Temeli Oğuz Türkçesine dayanan Türkiye Türkçesi ağızları sadece Anadolu sahasında değil, Anadolu sınırlarını aşarak Azerbaycan, Kafkaslar, İran, Irak, Suriye, Kırım, Kıbrıs, Rumeli, Batı Trakya, Kosova, Bulgaristan ve Romanya gibi ülkelerde de varlığını sürdürmektedir. Oğuz Türkçesinin bu kadar geniş bir sahaya yayılmış olması, Anadolu’ya muhtelif tarihlerde doğudan ve kuzeyden gelen diğer Türk topluluklarının göçleri, Osmanlılar döneminde sıkça uygulanan iskân ve yer değiştirme politikaları bu sahada ağız çeşitlenmelerine neden olmuştur. Aynı durum Doğu grubu ağızlarının yayılım gösterdiği Doğu ve Güneydoğu Anadolu bölgelerini içine alan sahada da çeşitli ağız dallanmalarına zemin hazırlamıştır. Karahan’ın Türkiye Türkçesi ağızlarının sınıflandırılmasında Doğu grubu ağızları olarak adlandırdığı ve bu çalışmanın konusunu oluşturan ağızlar, ses bilgisi ve şekil bilgisi bakımından detaylı olarak incelenmiştir.

THE translations given in this volume, with the exception of the stormscene from Tolstoy in the First Lecture, are my own. The reader will please bear in mind that these Lectures, printed here exactly as delivered, were written with a view to addressing the ear as well as the eye, otherwise the book would have been entirely different from what it now is. When delivering the Sixth Lecture, I read extracts from Tolstoy’s “My Religion” and “What to Do,” illustrating every position of his I there commend; but for reasons it is needless to state, I omit them in the book. I can only hope that the reader will all the more readily go to the books themselves.

1889. P. GRAFTON, MASS., 1 July, 1889.

There are, first of all, two kinds of authors: those who write for the subject’s sake, and those who write for writing’s sake. While the one have had thoughts or experiences which seem to them worth communicating, the others want money; and so they write, for money. Their thinking is part of the business of writing. They may be recognized by the way in which they spin out their thoughts to the greatest possible length; then, too, by the very nature of their thoughts, which are only half-true, perverse, forced, vacillating; again, by the aversion they generally show to saying anything straight out, so that they may seem other than they are. Hence their writing is deficient in clearness and definiteness, and it is not long before they betray that their only object in writing at all is to cover paper. This sometimes happens with the best authors; now and then, for example, with Lessing in his Dramaturgie, and even in many of Jean Paul’s romances. As soon as the reader perceives this, let him throw the book away; for time is precious. The truth is that when an author begins to write for the sake of covering paper, he is cheating the reader; because he writes under the pretext that he has something to say.

From times immemorial, literature has accumulated a large and varied store of all kinds of general ideas and conceptions, material and metaphysical, to which the masters have recourse the moment the over-exacting and over-restless human voice begins to be heard. This is exactly the point. Tchekhov himself, a writer and an educated man, refused in advance every possible consolation, material or metaphysical. Not even in Tolstoi, who set no great store by philosophical systems, will you find such keenly expressed disgust for every kind of conceptions and ideas as in Tchekhov. He is well aware that conceptions ought to be esteemed and respected, and he reckons his inability to bend the knee before that which educated people consider holy as a defect against which he must struggle with all his strength. And he does struggle with all his strength against this defect. But not only is the struggle unavailing; the longer Tchekhov lives, the weaker grows the power of lofty words over him, in spite of his own reason and his conscious will. Finally, he frees himself entirely from ideas of every kind, and loses even the notion of connection between the happenings of life. Herein lies the most important and original characteristic of his creation. Anticipating a little, I would here point to his comedy, The Sea-Gull, where, in defiance of all literary principles, the basis of action appears to be not the logical development of passions, or the inevitable connection between cause and effect, but naked accident, ostentatiously nude. As one reads the play, it seems at times that one has before one a copy of a newspaper with an endless series of news paragraphs, heaped upon one another, without order and without previous plan. Sovereign accident reigns everywhere and in everything, this time boldly throwing the gauntlet to all conceptions. In this, I repeat, is Tchekhov’s greatest originality, and this, strangely enough, is the source of his most bitter experiences. He did not want to be original; he made super-human efforts to be like everybody else: but there is no escaping one’s destiny. How many men, above all among writers, wear their fingers to the bone in the effort to be unlike others, and yet they cannot shake themselves free of cliché—yet Tchekhov was original against his will! Evidently originality does not depend upon the readiness to proclaim revolutionary opinions at all costs. The newest and boldest idea may and often does appear tedious and vulgar. In order to become original, instead of inventing an idea, one must achieve a difficult and painful labour; and, since men avoid labour and suffering, the really new is for the most part born in man against his will.