If Germans today set such store by the well-founded investigation and knowledge of the origins of their language, and regard it as so useful, and if Morhof (Polyhistor, bk. 4, ch. 4)3 complained that in his day his compatriots had neglected to study those origins “Dolendum” [“One must regret”],4 etc., see Andrés, in the passage cited above, p. 249, how much more must we Italians study and profit by the Latin language (which is where our own origins lie); a language so capable of being perfectly [1011] known; a language so rich, so cultured, so literary, etc. etc.; a language so abundant in records of every kind and of such great merit. Whereas conversely the Teutonic language that is at the origin of the German language (Andrés, ibid., pp. 249, 251, 253, ll. 6, 14, 18, comparing these last three passages with p. 266, l. 9) is exceedingly difficult to know with any certainty, and impossible to know except in small part, and is an illiterate, uncultured language, with very few records, and those that survive are in themselves of no value (Andrés, pp. 249–54). Add that the fact of the Latin language being universally known, and having been in use in the world, and still in use in quite a few areas of civil life, enhances not only the richness of the source, etc., but also our capacity to draw upon it much more confidently. Even if the Teutonic language had been equally great and rich, and if by dint of study one could know it all, etc., what could be drawn from a language that has been forgotten, and is known only to the learned, etc. etc.? Who could understand at once the words that were taken from it? etc. See p. 3196. (4 May 1821.)
Modern sentiment is a mixture of sensual and spiritual, flesh and spirit; it is the sanctification of the flesh (where the Christian religion is the sanctification of the spirit); and therefore just as the senses can never be excluded from a living being, this sensibility that sanctifies and purifies them, is acknowledged to be the most effective remedy and preservative against them, and against their baseness. (4 May 1821.)
For p. 952. The French language is less alien to English (and, therefore, less unsuitable as a source of words, etc.), on account of the affinity that English acquired in relation to French after the introduction of the latter into England by means of the Norman conquest (Andrés, passage quoted a little earlier, pp. 252, end, 255, end–256, beginning. Annali di scienze e lettere, Milan, January 1811, no. 13, p. 30, end).1 [1012] Whereas the German language, according to what Tercier “is quite right to assert,” (Académie des Inscriptions, tome 41),1 “of all the languages currently spoken in Europe, more than any other retains the traces of its great antiquity” (Andrés, ibid., pp. 251–52), “and, being more tenacious and more firm than all the others, has managed to retain from its ancient mother a greater number of words, a greater resemblance in its way of proceeding, and a greater affinity in its construction” (ibid., p. 253, beginning).2 (4 May 1821.)
For p. 995, beginning. Celtic yielded to the Roman in such a fashion “that, as Bonamy confesses (‘Discours sur l’introduction de la langue latine dans les Gaules,’ in the Mémoires de l’Académie des Inscriptions, tome 41), very few Celtic words have remained; and in Provençal, according to Astruc (Académie des Inscriptions, tome 41) scarcely one thirtieth part are Gallic words”; just as the Spanish language, which is wholly the daughter of Latin, “no longer retains any trace of the ancient speech of those peoples.” (Andrés, passage quoted above, p. 252.)3 (4 May 1821.)
That the Latin language in its heyday, and when it was fully formed, consisted of two distinct languages, one [1013] vulgar and the other noble, used by patricians and writers (who I do not even think wrote as the patricians used to speak) (Andrés, loc. cit., p. 256, note),1 and that Rome in the period of its greatness had a language that was “rustica, plebeia, vulgaris” [“rustic, plebeian, vulgar”], a “sermo barbarus, pedestris, militaris” [“a barbarous, foot soldier, military speech”] (Spettatore of Milan, issue 97, p. 242),2 is a known and well-established fact, guaranteed, if by nothing else, by the express testimony of Cicero (Andrés, loc. cit.). I may perhaps speak directly about this ancient Vulgar Latin at some point or other.3 We can now see just how impossible it was for the Latin language to become universal when soldiers, merchants, travelers, governors, colonies, etc., were spreading a language that differed from the literary language that alone had substance and form, and alone, therefore, was capable of universality, and when the oneness of a language, as I have said elsewhere [→Z 321–22], is the first precondition for its being able to be universal. Whereas Latin not only was not a single language in its constitution and in its inner character, if I may put it like that, as French is, but was divided even externally into different languages and was, it could be said, double, etc. (4 May 1821.) See p. 1020, paragraph 1.
For p. 999. Thus, a person knowing the ancient Teutonic language would not on that basis understand German without special and serious study. (Andrés, the passage quoted above (p. 1010), p. 253.) Notwithstanding the fact that German, according to Tercier, etc., see p. [1014] 1012, beginning. (5 May 1821.)
The much-vaunted pliability of the French language (Spettatore of Milan, Issue 93, p. 115, l. 14),1 aside from the qualities noted in another thought [→Z 30], has the further characteristic of not being in any way associated with variety, and the French language, though extremely malleable, is always, and in any writer compared with those of other languages, uniform and monotonous. Something that at first sight does not seem compatible with malleability, but in truth this latter is a quality utterly different from richness, boldness, and variety. (5 May 1821.)
For p. 991. Thus Bede the Englishman, despite the fact that his national language—that is, Anglo-Saxon (Andrés, loc. cit. (p. 1010), p. 255, end), different from Celtic, which was established in Scotland and Wales—was also employed for literary purposes, as is evident from what he himself says about one Caedmon, a Benedictine monk, “an illustrious improvisatory poet in his own language” (Andrés, p. 254). A fact which, if nothing else, demonstrates that it was a language that had already taken on a certain form (Bede may perhaps refer to this in the Ecclesiastical History of the Angles).2 (5 May 1821.)
The French u, about which I have spoken in another thought [→Z 54–55], could have been introduced into France by way of Greek Colonies such as Marseilles, etc.
[1015] By way of which colonies, etc., Greek language and literature were established, as is well known, in various parts of Gaul. See Cellarius, where he speaks of Marseilles.1 And Gaul had Greek writers, such as Favorinus of Arelate, St. Irenaeus (though perhaps born a Greek), etc. etc. See also Fabricius, where he speaks of Lucian, Bibliotheca Graeca, bk. 4, ch. 16, § 1, tome 3, p. 486, old ed.
From these observations one could also deduce that the French words which came from Greek and are not found in Latin authors, which in several thoughts I have supposed to have been in Vulgar Latin, such as planer [to soar, hover, glide],2 etc., had come directly into French through its ancient communications with Greek language and literature. This, however, does not strike me as very probable, bearing in mind the fact that the Greek language died out in Gaul a very long time before the birth of French, that Latin prevailed there entirely, and that there is barely a trace of Celtic in French, even though it was the national language (see p. 1012, paragraph 1). How much less likely, then, must it be to find traces of Greek in it! And yet there are so many who have compiled dictionaries explicitly designed for French words derived from Greek. Beyond which, this is an argument of no greater weight than that which holds [1016] for Italian words of the same kind, which one might suppose to be derived from Magna Graecia and Sicily, rather than from Latin. But in fact the Greek language died out in those parts such a long time before the rise of the Italian language, and Latin got established there: and this as a consequence is so much closer to our own language, in order of time, indeed, it is our immediate predecessor. See p. 1040, end. Furthermore, even in Sicily, Greek literature (if not the language also) endured long after Roman domination ended. Diodorus was Sicilian, and so too were other Greek writers. And see Porphyry, Vita Plotini, ch
. 11,1 where it would seem to be the case that in Sicily at that period there were Greek chairs or schools of sophists, as one may say that there were in every part of the Roman Empire, in Rome, in Gaul, at the time of Lucian, etc. Caecilius Siculus, though Roman in name, and having lived in Rome, etc., wrote in Greek. See Constantine Lascaris in Fabricius, Bibliotheca Graeca, tome 14, pp. 22–35, old ed.2 (6 May 1821.) But in the third century, T. Julius Calpurnius, a Sicilian, a Bucolic poet, and a contemporary of Nemesianus, wrote in Latin.3 And so too did other Sicilians, etc.
One effect of the ancient system of national hatred was, in Rome, the custom of the triumph. It was a custom that, given the present system of equality between nations, even between conqueror and conquered, would be intolerable. But it was one that imparted such life to the nation, produced such striking and useful effects, and was perhaps the cause of many of its victories, and of its military and political successes. (6 May 1821.)
[1017] From my theory of pleasure it follows that man, always desiring a pleasure that is infinite and that wholly satisfies him, always desires and hopes for something which he cannot conceive. And so it is in fact. All human desires and hopes, even for the most definite goods, that is, pleasures, and even ones that have already been tried on other occasions, are never absolutely clear and distinct and precise, but always contain a confused idea, and always refer to an object that is hard to conceive. And for this reason and no other, hope is better than pleasure, containing as it does the indefiniteness that reality cannot contain. And that may especially be seen in love, where the passion, and life and activity of the soul are more intense than ever, and desire and hope are by the same token more intense and vivid, and stand out more than in other circumstances. Now, on the one hand, observe that the desire and hope of the true lover is more confused, vague, and indefinite than that of anyone motivated by any other passion, and it is a characteristic of love (and one indeed noted by many) that it presents man with an infinite idea (that is, more perceptibly indefinite than the idea presented by the other passions), one which he can less readily conceive than any [1018] other idea, etc. On the other hand, note that precisely because of this infinity, inseparable from true love, this storm-tossed passion is the source of the greatest pleasures that man can experience. (6 May 1821.)
Modern philosophers, even the truest and most effective of them and those who do the most to put their philosophy into practice, are convinced that, since the world cannot be philosophical, anyone who is must conceal this attribute and conduct himself in social intercourse for the most part as though he were not a philosopher. The ancient philosophers were just the opposite, for example, Socrates, who showed himself in the theater to the people who were laughing at him, for example, the Cynics, the Stoics, and all the rest. So that ancient philosophers formed a class and profession formally distinct from others and also from other sects of philosophers, by contrast with the moderns who, except within themselves, are almost wholly confused with the multitude and the general run of people. A necessary consequence of the predominance of nature among the ancients, and its complete lack of influence on the moderns. It is from nature that doing comes: giving life, reality, a visible body, a perceptible form and action to [1019] thought itself, to reason itself. Whereas modern, reasonable, thinkers are content with the thought itself, which remains within, and has no or very little influence without; and produces next to nothing on the outside. And generally, on account of naturalness as stated, there was much less discordance between appearance and substance among the most educated of the ancients, those in consequence who were more distant from nature, than there is among the most ignorant and inexpert, or most natural, of the moderns. (6 May 1821.)
The Chinese language can perish without its characters perishing, the language can perish and the literature be preserved because it has almost nothing to do with the language, rather, it is intimately bound up with the characters. From which it may be seen that Chinese literature can have had very little influence on the language and that the latter, notwithstanding the richness of its literature, can nevertheless, and perhaps will always be regarded as an uncultured or scarcely cultured language. (7 May 1821.)
From my observations [→Z 963–66, 970–72, 1001–1003] on the limited aptitude of the French for knowing and appreciating other languages, it follows that conversely the Italians are perhaps the most suited for this purpose in the world. And this on account of the multitude, if I may so put it, of the languages that their language contains (whereas French [1020] is a single one), on account of its copiousness, its richness, its variety, on account of its freedom, which is exceptional among the cultured languages, as I have said elsewhere [→Z 343–45], and inherent in its character, on account of its suppleness, which gives rise to the suppleness of the taste and cognitive facility it displays toward what belongs to other languages, for the suppleness of one’s own language becomes the suppleness and adaptability of the instrument enabling one to know and appreciate other languages. And that is still more the case, it must be said, with the Italians with respect to ancient languages, and especially Latin and Greek, both because of the conformity of character, etc., that they have with our own language, and again precisely because the qualities mentioned are common to these languages (and to the cultured ancient languages in general) and to our own. (7 May 1821.)
For p. 1013, end. It could be said that the Greek language suffered, too, from the same disadvantage, and even worse, because of the multiplicity of its dialects. But the Latin language, too, was divided into dialects, like all languages, especially those that are very widespread and widely spoken, and still more, that extend as Latin did over such a diversity of nations and languages. This is evident not so much in the dialect features for which Livy was reproached1 (although some defend him from the charge, it appears that this difference in language or dialect certainly did exist, even if not in his case), nor so much in the various manners of speech and idiosyncrasies of the Latin writers of various nations and regions (see Fabricius [1021] Bibliotheca Graeca, bk. 5, ch. 1, § 17, tome 5, p. 67, old ed., and Massuet’s St. Irenaeus),1 as may also be inferred from the various languages born from Latin in various countries and still living (which manifest a difference in inflections, constructions, expressions, etc., and if this was not as great in earlier times as it is today, it is certainly probable that it amounted to something, and that it grew gradually, stemming from the earlier difference). It is evident rather from the fact that it is in the nature of men that a perfect conformity of speech never subsists except among a very small number of people. (See p. 932, end.) So that I have no doubts that the Latin language really was divided into very many dialects, like Greek, though they were less well known, less authorized and recognized by writers or applied to literature. See below.
On the other hand, the Italian language now suffers (with all due proportion) the disadvantage of the Latin language, more perhaps than any cultured modern language. And it is, therefore, in this regard the least well suited of all languages to universality, since it sharply distinguishes not only its vernacular, but also its spoken from its written form. It was not so in times past, and then Italian was better suited to universality, as the facts prove. In the fourteenth century, the written and the spoken form were almost the same. In Tuscany, this was more or less the case in the sixteenth century, and they could perhaps again be one and the same language if Tuscans wrote Italian or Tuscan the way they speak it. Whereas in the rest of Italy, Italian is not spoken.2 (7 May 1821.) See p. 1024, last paragraph.
For the above paragraph. And therefore precisely less well known today, unlike Greek dialects. So that the dialects of Italy or France, supposing that the Italian or the French language were to fall out of use, would only be known by posterity in a very muddled way because they had not [1022] been formalized or applied to literature (with the exception of Tuscan), except to a small extent in Italy. But so little and inadequately that there are grounds for believing that Italian vernacula
r writings would not and absolutely shall not be handed down to posterity (except perhaps for a very small number, such as those written by Goldoni and Meli).1 (8 May 1821.)
One may also deduce just how much nature has brought about variety while man and art have brought about uniformity from what I have said on the natural, necessary, and infinite variety of languages, pp. 952ff. A greater variety than would at first appear to be the case if for the traveler, for example, it produces continuous innovation not only with regard to language but also with regard to men, since those who express themselves differently likewise seem very different. Something very favorable to the imagination, those who are neither understood by us nor understand us being regarded almost as beings of a different species, because language is a preeminent, foremost, and characteristic thing about men, in every aspect of social existence. Conversely, setting aside men’s concern to standardize, stabilize, regulate, and extend the various languages, today, with so much intense trade between all the nations at once, one could say, a common language has been introduced and has become necessary, and this is French. [1023] Given the trade mentioned above and the present course of society we can predict that French will never again lose its universality, not even if the political, literary, civil, or moral, etc., influence of its nation were to cease. And certainly, if it were not for the fact that nature itself prevents it, it would gradually come about that everyone spoke French on a daily basis, and the child would learn it as its mother tongue, and the dream of a strictly universal language would be realized. (8 May 1821.)
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