, Judith Meinschaefer provides a detailed overview
of deverbal nominalizations across the Romance languages at the interface between
morphology, syntax, and semantics. In the simplest cases, nouns can be derived
from one-place predicates. In more complex cases, they derive from complex
verbs and retain much of the syntactic and semantic complexity of their bases. The
contribution focuses on two important questions: First, to what degree is the event-
structural and argument-structural complexity of the verbal domain visible in the
nominal domain, and second, is the morphological complexity of deverbal nomina-
lizations a reflex of their event-structural and argument-structural-complexity? With
a focus on these two questions, the contribution presents the latest perspective on
nominalization and its implications for the interfaces between morphology, syntax,
and semantics.
Chapter 14, Information structure, prosody, and word order, by Andreas Dufter
and Christoph Gabriel, addresses the expression of information structure, based
mainly on data from Catalan, French, Italian, Portuguese, Romanian, and Spanish,
with special regard given to the syntax-phonology interface. After a critical overview
of the basic notions of information structure, information-structurally induced word
order variation in simple and complex sentences as well as clefting and dislocation
structures and their prosodic realizations are discussed. Furthermore, the authors
address the question of how free variation (or: optionality), as primarily occurs
at the so-called ‘external’ interfaces, can be accounted for in formal models of
grammar. The last part of the chapter is devoted to the role of interfaces in learner
and contact varieties and in linguistic change.
Chapter 15, VP and TP ellipsis: Sentential polarity and information structure, by
Ana Maria Martins, focuses on two types of predicate ellipsis, namely verbal phrase
ellipsis and tense phrase ellipsis, and is thus situated at the interface of syntax and
discourse function. It is shown that there is a nontrivial correlation between the
licensing of predicate-ellipsis and the polarity-encoding system of language-particular
grammars, which explains the cross-linguistic variation concerning the availability
of this phenomenon. Languages that license verbal phrase ellipsis display polar
answering systems where the verb plays an important role (e.g. Portuguese, Galician,
and Latin) and where these bare-verb answers constitute an unmarked, pervasive,
and early acquired manifestation of the syntax-semantics and syntax-pragmatics-
discourse interfaces. In languages where tense phrase ellipsis and verbal phrase
ellipsis are licensed, these are not in free variation but implement different strategies
regarding information structure.
In chapter 16, Existential constructions, Delia Bentley and Silvio Cruschina discuss
the major properties of existential constructions in a variety of different standard
and nonstandard Romance languages. It is suggested that the argument structure
and the predication of these constructions are distinct from those of locatives and
16 Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel

possessives, which is testified by the morphosyntax of the Romance languages dis-


cussed. Under the view presented in this contribution, the noncanonical morpho-
syntactic properties of existentials, such as the postcopular position of the pivot
and in some cases, the pivotʼs inability to control number agreement on the copula,
can be explained by referring to aspects at the interfaces of morphosyntax with
semantics and pragmatics (discourse).

2.4 The role of the interfaces in language acquisition and change


The last part of the volume is concerned with the role external and internal inter-
faces play in language acquisition, language contact, and language change. Since
Platzack’s (2001) paper it has often been shown that linguistic phenomena at the
(external) interfaces are especially vulnerable in language acquisition (bilingual and
second language acquisition) contexts. This view, known as the interface hypothesis
(Sorace/Filiaci 2006), has influenced much research on the syntax-pragmatics-
information structure interface and on the syntax-phonetics-prosody interface since
its original formulation, and has recently been questioned (e.g. Domínguez 2013).
Under a generative view language change is directly related to language acquisition,
which is why this section consists of contributions on language acquisition and on
(contact-induced) language change. All contributions however mainly explore the
external interfaces and most of all the variables that contribute to the specific (or
non-specific) vulnerability of these interfaces.
In chapter 17, Acquiring multilingual phonologies (2L1, L2 and L3): Are the difficulties
in the interfaces?, Conxita Lleó discusses various types of bilingual and multilingual
phonological acquisition, namely the simultaneous acquisition of two first languages
(2L1) and the sequential acquisition or learning of second (L2) or third languages (L3).
Special attention is paid to 2L1 acquisition, which either leads to two rather balanced
phonological competencies or to a biased relation of a stronger and a weaker com-
petence, as is the case for so-called heritage languages (HL). The data referred
to come mainly from Spanish as it is acquired in different bilingual settings, but
phonological phenomena in the bilingual acquisition of other Romance languages
are also taken into account, thereby addressing both the order and the speed of
phonological acquisition as well as the question of how phenomena of (negative
and positive) transfer can be represented in formal models of grammar. The author
argues that the interface hypothesis is not the most explanatory one and proposes a
new approach to bilingual development, based on the insights of Optimality Theory.
Chapter 18, Interfaces with syntax in language acquisition, by Tanja Kupisch and
Jason Rothman, provides an overview of empirical work on the acquisition of various
Romance languages, focusing on the differences between the syntax-semantics and
the syntax-discourse interfaces. Since the body of research across different acquisi-
tion settings and speaker types is very large, the article concentrates with respect
Grammatical interfaces in Romance languages: An introduction 17

to the syntax-semantics interface on adjectival position (pre- and postnominal)


and concerning the syntax-discourse-pragmatics interface on null/overt subject and
also article distribution. The authors point out that the association of particular
phenomena with specific interfaces is problematic, as well as assume that internal
interfaces are less problematic than the external ones.
In chapter 19, The role of the interfaces in syntactic change, Esther Rinke is con-
cerned with the role that the two interfaces standardly identified in Chomskyan
linguistics – the articulatory-perceptual and the conceptual-intensional – play in
the context of diachronic change. The contribution gives an overview of two genera-
tive approaches to syntactic change and recent work on the interaction between
word order and information structure. Using these discussions as the basis of how
the interfaces are implicated in change, the contribution also considers the relevance
of acquisition to our understanding of syntactic change.
Chapter 20, Interfacing interfaces: Quechua and Spanish in the Andes, by Pieter
Muysken and Antje Muntendam, explores the phenomena that take place at different
external and internal interfaces due to the contact between Quechua and Andean
Spanish in Bolivia, Peru, and Ecuador. Phenomena such as aspect and evidentiality
in past tenses, null objects for definite and specific antecedents, and prosody in
declarative sentences are studies at the syntax-morphology, syntax-pragmatics, and
syntax-prosody interfaces. It is shown that Quechua mainly influences the concep-
tual organization of Andean Spanish. In contrast, focusing on relexification in Media
Lengua, the lexicon-grammar interface is examined, where Spanish lexemes are
organized according to the semantics, phonology, and morphosyntax of Quechua.
In chapter 21, Grammaticalization and pragmaticalization, Ulrich Detges and
Richard Waltereit discuss two diachronic processes, namely grammaticalization and
pragmaticalization, that apply at internal and external interfaces. They argue that
core grammar as well as discourse markers and modal particles are sedimented
residues of argumentative moves designed to solve communicative problems. What
these processes of sedimentation have in common is that they are driven by language
use, more precisely by routinization. Routinization under this view is an aspect
inherent to language use. Furthermore it is an interface phenomenon that affects all
modules of grammar and aligns changes occurring within them. Thus, the changes
triggered by routinization are driven by factors outside the subsystems of grammar,
i.e. factors such as relevance of information, felicity of speech acts, and coherence in
discourse – in other words, the external interface between syntax and pragmatics/
information structure.
Chapter 22, Changes at the syntax-discourse interface, by Kristine Gunn Eide,
finally, outlines the general correlations between information-structural categories
such as topic and focus on the one hand and syntactic functions such as subject
and object on the other, and discusses how the information-structural level of texts
can be disentangled from syntax in historical data. Special attention is given to the
18 Susann Fischer and Christoph Gabriel

change from V2-like structures as they occur in the medieval stages of Romance lan-
guages to the different ways of structuring information structure and syntax in the
contemporary varieties. The focus is mainly on Portuguese, but examples from other
Romance varieties are discussed as well.

3 Closing words
In this short overview we have only touched upon some of the facets of and prob-
lems concerning the interfaces in grammatical theory, i.e. the interface debate in
linguistics. We hope that it has been helpful for those readers who were not already
familiar with the phenomena. It is also our hope that this review is a valuable
lead-in to a volume that presents a state-of-the-art picture of the ongoing discussion,
rendering this discussion clearer for those who are familiar with it, but at the same
time introducing it in a user-friendly way to those who have never taken part in the
dialogue before.
We have selected the contributions to this volume for their relevance in Romance
linguistics, and because of their combination of empirical data and theoretical in-
sights. All of the contributors have been active participants in the ongoing debate.
Enjoy!

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A visit to the family of a Tchuktche chief is thus described by one
of Admiral Wrangell’s companions:—
We entered the outer tent, or namet, consisting of tanned
reindeer-skins outstretched on a slender framework. An opening at
the top to give egress to the smoke, and a kettle on the hearth in the
centre, showed that antechamber and kitchen were here
harmoniously blended into one. But where might be the inmates?
Most probably in that large sack made of the finest skins of reindeer
calves, which occupied, near the kettle, the centre of the namet. To
penetrate into this “sanctum sanctorum” of the Tchuktch household,
we raised the loose flap which served as a door, crept on all fours
through the opening, cautiously refastened the flap by tucking it
under the floor-skin, and found ourselves in the polog—that is, the
reception or withdrawing-room. A snug box, no doubt, for a cold
climate, but rather low, as we were unable to stand upright in it; nor
was it quite so well ventilated as a sanitary commissioner would
require, as it had positively no opening for light or air. A suffocating
smoke met us on entering: we rubbed our eyes; and when they had
at length got accustomed to the pungent atmosphere, we perceived,
by the gloomy light of a train-oil lamp, the worthy family sitting on the
floor in a state of almost complete nudity. Without being in the least
embarrassed, Madame Leütt and her daughter received us in their
primitive costume; but to show us that the Tchuktche knew how to
receive company, and to do honour to their guests, they immediately
inserted strings of glass beads in their hair.
Their hospitality equalled their politeness; for, instead of a cold
reception, a hot dish of boiled reindeer flesh, copiously irrigated with
rancid train-oil by the experienced hand of the mistress of the
household, was soon after smoking before them. The culinary taste
of the Russians, however, could not appreciate this work of art, and
the Leütt family were left to do justice to it unaided.
The Tchuktche are polygamous. Their women are regarded as
slaves, but are not badly treated. Most of the Tchuktche have been
baptized, but they cling in secret to their heathen creed, and own the
power of the shamans, or necromancers. They form two great
divisions: the reindeer, or wandering Tchuktche, who call themselves
Tennygk; and the stationary Tchuktche, or Oukilon, who exhibit
affinities with the Eskimos, and subsist by hunting the whale, the
walrus, and the seal. The Oukilon are supposed to number 10,000,
and the Tennygk about 20,000.
CHAPTER X.
HISTORICAL SKETCH OF ARCTIC DISCOVERY.

n the reign of Henry VIII., Dr. Robert Thorne declared that “if he
had facultie to his will, the first thing he would understande,
even to attempt, would be if our seas northwarde be
navigable to the Pole or no.” And it is said that the king, at his
instigation, “sent two fair ships, well-manned and victualled, having
in them divers cunning men, to seek strange regions; and so they set
forth out of the Thames, the 20th day of May, in the nineteenth year
of his reign, which was the year of our Lord 1527.” Of the details of
this expedition, however, we have no record, except that one of the
vessels was wrecked on the coast of Newfoundland.
In 1536, a second Arctic voyage was undertaken by a London
gentleman, named Hore, accompanied by thirty members of the Inns
of Law, and about the same number of adventurers of a lower estate.
They reached Newfoundland, which, according to some authorities,
was discovered by Sebastian Cabot in 1496, and here they suffered
terrible distress; in the extremity of their need being reduced to
cannibalism. After the deaths of a great portion of the crew, the
survivors captured by surprise a French vessel which had arrived on
the coast, and navigated her in safety to England.
But the true history of Arctic Discovery dates, as Mr. Markham
observes, from the day when the veteran navigator, Sebastian
Cabot, explained to young Edward VI. the phenomena of the
variation of the needle. On the same day the aged sailor received a
pension; and immediately afterwards three discovery-ships were
fitted out by the Muscovy Company under his direction. Sir Hugh
Willoughby was appointed to their command, with Richard
Chancellor in the Edward Bonadventure as his second. The latter,
soon after quitting England, was separated from the squadron, and
sailing in a northerly direction, gained at last a spacious harbour on
the Muscovy coast. Sir Hugh’s ship, and her companion, the Bona
Confidentia, were cast away on a desolate part of the Lapland coast,
at the mouth of the river Arzina. They entered the river on September
18, 1563, and remained there for a week; and “seeing the year far
spent, and also very evil weather, as frost, snow, and hail, as though
it had been the deep of winter, they thought it best to winter there.”
But as day followed day, and week followed week, in those grim
solitudes of ice and snow, the brave adventurers perished one by
one; and many months afterwards their bleached bones were
discovered by some Russian fishermen.
In the spring of 1556, Stephen Burrough, afterwards chief pilot of
England, fitted out the “Search-thrift” pinnace, and sailed away for
the remote north. He discovered the strait leading into the sea of
Kara, between Novaia Zemlaia and the island Waigatz; but he made
up his mind to return, because, first, of the north winds, which blew
continually; second, “the great and terrible abundance of ice which
we saw with our eyes;” and third, because the nights waxed dark. He
arrived at Archangel on September 11, wintered there, and returned
to England in the following year.
Twenty years later, on a bright May morning, Queen Elizabeth
waved a farewell to Martin Frobisher and his gallant company, as
they dropped down the Thames in two small barks, the Gabriel and
the Michael, each of thirty tons, together with a pinnace of ten tons.
They gained the shores of Friesland on the 11th of July; and sailing
to the south-west, reached Labrador. Then, striking northward, they
discovered “a great gut, bay, or passage,” which they named
Frobisher Strait (lat. 63° 8’ N.), and fell into the error of supposing
that it connected the Atlantic Ocean with the Pacific. Here they came
into contact with some Eskimos; and Frobisher describes them as
“strange infidels, whose like was never seen, read, nor heard of
before: with long black hair, broad faces and flat noses, and tawny in
colour, wearing seal-skins, the women marked in the face with blue
streaks down the cheeks, and round about the eyes.”
Frobisher’s discoveries produced so great an impression on the
public mind, that in the following year he was placed at the head of a
larger expedition, in the hope that he would throw open to English
enterprise the wealth of “far Cathay.” About the end of May 1577, he
sailed from Gravesend with the Ayde of one hundred tons, the
Gabriel of thirty, and the Michael of thirty, carrying crews of ninety
men in all, besides about thirty merchants, miners, refiners, and
artisans. He returned in September with two hundred tons of what
was supposed to be gold ore, and met with a warm reception. It was
considered almost certain that he had fallen in with some portion of
the Indian coast, and Queen Elizabeth, naming it Meta Incognita,
resolved to establish there a colony. For this purpose, Frobisher was
dispatched with fifteen well-equipped ships, three of which were to
remain for a twelvemonth at the new settlement, while the others,
taking on board a cargo of the precious ore, were to return to
England.
In the third week of June Frobisher arrived at Friesland, of which
he took possession in the queen’s name. Steering for Frobisher
Strait, he found its entrance blocked up with colossal icebergs; and
the bark Dennis, which carried the wooden houses and stores for the
colony, coming in collision with one of these, unfortunately sank.
Then, in a great storm, the fleet was scattered far and wide,—some
of the vessels drifting out to sea, some being driven into the strait;
and when most of them rejoined their admiral, it was found they had
suffered so severely that no help remained but to abandon the
project of a colony. They collected fresh supplies of ore, however,
and then made their way back to England as best they could. Here
they were met with the unwelcome intelligence that the supposed
gold ore contained no gold at all, and was, in truth, mere dross and
refuse.
The dream of a northern passage to Cathay was not to be
dissipated, however, by an occasional misadventure. Even a man of
the keen intellect of Sir Humphrey Gilbert felt persuaded that through
the northern seas lay the shortest route to the treasures of the East;
and having obtained from Queen Elizabeth a patent authorizing him
to undertake north-western discoveries, and to acquire possession of
any lands not inhabited or colonized by Christian princes or their
subjects, he equipped, in 1583, with the help of his friends, a
squadron of five small ships, and sailed from England full of bright
visions and sanguine anticipations. On board his fleet were smiths,
and carpenters, and shipwrights, and masons, and refiners, and
“mineral men;” not to speak of one Stephen Parmenio, a learned
Hungarian, who was bound to chronicle in sonorous Latin all “gests
and things worthy of remembrance.”
Sir Humphrey formed a settlement at Newfoundland; and then,
embarking on board the Squirrel, a little pinnace of ten tons burden,
and taking with him the Golden Hind and the Delight, he proceeded
on a voyage of exploration. Unhappily, the Delight ran ashore on the
shoals near Sable Land, and all her crew except twelve men, and all
her stores, were lost. The disaster determined Sir Humphrey to
return to England; and his companions implored him to embark on
board the Golden Hind, representing that the Squirrel was unfit for so
long a voyage. “I will not forsake,” replied the chivalrous adventurer,
“the brave and free companions with whom I have undergone so
many storms and perils.” Soon after passing the Azores, they were
overtaken by a terrible tempest, in which the tiny pinnace was tossed
about by the waves like a straw. The Golden Hind kept as near her
as the rolling billows permitted; and her captain has left on record
that he could see Sir Humphrey sitting calmly in the stern reading a
book. He was heard to exclaim—“Courage, my lads; we are as near
heaven by sea as by land!” Then night came on, with its shadows
and its silence, and next morning it was perceived that the pinnace
and her gallant freight had gone to swell the sum of the irrecoverable
treasures of the deep.
THE LOSS OF THE “SQUIRREL.”
But neither Frobisher’s mishap nor Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s
melancholy fate could check that current of English enterprise which
had set in for the North. There was an irresistible attraction in these
remote northern seas and distant mist-shrouded lands, with all their
possibilities of wealth and glory; and Arctic Discovery had already
begun to exercise on the mind of the English people that singular
fascination which the course of centuries has not weakened, which
endures even to the present day. So, in 1585, Sir Adrian Gilbert and
some other gentlemen of Devonshire raised funds sufficient to fit out
a couple of vessels—the Sunshine of fifty, and the Moonshine of
thirty-five tons—for the great work of discovery; and they gave the
command to a veteran mariner and capable navigator, Captain John
Davis, a countryman, or county-man, of their own. Towards the end
of July he reached the west coast of Greenland, and its cheerless
aspect induced him to christen it the “Land of Desolation.” His
intercourse with the Eskimos, however, was of the friendliest
character. Standing away to the north-west, he discovered and
crossed the strait which still bears his name; and to the headland on
its western coast he gave the name of Cape Walsingham. Having
thus opened up, though unwittingly, the great highway to the Polar
Sea, he sailed for England, where he arrived on the 20th of
September.
In his second voyage, in 1586, when, in addition to the Sunshine
and the Moonshine, he had with him the Mermaid of one hundred
and twenty tons, and the North Star pinnace of ten, he retraced his
route of the previous year. The Sunshine and the North Star,
however, he employed in cruising along the east coast of Greenland;
and they ascended, it is said, as high as lat. 80° N.
Davis in his third voyage pushed further to the north, reaching as
far as the bold promontory which he named Cape Sanderson. He
also crossed the great channel afterwards known as Hudson Bay.
The next Englishman who ventured into the frozen seas was one
Captain Waymouth, in 1602; but he added nothing to the scanty
information already acquired. An Englishman, James Hall, was the
chief pilot of an expedition fitted out in 1605 by the King of Denmark,
which explored some portion of the Greenland coast. He made three
successive voyages; but while exhibiting his own courage and
resolution, he contributed nothing to the stores of geographical
knowledge.

We now arrive at a name which deservedly ranks among the


foremost of Arctic explorers—that of Henry Hudson. He contributed
more to our acquaintance with the Polar seas than any one who had
preceded him, and few of his successors have surpassed him in the
extent and thoroughness of his researches.
He first appears, says Mr. Markham, fitting out a little cock-boat
for the Muscovy Company, called the Hopewell (of eighty tons), to
discover a passage by the North Pole. On the 1st of May 1607 he
sailed from Greenwich. “When we consider the means with which he
was provided for the achievement of this great discovery, we are
astonished at the fearless audacity of the attempt. Here was a crew
of twelve men and a boy, in a wretched little craft of eighty tons,
coolly talking of sailing right across the Pole to Japan, and actually
making as careful and judicious a trial of the possibility of doing so
as has ever been effected by the best equipped modern
expeditions.... Imagine this bold seaman sailing from Gravesend,
bound for the North Pole, in a craft about the size of one of the
smallest of modern collier brigs. We can form a good idea of her
general appearance, because three such vessels are delineated on
the chart drawn by Hudson himself. The Hopewell was more like an
old Surat buggalow than anything else that now sails the seas, with
high stern, and low pointed bow; she had no head-sails on her
bowsprit, but, to make up for this, the foremast was stepped chock
forward. There was a cabin under the high and narrow poop, where
Hudson and his little son were accommodated; and the crew were
crowded forward.”
SHIP OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
Hudson first sighted land beyond the Arctic Circle in lat. 70°. It
was the cold, grim coast of East Greenland. Three degrees further
north a chain of lofty peaks, all bare of snow, rose upon the horizon,
and Hudson’s men noted that the temperature daily increased in
mildness. Steering to the north-east, the great navigator arrived off
the shores of Spitzbergen, where some of his men landed and
picked up various fragments of whalebone, horns of deer, walrus-
teeth, and relics of other animals. To the north-west point of
Spitzbergen he gave the name which it still bears—Hakluyt’s
Headland. At one time he found himself as far north as 81°; and it
seems probable that he discovered the Seven Islands: he remarked
that the sea was in some places green, in others blue; and he says,
“Our green sea we found to be freest from ice, and our azure-blue
sea to be our icy sea;” an observation not confirmed by later
navigators. The greenness was probably due to the presence of
minute organisms.

SCENERY OF JAN MAYEN.


Having completed a survey of the west coast of Spitzbergen, he
resolved on sailing round the north end of Greenland, which he
supposed to be an island, and returning to England by Davis Strait.
With this view he again examined the sea between Spitzbergen and
Greenland, but from the strong ice-blink along the northern horizon
felt convinced that there was no passage in that direction. After
sighting Spitzbergen, therefore, he determined to return to England;
and on his homeward voyage discovered an island in lat. 71° N.,
which he named Hudson Sutches, and which has since been
improperly named Jan Mayen. The Hopewell arrived in the Thames
on the 15th of September.
The results of this voyage, says Mr. Markham, were very
important, both in a geographical and a commercial point of view.
Hudson had discovered a portion of the east coast of Greenland; he
had examined the edge of the ice between Greenland and
Spitzbergen twice—in June and in the end of July; and he had sailed
to the northward of Spitzbergen until he was stopped by the ice,
reaching almost as high a latitude as Scoresby in 1806, which was
81° 12′ 42″ N. Hudson’s highest latitude by observation was 80° 23’,
but he sailed for two more days in a north-easterly direction. The
practical consequence of his voyage was that his account of the
quantities of whales and sea-horses in the Spitzbergen seas led to
the establishment of a rich and prosperous fishery, which continued
to flourish for two centuries.
In the following year Hudson made a second voyage, in the hope
of discovering a north-eastern passage to China between
Spitzbergen and Novaia Zemlaia. He exhibited his characteristic
resolution, and forced his way to the very gate of the unknown
region, which is still closed against human enterprise by an
impenetrable barrier of ice; but all his efforts proved in vain, and he
returned to Gravesend on the 26th of August.
In 1610, in a vessel of fifty-five tons, he once more entered the
Polar seas, and gained the extreme point of Labrador, which he
named Cape Wolstenholm. Here burst upon him the view of that
magnificent sea which has since been associated with his name; and
there can be no doubt that his enterprise would have anticipated the
discoveries of later navigators, but for the mutiny which broke out
among his crew, and eventually led to his being sent adrift, with nine
faithful companions, in a small open boat. He was never again heard
of.

The spirit of commercial enterprise and the love of maritime


adventure were still strong enough in England to induce the
equipment of further expeditions. In 1612 sailed Captain Button,—
who discovered a stream, and named it Nelson River; where, at a
later date, the Hudson Bay Company planted their first settlement.
Here he wintered. In April 1613, on the breaking up of the ice, he
resumed his work of exploration, and discovered, in lat. 65°, an
island group, which he named Manuel, now known as Mansfield,
Islands. Then he bore away for England, arriving in the Thames
early in September.
Robert Bylot and William Baffin undertook a voyage in 1615. The
latter had had some previous experience of Arctic navigation, which
he turned to advantage in 1616, when he accompanied Bylot on a
second expedition. Their ship, the Discovery, of fifty-five tons,
reached Cape Hope Sanderson, the furthest point attained by Davis,
on the 30th of May; and after meeting with some obstruction from the
ice, proceeded northwards to 72° 45’, where she dropped anchor for
awhile among the Women’s Islands. Baffin kept to the north until he
found ice in 74° 15’ N., and he then ascended Melville Bay, touching
the head of the great basin now known by his name, and sailing
down its western coast. He arrived in Dover Roads on the 30th of
August, after a brilliantly successful voyage, which had opened up
the principal north-west channels into the Arctic Sea.

It is necessary here to interpolate a few remarks in explanation of


the difficulties which beset the Baffin Bay route of Arctic exploration.
Geographers assert, and the assertion seems confirmed by the
experience of navigators, that a surface-current is constantly flowing
down this bay, and carrying great fleets of icebergs and shoals of
ice-floes into the Atlantic from its southern channels—Lancaster,
Jones, and Smith Sounds. Hence, at the head of the bay there exists
a considerable open and navigable expanse, which extends for
some distance up Lancaster and Smith Sounds during the summer
and early winter, and is known as the “North Water.” But between
this open expanse and Davis Strait lies an immense mass of ice,
averaging from one hundred and seventy to two hundred miles in
width, and blocking up the centre of Baffin Bay, so as to interrupt the
approach to the north-west end. This is known as the “middle pack,”
and consists of some ancient floe-pieces of great thickness, which
may have been brought down from a distant part of the Arctic seas;
of a wide extent of ice accumulated during each winter, about six or
eight feet in thickness; and of the grand and gigantic icebergs which
are so characteristic a feature of the Melville Bay scenery. A very
large quantity of this pack is destroyed in each succeeding summer
by the thaws, or by the swell and warm temperature of the Atlantic
as the ice drifts southward.
It is remarked of the Baffin Bay ice, that it is much lighter than
that found in the Spitzbergen seas. The latter often occurs in single
sheets, solid, transparent, and from twenty to thirty, and even forty,
feet in thickness. In Baffin Bay the average thickness of the floes
does not exceed five or six feet, and eight or ten feet is of very rare
occurrence.
From Baffin’s voyage, in 1616, until 1817, no attempt was made
to force this “middle pack” and enter the North Water; but now the
voyage is made every year, and three routes have been opened up.
The first is called the “North-about Passage,” and lies along the
Greenland coast; the second, or “Middle Passage,” only possible late
in the season, is by entering the drift-ice in the centre of the bay; and
the third, or “Southern Passage,” also only possible late in the
season, along the west side of Baffin Bay. Once in the North Water,
whichever route be attempted, all obstacles to an exploration of the
unknown region may be considered at an end. From Cape York to
Smith Sound the sea is always navigable in the summer months.
It will thus be seen that the great highways to the Pole were
discovered by William Baffin.
Our limits compel us to pass over the voyages of Stephen Bennet
(1603–1610), Jonas Poole (1610–1613), and Captain Luke Fox
(1631). In 1631 the merchants of Bristol despatched Captain
Thomas James, but he made no additions to the discoveries of his
predecessors. And then for nearly two centuries England abandoned
her efforts to open up a communication between the Atlantic and the
Pacific.
In 1818, however, the question of the existence of a North-West
Passage once more occupied the public mind; and the British
Government accordingly fitted out an exploring expedition, the
Isabella and the Alexander, under the command of Captain Ross
and Lieutenant Parry.
They sailed from England on the 18th of April, reached the
southern edge of the Baffin Bay ice on the 2nd of July, and, after a
detention of thirty-eight days, reached the North Water on August
8th. The capes on each side of the mouth of Smith Sound, Ross
named after his two ships; and having accomplished this much, he
affirmed that he saw land against the horizon at a distance of eight
leagues, and then retraced his course, and sailed for England.
The British Government, however, refused to be discouraged by
the failure of an expedition which had obviously been conducted with
an entire absence of vigour and enterprise. They therefore equipped
the Hecla and the Griper, and gave the command to Lieutenant
Parry; who sailed from the Thames on the 5th of May 1819, and on
the 15th of June sighted Cape Farewell. Striking northward, up Davis
Strait and Baffin Bay, he found himself checked by the ice-barrier in
lat. 73° N. A man of dauntless resolution, he came to the
determination of forcing a passage at all hazards; and in seven days,
by the exercise of a strong will, great sagacity, and first-rate
seamanship, he succeeded in carrying his ships through the pack of
ice, which measured eighty miles in breadth.
He was then able to enter Sir James Lancaster Sound; and up
this noble inlet he proceeded with a fair wind, hopeful of entering the
great Polar Sea. But after advancing a considerable distance, he
was once more met by the frozen powers of the North, and this time
he was forced to own himself vanquished. He accordingly returned
towards the south, discovering Barrow Strait; and, more to the
westward, an inlet which has since figured conspicuously in Arctic
voyages—Wellington Channel. Bathurst Island he also added to the
map; and afterwards he came in sight of Melville Island. On the 4th
of September he attained the meridian of 110° W. long., and thus
became entitled to the Parliamentary grant of £5000. A convenient
harbour in the vicinity was named the “Bay of the Hecla and the
Griper,” and here Lieutenant Parry resolved upon passing the winter.
In the following spring he resumed his adventurous course, and
completed a very careful survey of the shores of Baffin Sea; after
which he repaired to England, and reached the Thames in safety,
with his crews in good health, and his ships in excellent condition,
about the middle of November 1820.

THE “HECLA” AND “FURY” WINTERING AT WINTER ISLAND.


Having done so much and so well, it was natural that Captain
Parry should again be selected for employment in the Arctic seas in
the following year. He hoisted his flag in his old ship, the Hecla, and
was accompanied by the Fury; both vessels being equipped in the
most liberal manner. He sailed from the Nore on the 8th of May
1821; he returned to the Shetland Islands on the 10th of October
1823. In the interval, a period of seven-and-twenty months, he
discovered the Duke of York Bay, the numerous inlets which break
up the northern coast-line of the American continent, Winter Island,
the islands of Anatoak and Ooght, the Strait of the Fury and Hecla,
Melville Peninsula, and Cockburn Island. During their winter sojourn
on Winter Island, the English crews were surprised by a visit from a
party of Eskimos, whose settlement Captain Parry visited in his turn.
He found it an establishment of five huts, with canoes, sledges,
dogs, and above sixty men, women, and children, as regularly, and,
to all appearance, as permanently fixed as if they had occupied the
same spot the whole winter. “If the first view,” says Parry, “of the
exterior of this little village was such as to create astonishment, that
feeling was in no small degree heightened on accepting the invitation
soon given us to enter these extraordinary houses, in the
construction of which we observed that not a single material was
used but snow and ice. After creeping through two low passages,
having each its arched doorway, we came to a small circular
apartment, of which the roof was a perfect arched dome. From this
three doorways, also arched, and of larger dimensions than the
outward ones, led into as many inhabited apartments—one on each
side, and the other facing us as we entered. The interior of these
presented a scene no less novel than interesting: the women were
seated on the beds at the sides of the huts, each having her little
fireplace or lamp, with all her domestic utensils about her. The
children crept behind their mothers, and the dogs shrank past us in
dismay. The construction of this inhabited part of the hut was similar
to that of the outer apartment,—being a dome, formed by separate
blocks of snow laid with great regularity and no small art, each being
cut into the shape requisite to form a substantial arch, from seven to
eight feet high in the centre, and having no support whatever but
what this principle of building supplies. Sufficient light was admitted
into these curious edifices by a circular window of ice, neatly fitted
into the roof of each apartment.”
In 1824–25 Captain Parry undertook a third voyage, but with less
than his usual success. The Fury was driven ashore by the pressure
of the pack-ice, and so damaged, that Parry found it needful to
abandon her, and remove her crew and stores to the Hecla.

THE “FURY” ABANDONED BY PARRY—1824.


Sir John Parry’s fourth and last expedition, in 1827, was
characterized by his bold attempt to cross the icy sea in light boats
and sledges; resorting to the former when his progress was
interrupted by pools of water, and to the latter in traversing the
unbroken surface of the ice-fields. He was soon compelled, however,
to abandon the sledges, on account of the hummocks and
irregularities of the ice.
We agree with Mr. Cooley, that voluntarily to undertake the toil
and brave the danger of such an expedition, required a zeal little
short of enthusiasm. When the travellers reached a water-way, they
were obliged to launch their boats and embark. On reaching the
opposite side, their boats were then to be dragged, frequently up
steep and perilous cliffs, their lading being first removed. By this
laborious process, persevered in with little intermission, they
contrived to accomplish eight miles in five days. They travelled only
during the night, by which means they were less incommoded with
snow-blindness; they found the ice more firm and consistent; and
had the great advantage of lying down to sleep during the warmer
portion of the twenty-four hours. Shortly after sunset they took their
breakfast; then they laboured for a few hours before taking their
principal meal. A little after midnight, towards sunrise, they halted as
if for the night, smoked their pipes, looked over the icy desert in the
direction in which the journey was to be resumed; and then,
wrapping themselves in their furs, lay down to rest. Advancing as far
north as 82° 40’, they were then compelled by the drifting of the
snow-fields to retrace their steps. They regained their ships on the
21st of August, and sailed for England.

We must now go back a few years. In May 1819, an overland


expedition was despatched to ascertain the exact position of the
Coppermine River, to descend it to its mouth, and to explore the
coast of the Arctic Sea on either hand. The command was given to
Lieutenant Franklin, who was accompanied by Dr. Richardson the
naturalist, by Messrs. Hood and Back, two English midshipmen, and
two picked seamen. The expedition was spread over a period of two
years and a half, and the narrative of what was accomplished and

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