Il giorno giovedì 6 aprile 2017 20:23:46 UTC+2, Yoda ha
Post by YodaPost by p***@gmail.comHo provato anch`io a calcolare (a spanne) la distanza dal
francese all`inglese estraendo le parole di origine
neolatina nel primo articolo citato: su circa 380 parole
singole, sono 188 (49%).
Interessante, ma dovresti toglierci preposizioni e articoli,
o no?
Prendendo in considerazione il primo paragrafo di questa voce
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Semiconductor
Numero totale parole (contando anche le ripetizioni): 113
Di origine francese (o neolatina o classica): 52
Percentuale: 46%
Eliminando le ripetizioni e le particelle e le preposizioni
Numero termini simil-francesi : 45
Ovviamente si tratta di argomento tecnico-scientifico, non
molto rappresentativo di un testo normale.
(*anche se sono neologismi di recente conio, si puo` dire
che, per la loro forma, rendono l`inglese simile al francese
e non viceversa)
Alla fine direi che di inglese rimangono solo: il verbo
essere e avere, "dope", "hole", "carrier", "behavior", "low",
"high", "way", "between", "much".
Quindi una forchetta 45%-85%; almeno negli articoli
scientifici o comunque colti.
Notiamo pure i suffissi, quasi identici: ine -> ine; ic ->
ique, ate -> ate; ance -> ance; on -> on; or->eur; ure ->
ure.
Prova ad analizzare questo brano (o parte di esso):
“To carry the banner” means to walk the streets all night; and
I, with the figurative emblem hoisted, went out to see what I
could see. Men and women walk the streets at night all over
this great city, but I selected the West End, making Leicester
Square my base, and scouting about from the Thames Embankment
to Hyde Park.
The rain was falling heavily when the theatres let out, and the
brilliant throng which poured from the places of amusement was
hard put to find cabs. The streets were so many wild rivers
of cabs, most of which were engaged, however; and here I saw
the desperate attempts of ragged men and boys to get a shelter
from the night by procuring cabs for the cabless ladies and
gentlemen. I use the word “desperate” advisedly, for these
wretched, homeless ones were gambling a soaking against a bed;
and most of them, I took notice, got the soaking and missed
the bed. Now, to go through a stormy night with wet clothes,
and, in addition, to be ill nourished and not to have tasted
meat for a week or a month, is about as severe a hardship as a
man can undergo. Well fed and well clad, I have travelled all
day with the spirit thermometer down to seventy-four degrees
below zero—one hundred and six degrees of frost {1}; and
though I suffered, it was a mere nothing compared with
carrying the banner for a night, ill fed, ill clad, and
soaking wet.
The streets grew very quiet and lonely after the theatre crowd
had gone home. Only were to be seen the ubiquitous policemen,
flashing their dark lanterns into doorways and alleys, and men
and women and boys taking shelter in the lee of buildings from
the wind and rain. Piccadilly, however, was not quite so
deserted. Its pavements were brightened by well-dressed women
without escort, and there was more life and action there than
elsewhere, due to the process of finding escort. But by three
o’clock the last of them had vanished, and it was then indeed
lonely.
At half-past one the steady downpour ceased, and only showers
fell thereafter. The homeless folk came away from the
protection of the buildings, and slouched up and down and
everywhere, in order to rush up the circulation and keep warm.
One old woman, between fifty and sixty, a sheer wreck, I had
noticed earlier in the night standing in Piccadilly, not far
from Leicester Square. She seemed to have neither the sense
nor the strength to get out of the rain or keep walking, but
stood stupidly, whenever she got the chance, meditating on
past days, I imagine, when life was young and blood was warm.
But she did not get the chance often. She was moved on by
every policeman, and it required an average of six moves to
send her doddering off one man’s beat and on to another’s. By
three o’clock, she had progressed as far as St. James Street,
and as the clocks were striking four I saw her sleeping
soundly against the iron railings of Green Park. A brisk
shower was falling at the time, and she must have been
drenched to the skin.
Now, said I, at one o’clock, to myself; consider that you are a
poor young man, penniless, in London Town, and that to-morrow
you must look for work. It is necessary, therefore, that you
get some sleep in order that you may have strength to look for
work and to do work in case you find it.
So I sat down on the stone steps of a building. Five minutes
later a policeman was looking at me. My eyes were wide open,
so he only grunted and passed on. Ten minutes later my head
was on my knees, I was dozing, and the same policeman was
saying gruffly, “’Ere, you, get outa that!”
I got. And, like the old woman, I continued to get; for every
time I dozed, a policeman was there to rout me along again.
Not long after, when I had given this up, I was walking with a
young Londoner (who had been out to the colonies and wished he
were out to them again), when I noticed an open passage
leading under a building and disappearing in darkness. A low
iron gate barred the entrance.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s climb over and get a good sleep.”
“Wot?” he answered, recoiling from me. “An’ get run in fer
three months! Blimey if I do!”
Later on I was passing Hyde Park with a young boy of fourteen
or fifteen, a most wretched-looking youth, gaunt and
hollow-eyed and sick.
“Let’s go over the fence,” I proposed, “and crawl into the
shrubbery for a sleep. The bobbies couldn’t find us there.”
“No fear,” he answered. “There’s the park guardians, and
they’d run you in for six months.”
Times have changed, alas! When I was a youngster I used to
read of homeless boys sleeping in doorways. Already the thing
has become a tradition. As a stock situation it will
doubtless linger in literature for a century to come, but as a
cold fact it has ceased to be. Here are the doorways, and
here are the boys, but happy conjunctions are no longer
effected. The doorways remain empty, and the boys keep awake
and carry the banner.
“I was down under the arches,” grumbled another young fellow.
By “arches” he meant the shore arches where begin the bridges
that span the Thames. “I was down under the arches wen it was
ryning its ’ardest, an’ a bobby comes in an’ chyses me out.
But I come back, an’ ’e come too. ‘’Ere,’ sez ’e, ‘wot you
doin’ ’ere?’ An’ out I goes, but I sez, ‘Think I want ter
pinch [steal] the bleedin’ bridge?’”
Among those who carry the banner, Green Park has the reputation
of opening its gates earlier than the other parks, and at
quarter-past four in the morning, I, and many more, entered
Green Park. It was raining again, but they were worn out with
the night’s walking, and they were down on the benches and
asleep at once. Many of the men stretched out full length on
the dripping wet grass, and, with the rain falling steadily
upon them, were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion.
And now I wish to criticise the powers that be. They are the
powers, therefore they may decree whatever they please; so I
make bold only to criticise the ridiculousness of their
decrees. All night long they make the homeless ones walk up
and down. They drive them out of doors and passages, and lock
them out of the parks. The evident intention of all this is
to deprive them of sleep. Well and good, the powers have the
power to deprive them of sleep, or of anything else for that
matter; but why under the sun do they open the gates of the
parks at five o’clock in the morning and let the homeless ones
go inside and sleep? If it is their intention to deprive them
of sleep, why do they let them sleep after five in the
morning? And if it is not their intention to deprive them of
sleep, why don’t they let them sleep earlier in the night?
In this connection, I will say that I came by Green Park that
same day, at one in the afternoon, and that I counted scores
of the ragged wretches asleep in the grass. It was Sunday
afternoon, the sun was fitfully appearing, and the
well-dressed West Enders, with their wives and progeny, were
out by thousands, taking the air. It was not a pleasant sight
for them, those horrible, unkempt, sleeping vagabonds; while
the vagabonds themselves, I know, would rather have done their
sleeping the night before.
And so, dear soft people, should you ever visit London Town,
and see these men asleep on the benches and in the grass,
please do not think they are lazy creatures, preferring sleep
to work. Know that the powers that be have kept them walking
all the night long, and that in the day they have nowhere else
to sleep.
Oppure questo di un'epoca più antica:
DEAR MOLLY,
We are all upon the ving—Hey for London, girl!—Fecks! we have
been long enough here; for we’re all turned tipsy turvy
Mistress has excarded Sir Ulic for kicking of Chowder; and I
have sent O Frizzle away, with a flea in his ear—I’ve shewn
him how little I minded his tinsy and his long tail—A fellor,
who would think for to go, for to offer, to take up with a
dirty trollop under my nose—I ketched him in the very feet,
coming out of the housemaids garret.—But I have gi’en the
dirty slut a siserary. O Molly! the sarvants at Bath are
devils in garnet. They lite the candle at both ends—Here’s
nothing but ginketting, and wasting, and thieving and
tricking, and trigging; and then they are never content—They
won’t suffer the ‘squire and mistress to stay any longer;
because they have been already above three weeks in the house;
and they look for a couple of ginneys a-piece at our going
away; and this is a parquisite they expect every month in the
season; being as how no family has a right to stay longer than
four weeks in the same lodgings; and so the cuck swears she
will pin the dish-clout to mistress’s tail; and the house-maid
vows, she’ll put cowitch in master’s bed, if so be he don’t
discamp without furder ado—I don’t blame them for making the
most of their market, in the way of vails and parquisites; and
I defy the devil to say I am a tail-carrier, or ever brought a
poor sarvant into trouble—But then they oft to have some
conscience, in vronging those that be sarvants like themselve
—For you must no, Molly, I missed three-quarters of blond
lace, and a remnant of muslin, and my silver thimble; which
was the gift of true love; they were all in my workbasket,
that I left upon the table in the sarvants-hall, when
mistresses bell rung; but if they had been under lock and
kay, ‘twould have been all the same; for there are double keys
to all the locks in Bath; and they say as how the very teeth
an’t safe in your head, if you sleep with your mouth open—And
so says I to myself, them things could not go without hands;
and so I’ll watch their waters: and so I did with a vitness;
for then it was I found Bett consarned with O Frizzle. And as
the cuck had thrown her slush at me, because I had taken part
with Chowder, when he fit, with the turnspit, I resolved to
make a clear kitchen, and throw some of her fat into the fire.
I ketched the chare-woman going out with her load in the
morning, before she thought I was up, and brought her to
mistress with her whole cargo—Marry, what do’st think she had
got in the name of God? Her buckets were foaming full of our
best bear, and her lap was stuffed with a cold tongue, part of
a buttock of beef, half a turkey, and a swinging lump of
butter, and the matter of ten mould kandles, that had scarce
ever been lit. The cuck brazened it out, and said it was her
rite to rummage the pantry; and she was ready for to go before
the mare: that he had been her potticary many years, and would
never think of hurting a poor sarvant, for giving away the
scraps of the kitchen. I went another way to work with madam
Betty, because she had been saucy, and called me skandelus
names; and said O Frizzle couldn’t abide me, and twenty other
odorous falsehoods. I got a varrant from the mare, and her box
being sarched by the constable, my things came out sure enuff;
besides a full pound of vax candles, and a nite-cap of
mistress, that I could sware to on my cruperal oaf—O! then
madam Mopstick came upon her merry bones; and as the squire
wouldn’t hare of a pursecution, she scaped a skewering: but
the longest day she has to live, she’ll remember your
Humble sarvant, W. JENKINS BATH, May 15.
If the hind should come again, before we be gone, pray send me
the shift and apron, with the vite gallow manky shoes; which
you’ll find in my pillowber—Sarvice to Saul—
--
AIOE °¿°
