From the tumultuous middle ages to the mid-20th century, Livonian flourished as the mother tongue of thousands in a province on the eastern Baltic coast. Invaders came and went; rulers were appointed and overthrown; but the odd-sounding linguistic hybrid that a minority of locals liked to speak held strong.
Then came the second world war, Nazi occupation and annexation by the Soviet Union. Native speakers of Livonian were displaced and their language assaulted by Russification. Now, from a population of almost 2,500 in the mid-1900s, the number of people who grew up with the language is at an all-time low: only one person now embodies centuries of history and culture.
Whether Livonian's disappearance is viewed stoically as a result of time passing or with horror as a consequence of globalisation, one thing is certain: it is not an unusual case. Yesterday, at its headquarters in Paris, Unesco unveiled its first comprehensive and online database of the world's endangered tongues. According to its team of specialists, there are around 2,500 languages at risk, including more than 500 considered "critically endangered" and 199 which have fewer than 10 native speakers.
"We as human beings should care about this in the same way as we should care about the loss of the world's variety of plants and animals, its biodiversity," said Christopher Moseley, editor-in-chief of the Atlas of the World's Languages in Danger. "Because each language is a uniquely structured world of thought, with its own associations, metaphors, ways of thinking, vocabulary, sound system and grammar - all working together in a marvellous architectural structure which is so fragile that it could easily be lost forever."
The modern world plays its part. A once healthy language dies because its speakers shift allegiances to that of a bigger, more powerful group of people, and, while this can happen through political pressure and military force, it is now most often brought about by the flood of migration from the country to the city. Perhaps unsurprisingly, two of the countries where the risk is greatest are India and Brazil, which are undergoing rapid economic transformations. "[These trends] often bring about the loss of traditional ways of life and a strong pressure to speak a dominant language that is - or is perceived to be - necessary for full civic participation and economic advancement," said Unesco.
Other factors in a language's decline range from the community's own lack of pride in its heritage or a sudden rash of deaths of native speakers to the spread of so-called "killer" languages such as English, French or Spanish. But amid the gloom, there is some hope. A growing awareness of the need to save natural biodiversity has given an extra boost to the preservation movement. "Linguists are for the first time aware of just how many languages there are in the world and are coming to a better understanding of the forces that are attacking them ... and of ways to control those forces," said Moseley.
The world is seeing revival movements. Inspired by high-profile successes of the 20th century - chiefly the renaissance of Hebrew as Israel's national tongue but also the reclaiming of Welsh, Catalan and Breton - tribes and communities in the remotest corners of the globe are fighting for the right to converse as their ancestors did.
Ecuador's Andoa, a language spoken fluently by only 10 people, has been recently revived by its local people. So far they have collected around 150 words and are on the hunt for more.
There is no doubt that a country, with adequate state support and a willingness on the part of the people, can allow its languages to flourish independently of each other. Papua New Guinea is a shining example: although the nation with the greatest linguistic diversity on the planet, it has relatively few endangered tongues. Even Livonian, with its one native speaker, is being relearned on Latvia's Kurzeme peninsula and used by poets to write verses and parents to chat to their children.
What is crucial, said Moseley, is that moves are taken to protect a language. He advocates recording a language so that future generations can hear words no longer spoken. Ned Maddrell, for example, a fisherman from the Isle of Man, took his duties as the last speaker of Manx very seriously, recording various phrases before his death in 1974. Thus anyone desperate to ask a man named Joe "if the crabs are crawling" can learn the phrase, "Vel ny partanyn snaue, Joe?" And also understand at least one response: "Cha nel monney, cha nel monney. T'ad feer ghoan." ("Not much, not much. They're very scarce.")
Only one native speaker left
More than a dozen languages around the world have only one mother tongue speaker left. While some will die soon, others are the focus of the efforts by younger generations keen to revive their forebears' traditions.
Wintu-Nomlaki
A language divided into two main dialects - that of the Wintu people and Nomlaki people, both from the western Sacramento Valley in northern California. Although only one fluent speaker is recorded, there are several 'semi-speakers' thanks to the language's use in traditional stories.
Livonian
30,000 people spoke the language of the province of Livonia in the 13th century and, although speakers diminished over the years, there were still many of them until the second world war and its aftermath. Since Latvian independence there have been efforts to revitalise it.
Yahgan
Cristina Calderon of Ukika village on Chile's Navarino Island is the last speaker of the indigenous tongue of the Yagan people, but there is renewed interest in reviving the language. Yahgan was among the first South American languages to be recorded by European explorers and missionaries.
Kaixna
The only known living speaker of the language is reported by Unesco to be Raimundo Avelino, 78. The language of the 200-strong Kaixana people, who hail originally from a village near the banks of the river Japura in Brazil, has largely been replaced by Portuguese.