The remedy, then, for the ravages of time, which harm languages and necessitate novelty in words, no less through eliminating many of them than through suppressing the differences in their meanings and restricting their number, is to adopt new words that express those things or parts or differences between things which were expressed by words that had become synonymous and equal in value to others which originally had been different. And if, as I have said [→Z 1486–87] from about 30,000 Latin words that passed into Italian [1491] there remain only 10,000 meanings, for the Italian language truly to measure up to the riches of its mother, with regard to this same part of it, it would have to find another 20,000 words that had the lost meanings. And then Italian, in surpassing Latin in its abundance of synonyms, and in the variety, elegance, etc., arising from them, would also equal it in genuine wealth and variety, and synonymy would not jeopardize the propriety, etc., of the discourse.
People will counter that this is something that the Italian language has already achieved, etc. I deny this outright. I agree that the Italian language, by making use both of Latin sources, through drawing on more of them than popular language had drawn on, and of the vivacity of the Italian imagination, with its supreme and beautiful aptitude for metaphors, etc. etc., and by many other means, has managed to achieve a propriety, abundance, wealth, in short, a capacity for expression perhaps greater than any other modern language, except, however, in philosophical topics, [1492] and in everything having to do with precision (which differs from propriety), and generally with themes that are modern and come after the best times of the language. I do not deny either that the Italian language has retained much more of its original substance than have other languages, and retained it more effectively, as I have explained p. 1503.1 But who would dispute that, notwithstanding its great quantity of synonyms, indeed in large part because of them, it is still decidedly inferior to the wealth and propriety of its mother? This is clearly evident in translations. Take a page, I won’t say by Tacitus or Sallust, but by Livy or Cicero, and without heeding elegance, see if it is possible to render every word and every sentence so exactly that your translation says precisely what the text does, and neither more nor less. You will see how much is still missing in the Italian language for it to succeed, how many Latin words and phrases do not have a perfect equivalent in Italian, and how many minute yet utterly distinct meanings absolutely cannot be signified in our language, which is nonetheless the mightiest of the three sisters as far as translations are concerned, etc. And you would be bound to agree that Italian [1493] writing is still generally and as a whole visibly inferior to Latin, in propriety and variety of expression adapted to minute variations in things. And this is without even taking account of the very subtle but real differences the meanings of the most homonymous words and phrases have in the different languages, even those that are closely related.
Thus, through consideration of the theory of synonyms, which, I maintain, are not primordial, but true and frequent in modern languages, one may deduce a new and very convincing proof of the need for novelty in languages. And more particularly, we find confirmation, with respect to the Italian language, of the appropriateness of continuing to draw on Latin sources for those words and phrases which, not having yet been introduced into our language, cannot have lost their difference of meaning with respect to others already derived from the same source, nor have become synonyms, etc. A rapid and excellent means of enhancing the propriety and [1494] essential wealth of our language, and of rendering it equal, if that is possible, to the ancient languages. For the Latin language is perhaps the most precise of the ancient languages, and therefore great propriety and accuracy must derive from enriching ourselves again at its sources, as yet untainted, etc. (10–13 August 1821.)
What language is more varied than Latin? (except perhaps Greek.) And which is more correct? Not even Greek perhaps. And variety stems naturally from propriety, as I have said p. 1479. It was strictly correct by law, and someone writing without propriety would not have been writing Latin but Barbarous, whereas Greek, though capable of being equally and even more precise, was freer, and I have already observed elsewhere [→Z 244] how each Greek writer has a particular miniature lexicon, that is to say, makes continual use of the same words, and restricts himself to just one part of his language, so that there cannot be perfect propriety. The Latins required a perfect knowledge and use of their language, not only overall but also in particular, and as a result the lexicon that can be compiled for each good writer of Latin is [1495] generally far more extensive than that for any classical Greek writer. And yet the Greek language was richer than Latin. But the language of each Latin writer was richer than that of each Greek one, except for the later Greek writers, such as Lucian, Longinus, who are very rich indeed, and all the more so the less ancient their style is, because contemporaries, such as Arrian, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, are more ancient in style and less rich in language. The very wealth of the Greek language impoverished writers, until such time as it was studied with perfect art, which is always characteristic of imperfect and decadent times.
Now, to return to the matter in hand, which language, despite having these qualities, was poorer in synonyms than Latin, not so much in words but, if I may so put it, in expressions? And yet it was so diverse, etc. Indeed, the very lack of synonymy produced that individual wealth in each writer, who was obliged to alter his expression to fit every trifling variation in the discourse. Synonymy is much greater in the ancient and excellent Greeks, [1496] that is to say, until the Greek language was wholly mastered through art and study. When it was so mastered, synonymy became much less, and variety and propriety much greater. And Lucian is much more correct than Isocrates, whose language is so studied. So that exquisite propriety is really alien to the best Greek language, and changes its character in later writers, bringing them closer to the character of Latin. The Latin writers who emerged in periods dominated by art always had a full and complete mastery of their language.
Let us consider, however, the ancient languages; let us consider the first writers in each modern language, and we shall find that synonymy, by comparison with modern languages and texts, is very rare indeed. Which confirms that it is not primordial, but is produced and continuously increased by time, and causes grave harm to propriety, forcefulness, etc., and genuine wealth. A harm irreparable in itself, and against which the definition [1497] of the precise value of words, the use of lexicons, dictionaries of synonyms, etc., presents a barely adequate obstacle. A harm that therefore absolutely requires novelty in words, the sole means of correcting the impoverishment that time causes languages in this regard, and that can no more be impeded than can the harm caused them through the elimination of words—and, in my opinion, a markedly greater one.
Wherever synonymy prevails, propriety suffers to some degree. Italian writers may resemble the Greeks with respect to what I have said, just as I have noted on other occasions [→Z 244–45, 321]. And not only the writers, but the language also. Latin may resemble French in this regard, as I have also said elsewhere [→Z 322, 1098]. The former, from the ancient languages, the latter from the modern, are perhaps those most short of true synonymy. Hence it is also necessary for the French writer wholly and entirely to master his language, something that the Italians do not need, not I mean to write well, but just to be able to write in Italian.
So although both the French and the Latin language are short of true synonymy, and are [1498] very similar in the fact of their both depending to a very great extent on art, and on exact definition, etc., nonetheless, the differences between them, even with regard to the aspect we are considering, are very great. The French language is short of synonymy, not so much because of accuracy, or a perfect preservation of the original value of the words (like Latin), but because of poverty. A poor language will always be accurate, provided that the poverty does not attain the other extreme, the point reached, e.g., by the Hebrew language. The difference in times and causes produce
s the difference in outcome. Ancient art made the Latin language precise and essentially rich above all others. Modern and mathematical art, in seeking to make the French language accurate, has made it exceedingly poor. Hence from its accuracy, and from the scarcity of its synonyms, there arises neither propriety, nor forcefulness, nor variety, nor richness. The accuracy of Latin writing led them to vary expression to fit the minutest variations in a discourse. The French cannot do the same. The word or phrase they employ is certainly the one their language [1499] makes available to them, the one that fits, and that could not be replaced by another. But it recurs very often, because it fits many things, and consequently it produces neither propriety nor forcefulness, since very often it only fits a particular thing because the language is poor and has no other way of expressing it, nor of differentiating it from other things, or parts, or accidents, etc. etc. etc. I mean this in a general sense, and excluding those topics in which the French language abounds in precise words. But I have explained elsewhere [→Z 110–111, 323, 951–52, 1226] how it is that precision (in which the French language reigns supreme) has nothing to do with propriety, and how neither beauty nor variety nor forcefulness (which is always related to the imagination, while precision speaks to reason) derive from it. Now, however, I am only speaking about propriety, and I am considering languages and their wealth in terms of the beautiful rather than the exact, etc.
On the other hand, the very ancient and primordial writers, as much Italian and Greek as Latin and French, are always and supremely correct, and lack synonymy. This happens because, even though they did not study, they had a very good and complete mastery of the language, huge though it was, that they themselves were creating or fashioning, both with respect to general aspects and its character, and to particular aspects and words and phrases, and the definition of their meanings, etc. And see pp. 1482–84, which, given this reflection, do not contradict pp. 1494–96. (13–14 August 1821.)
From the theory we have put forward concerning synonyms, some observations may be deduced regarding the [1500] ramification and diversification of the languages born from one and the same mother, especially one that was already formed, cultured, rich, literate, etc. Synonymy arose gradually in the mother language and then spread across various regions, but not all the synonyms were transmitted to each daughter language, and some went to one, some to another. And this is also one of the causes of the greater wealth and propriety of the ancient languages. The daughter languages of an already mature mother language are for the most part less rich than she. When time had suppressed the differences in meanings—either before the spread of the mother language, in the nation that originally partook of that language, or long afterward, in the nations where it is always received in a corrupted form, when it is always defective and poor, because of ignorance and the difficulty of learning a new language, and the impossibility of receiving and using in its entirety a language that was so rich, etc. etc.—time, I repeat, naturally suppresses a fair proportion of the synonyms, retaining only one or two per meaning, which, as they gradually prevail in ordinary use, cause the others to be forgotten, etc.1 Thus necessarily the languages [1501] gradually lose wealth and propriety because of synonymy. Aside from the fact that the daughter languages, which are born from corruption, and from the same damage that time inflicts on the substance of the mother, cannot by any measure inherit it in its entirety. And thus the fund of languages continues to diminish unless it grows in some other direction, and the languages that are born are always poorer than those that produce them, at any rate to start with.
This is also, as I have noted, a major cause of the difference between languages born of one and the same mother. In one nation, this or that synonym prevails, and the others are forgotten, or are never even introduced. In another nation, a different synonym prevails. One nation receives or retains only one synonym with this or that meaning, while another receives or retains two, and another still more, etc. So it happened with the Latin language as it spread into Spain, France, and Italy. And we will very often find that the different ways in which these three languages express themselves in one case or another arise from the differences in the Latin synonym that they have retained, or adopted from the beginning. In order to signify the beautiful, the Italians and the French use a word derived from the Latin bellus, the Spanish use one derived from the Latin formosus. The Spanish and the Italians [1502] say moglie [wife] from the Latin mulier, while the French say femme, from femina. Numerals differ likewise, with one language retaining or adopting more Latin synonyms, and another language fewer. In this regard, French retains the least, Spanish the median, and Italian the most, as much because of the circumstances of the nation as because of how very much it continued to draw from Latin sources, once it had become a literate language. And very often we find that, let us suppose, of 5 or 6 Latin words that over time had become synonyms, Italian will have retained them, and will use either all or almost all of them even in the vernacular, whereas the Spanish, and the French in particular, will scarcely use any one of them. It is certainly rare to find two entirely synonymous Latin words in French, either in their ancient sense or in their current use. They will tend rather to have several words drawn from elsewhere, which are synonymous with other Latin words also retained by them.
We are thus led to conclude how very just and reasonable it is for our language to follow and enrich itself from Latin sources. The mother languages should never be thought of as being shut off from their daughters; we have [1503] sister languages that can indeed draw on the same source as we, but our own language does so much more than the other two. Our language, as is natural of one that was spoken by the Latin nation itself, and which was then modeled by its creators after its mother, retains much more than the other sisters, both as regards character and forms, and as concerning its actual sound and the external shape of the Latin words, the meaning, the actual pronunciation of Latin, etc., and the general tendencies, etc., of the mother. And in addition, as I have said, and as can be seen also from a hundred different points of view, Italian inherited, or later claimed, a much larger share of its mother’s wealth than its sisters did. All this means that since the character of Italian is more Latin than either Spanish or French it adapts very well indeed to new Latin words, phrases, forms, etc., and that they are all the less like strangers in its house because there are so many more of them already lodged there. And that the Italian language, the more it has taken, and is used to taking from Latin, the more, and always proportionately more, it is able to take. For that is how it is with [1504] language. And indeed in all things propriety is measured by character and custom, and novelty is more easily introduced, etc., the more similar it is to the old, etc. Precisely because the Spanish and French languages (especially the latter) have taken less from Latin, and parsimony in this regard has been one of their attributes, and they are not so attuned to the spirit of Latin (French indeed not at all), etc. etc., if they then want to retain their character, even today they cannot draw on Latin more than a certain amount. It is just the reverse with Italian, which will retain its original character, and continue to draw on Latin as it originally did and has become accustomed to doing. (14–15 Aug. 1821.)
Whenever Du Cange’s barbarian Latin Glossary is cited in these pages, one should note that in my edition it is not just Du Cange. There are several addenda and corrections by its editors, the Benedictines of St. Maur, as marked in the manner specified in their preface, p. 8, halfway down the page.1 (15 August, Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, 1821.)
The influence of synonymy on languages is so great, and plays so large a role in their corruption, alteration, subversion, and even total transformation, that [1505] all of the effects mentioned above may in large measure be attributed to it. These include the difficulty of recovering etymologies, the very different aspects of the mother languages with respect to their daughters that are often hardly recognizable as being related, and the gradual but infinite divers
ifications of meaning that words underwent as they passed from one language to another, so that in the end they could not be understood in a different nation which originally spoke the same language and then formed very different languages that were no longer thought to be related, although they are composed in large part of words that were originally the same; and came from a single source, which, on account of these myriad alterations, can no longer be found. Synonymy, I maintain, should be acknowledged to be the direct cause of a large part of all this, while acknowledging other, more material factors, such as diffusion, etc. etc., as primary or mediate, etc., causes. But why synonymy? This is why. Not only similar or scarcely different meanings of various words, but also more distinct and distant ones, are jumbled together by time, by the negligence and ignorance of those to whom a new language, etc., transmigrates, and because of the very use of elegant and metaphoric, etc., speaking or writing, so that even the most disparate words become synonyms. E.g., [1506] in Spanish the verb quaerere [to seek] (querer) has come to mean velle [to wish], volvere [to turn around] (bolver) to mean redire [to return], and circa [around] (cerca) to mean prope [near]. In Spanish again, as in Italian, the verb clamare [to cry out] (llamar, chiamare) has come to have the sense of vocare [to call], in French donare [to give as a present] (donner) to have the sense of dare [to give]. This by dint of synonymy that, by very gradually attaching a very different meaning to these words, has obliterated the words which had actually possessed those meanings, etc. etc. The etymology of these words, and the manner in which they came to have such meanings, etc., may readily be found with respect to the Latin language, which is the direct origin of these three languages. But if we imagine a new language arising from Spanish or French, as one certainly will with time, since they themselves are already very different from their first beginnings, we can be certain that the etymologists would tie themselves in knots, even if they continued to be well acquainted with ancient Latin, just as they are very confused already about many words derived directly from Latin indeed but with meanings so distorted that they can no longer be made out. So it is that languages change and alter by the day, and words, so far as their meaning is concerned, [1507] are greatly transformed, and etymologies are lost, and the original languages hide themselves from view (indeed, they are already hidden) because of synonymy, no less than for other reasons. (16 Aug. 1821.)
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