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Elementary Latin Dictionary
With a vocabulary extended to include all words used by Catullus, Tibullus, Propertius, and Tacitus, as well as those used by Terence, Caesar, Sallust, Cicero, Livy, Nepos, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Juvenal, Phaedrus, and Curtius, this abridgement of Lewis's Latin Dictionary for Schools excludes proper names and detailed references to books and passages, and limits illustrative citations.
- GenresReferenceLinguistics
952 pages, Hardcover
First published March 26, 1963
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
March 21, 2011
The Elementary Latin Dictionary was first published in 1890. My edition, picked up for pocket change at a university book sale, dates from 1915. Aside from an ancient ink blot on the cover and a wonky spine, it’s still in remarkably good condition. (Will your Kindle last 96 years?) On the flyleaf, written in careful, ladylike script, are two names: Gertrude Fuller and Catherine Canfield, of 38 Allbright House and 91 Elm St., respectively. Canfield has added ’18 after her name, presumably her graduation date. (Just think: when my dictionary was being toted around in these young ladies’ satchels, women couldn’t even vote yet. The mind does that mysterious thing: it boggles.)
I feel for this book the curious affection that better-adjusted men have for their cars or boats. Its thoroughness, authoritativeness and all-around awesomeness mark it as a product of 19th-century scholarship, as the work of grave gentlemen with chinstrap beards hanging from their sternly-clenched jaws. As far as I know, the ELD has never been bettered. Other dictionaries may be more complete and scholarly, but for the student and amateur Latinist—all four of us—this is still the go-to resource. What makes it so indispensable is its semantic discrimination: it recognizes the figurative and idiomatic uses that cheaper modern dictionaries tend to leave out. An example: every first-year Latin student knows the verb ferre, meaning to bear or carry. The problem is, when you’re reading an actual Latin author, this ‘head’ definition will be misleading or inapplicable half the time, because over the centuries the word gathered a thick encrustation of metaphorical meanings (e.g. to be pregnant, to plunder, to suffer, to say etc.) The ELD includes such pesky usages and gives illustrative citations from Caesar, Virgil and the rest. Often enough, the very sentence you’re bashing your head against will turn up in the relevant entry, as an example of some peculiar nuance. I can’t tell you how soothing that is. It makes you feel a little less dense, a little less linguicidal.
Wow, that really happened: I just spent a whole afternoon writing about a century-old Latin dictionary. Now I know what my dad was talking about when he wondered why I couldn’t be more like other boys.
I feel for this book the curious affection that better-adjusted men have for their cars or boats. Its thoroughness, authoritativeness and all-around awesomeness mark it as a product of 19th-century scholarship, as the work of grave gentlemen with chinstrap beards hanging from their sternly-clenched jaws. As far as I know, the ELD has never been bettered. Other dictionaries may be more complete and scholarly, but for the student and amateur Latinist—all four of us—this is still the go-to resource. What makes it so indispensable is its semantic discrimination: it recognizes the figurative and idiomatic uses that cheaper modern dictionaries tend to leave out. An example: every first-year Latin student knows the verb ferre, meaning to bear or carry. The problem is, when you’re reading an actual Latin author, this ‘head’ definition will be misleading or inapplicable half the time, because over the centuries the word gathered a thick encrustation of metaphorical meanings (e.g. to be pregnant, to plunder, to suffer, to say etc.) The ELD includes such pesky usages and gives illustrative citations from Caesar, Virgil and the rest. Often enough, the very sentence you’re bashing your head against will turn up in the relevant entry, as an example of some peculiar nuance. I can’t tell you how soothing that is. It makes you feel a little less dense, a little less linguicidal.
Wow, that really happened: I just spent a whole afternoon writing about a century-old Latin dictionary. Now I know what my dad was talking about when he wondered why I couldn’t be more like other boys.
October 15, 2011
The version I have is the 1915 hardcover book, which has 1029 pages, and even better, advertisements from the same year. Kinda cool. Anyway, this is my bible for Latin. In fact, when I get bored, I like to read it out loud at night, just so the wonderful words trip off my tongue. I have other Latin dictionaries, but this one is my bedrock for pure translation.
I have no idea why I started reading Latin.
Book Season = Year Round
I have no idea why I started reading Latin.
Book Season = Year Round
April 5, 2007
I may have held a steady C+, B- in Latin, but I still loved it. For two years in college, including a semester of intensive, spoken latin (yes, spoken!), this was my best friend.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews