For p. 2330. In the Sanskrit language (which is immensely ancient) we find words, forms, declensions, conjugations, etc., that are either very similar to or exactly the same as the corresponding Latin words, especially if one pays attention, as one [2352] should, only to the root letters. And note that a great number of these nouns or verbs are of primary necessity (like the verb to be, the words man, father, mother, etc.), or represent very primitive ideas in the languages. And many of those Sanskrit words also correspond to analogous Greek words, but in effect less than to Latin, and perhaps in a smaller number. What does this indicate, then, but that the Latin language unquestionably preserves clearer and more numerous vestiges than Greek does of earliest antiquity, of its earliest condition, and perhaps its source? For the relations Latium had with India are so ancient that they are lost in the mists of time and unknown to history. In addition, since such words, etc., are of primary necessity and use, they indicate not a simple or recent relationship with those places but a very ancient common derivation or origin with those peoples and those languages. And such words are utterly characteristic of and original to the Latin language, not foreign or recent or added on, etc. And it’s not credible that they came from India [2353] through trade with the Romans later, when the Latin language was already formed, and those words were in constant use by writers and in records, etc., that still survive, and were also analogous to the Greek words. Or, on the contrary, that they were brought to India at that time from Latium, since they are of such daily and basic use, and since the Indian language is very ancient (and certainly did not wait for such a late period to acquire essential words, when it had for a long time been more perfected than Latin), and since those conjugations, forms, words, etc., are as proper and intrinsic to the capital and to the nature and substance of Sanskrit, as to Latin, and finally since we are able, I think, to find, and do find, that their use in Sanskrit greatly predates even the slightest relationship between Latium and India that is known by history. Nor is it credible that those words came to Latium in ancient times by means of the Greek language, for they are more like Sanskrit than the corresponding Greek words are, whereas the contrary should have been true. And they have a closer resemblance to [2354] Sanskrit than to Greek. Which in any case is evidence of what we wish to demonstrate, namely, that the Latin language, deriving from the same or from a similar source as Greek, or even if it was the daughter of Greek, preserves more traces of antiquity (its own and Greek) than the Greek language, as far as, and in the way that, both are known to us.1 (20 Jan. 1822.)
Virgil, Aeneid 6, ll. 567–69 says that Rhadamanthus, the criminal judge of souls, condemns those who haven’t made amends for their sins: “Castigatque auditque dolos; subigitque fateri / Quae quis apud superos, furto laetatus inani” (that is, rejoicing, in vain, at having denied the Gods the satisfaction owed them for his sins) “Distulit in seram commissa piacula mortem” [“He punishes and hears the frauds, and forces confession of the sins that any man, rejoicing vainly in the theft, committed in life, putting off atonement until death”]. The words are remarkable because they inform us that even the pagans had a clear idea and conviction about the possibility and necessity of repentance, and about the impiety and foolishness of those who put off repenting or placating the Gods until death. And note here in Virgil an almost Christian expression. On the possibility and necessity of entreating the gods to forgive one’s sins, see Xenophon, Memorabilia, bk. 2, ch. 2, p. 14.2 (22 Jan. 1822.)
[2355] For p. 1150, end. Ostentare as the indisputable continuative of ostendere simply in the sense of to show, or to display, etc., and continuative in duration, can be seen in Virgil, Aeneid 3, 701–704: “Adparet Camerina procul, campique Geloi, / Immanisque Gela fluvii cognomine dicta. / Arduus inde Acragas ostentat maxima longe / Moenia, magnanimum quondam generator equorum” [“Far off, Camerina appears, and the Geloan plains and Gela, named for its vast river. Then steep Acragas, once the breeder of noble horses, shows its great walls in the distance”]. That is, doesn’t so much make a display, as simply exhibit, but since this action of showing is continuative here, Virgil, while he could have said ostendit, which would have been incorrect, although equally suitable to the line, rightly said ostentat. (22 Jan. 1822.)
We say leccare [to lick], the French lécher (the Spanish, find it), the Greeks λɛίχɛιν, the Latins nothing like it. At first glance, it’s evident that the Greek λɛίχω, that is, lecho, or licho, is the same as our lecco, which is also, colloquially, pronounced licco. And note, too, that the French do not say léquer or lecquer but lécher, preserving the Greek χ. These are among the earliest, primitive words in our languages. They are very colloquial, indeed plebeian; there is no other word in everyday language to denote that action. [2356] The word λɛίχω is very old, absolutely a part of the Greek language. How, then, this correspondence between very ancient Greek and very modern, living, and everyday Italian, French, etc.? Isn’t it obvious that leccare, lécher, etc., come to us from Vulgar Latin? From what source other than a vernacular can a word so vernacular, and belonging to our most ordinary speech, have come to us? And what other vernacular than Latin could have had this Greek word, using it colloquially, and communicating it to these two modern languages, which arose separately from one another? But how could an ancient Greek verb become so common in Vulgar Latin, and be preserved until recent times? Certainly the Latin people did not study Greek, and the aristocrats were more Hellenizing than the plebeians. It is therefore clear that that verb must originate in the primitive source of Greek and Latin (both of which were vernacular when they arose, as are all languages); and that although it was later lost, or excluded from polite writing, and from aristocratic language, like many other words [2357] (and as happens precisely in Italian where many vernacular words, although they are derived from the purest Latin, that is, from our mother, are excluded from polite writings or speech, precisely because they became too colloquial through daily use by the plebeians, etc., and other words whose origin or form is corrupt are given preference), it was preserved forever in popular language. And precisely here we can observe an example of what I said in the parenthesis, since lingo [to lick] (see Forcellini) is merely a corruption of λɛίχω, or lecho, or licho, yet the former was adopted in writing, the latter excluded, although certainly it existed in the Latin language, as we have seen. See Du Cange under Lecator, and note also Licator, in an example there, and also under its own entry. (23 Jan. 1822.)
I’ve said elsewhere [→Z 2279–80] that the Spanish sitiar for assediare [to besiege] perhaps comes from a sidiari, or sidiare, the root of obsidiari [to lie in wait for], etc. I would add, if I didn’t already say it there, that likewise sitio for assedio [siege] doesn’t seem to be other than sidio sidionis, that is, obsidio [siege] with the preposition ob removed, which, in fact, is merely an addition to a root word, which must be [2358] sidio. And since the root is older than the compound, so we have in Spanish (certainly by no means other than Vulgar Latin) a word older than obsidio and unknown in Latin writings, which recognize only this last, and consequently it must have been preserved only in the vernacular, from earliest times. (24 Jan. 1822.) See if the Glossary has anything.
For p. 2282, margin. Among the modern vernaculars you find not mas but, rather, masculus [male] (maschio, mâle, see the Spanish). Oculus [eye] is a pure derivative of an ancient occus, lost in Latin writings, where only the diminutive remains in its place (occus is lost in Vulgar Latin as well; the oco of the Russians might derive from it, too), whence occhio, oeil (like oreille from auricula, following the custom of French pronunciation), and ojo, which comes not directly from occus but from oculus, as oreJA does from auriCULA, etc. And on the subject of that and similar diminutives see pp. 980ff. (24 Jan. 1822.)
For p. 2052. A moderate difficulty encountered also in understanding writings, styles, etc., whether it arises from the ideas or the expression, and especially if it comes from concision, swiftness, compactness of style, etc., is pleasurable because
it exercises the mind and seems to give it a certain strength, and all [2359] sensations of strength are pleasurable, in the mind as in the body, just as moderate exercise of the body is pleasurable, giving it a proper sense of vigor, etc. (24 Jan. 1822.)
For p. 1154, margin. The verb irritare [to incite, to excite] also belongs in this category when it means irritum facere [to render useless] (perhaps always), a meaning, however, that is not very Latin, says Forcellini, Irrito, at the end. Since irritus comes from ratus, the participle of reor [to suppose], etc. See Forcellini in all these places, and whether the Glossary has anything. Furthermore, the observation that from ratus you get the compound irritus, along with a hundred other examples of a very different type, demonstrates that the change from a to i is common in Latin, when roots or even words undergo some change, such as in the formation of a frequentative, e.g., imperitare [to command] from imperatus [command]. (24 Jan. 1822.)
For p. 2351, end. The same applies to cui, huic, etc., monosyllables. See Forcellini under Qui, etc., and the Regia Parnassi. (25 Jan. 1822.)
For p. 2319, margin. Regarding contractions, a reliable indication [2360] of what I wish to demonstrate, see in particular Forcellini under Semianimis [half-alive], in the last paragraph, where he observes that such syllables, consisting in the poets of several vowels, have already been noted by scholars and called figures (that is, in fact, diphthongs that are not discussed in prosody), which are given their proper names, that is, synizesis, synecphonesis, etc.1 See, e.g., Virgil, Aeneid 4, 686: Semianimis, four syllables; ibid., 3, 578; 5, 697: semiustus [half-burned] three syllables, etc. Note also that the syllable mia of semianimis is short, even though it has two vowels, which lends support to my opinion. And on all such words see the Regia Parnassi. I said p. 2339 (see the page) that nominatives (especially plural), genitive singulars, etc., of the fourth declension are all contractions, since from the beginning manuus [hand], etc., was pronounced with a double u. Now on this subject see manum, genitive plural, in Virgil, Aeneid 3, 486, cited by me p. 2250, margin. And in other places, too, you will find genitive plurals of the fourth declension similarly contracted, and I recall having found some other examples in Virgil (Aeneid 6, 653). I say contractions, either in the writing or for reasons of meter. I also think that the ablative hoc in ancient times was pronounced, and perhaps written, hooc, or is, in other words, a contraction of 2 vowels, etc. (25 Jan. 1822.) See p. 2365.
Extremus, formaque ante omnes pulcher Julus,
Sidonio est invectus equo: quem candida Dido
[2361] Esse sui dederat monumentum et pignus amoris.
[Last, but first in beauty among all, Iulus
is mounted on a Sidonian horse; which fair Dido
had given as a memorial and pledge of her love]
Aeneid 5, 570–72. Unquestionably for invehitur [is carried], an expression similar to our vernacular: è posto, è assiso [is placed, is seated]; è portato da un cavallo Sidonio [is carried by a Sidonian horse], etc. Since our present passive is formed with the verb to be and the past participle. Not so in Latin. And yet in this place est invectus [is carried] is not past but present. And in a writer as refined as Virgil. See the Commentators. Besides, see Virgil’s context, and you will find that it has to be present, as are the other verbs he uses, before and after: portat [to bear], ducit [to lead], fertur [to be carried], etc. (26 Jan. 1822.)
What does it mean that man is so fond of the imitation and expression of passions? And, even more, of the most vivid? And, even more, of the liveliest and most effective imitation? Wherefore painting or sculpture or poetry, etc., however beautiful, effective, elegant, and fully imitative it is, if it doesn’t express passion, if it doesn’t have some passion as its subject (or merely one not vivid enough), it is always subordinated to those arts which do express it, even if their subject is less perfect. And the arts that cannot express passion, like architecture, are considered the lowest among the fine arts, and the least pleasing. And drama and lyric are considered among the highest for the opposite [2362] reason. What does that mean? It’s not only the truth of the imitation, not only the beauty of the subjects and of the imitation, that man desires, but its force, and energy, which makes him active, and inspires in him strong feelings. Man hates inactivity, and he wants to be freed from it by the fine arts. For that reason, paintings of towns, idylls, etc. etc., will always have little effect, and so, too, paintings of shepherdesses, country frolics, etc., beings, in short, without passion. And the same goes for writing, sculpture, and, relatively speaking, music. (26 Jan. 1822.)
The Italians, the French, the Spanish use the verb adcolligere (accogliere, accueillir, acoger) in the sense of excipere [to receive]. See the respective dictionaries, the Glossary, and Forcellini. (27 Jan. 1822.)
“Aurum rustici orum dicebant, ut auriculas oriculas” [“The peasants said orum for aurum {i.e., gold}, likewise oriculas for auriculas {ears}”]. Festo, under Orata, in Forcellini, auricula. And today the Italians, the French, and the Spanish speak like those ancient peasants, not only in the case of these words but a thousand others like them. (27 Jan. 1822.)
Aliter used in Latin the way altrimenti [otherwise] is in Italian, that is, as we say, e.g., fa questo, [2363] altrimenti t’ammazzo [do this, otherwise I’ll kill you], that is, for se no or se non che [if not] (see the Crusca under Se non, § 4, where it explains sin secus [if otherwise], alioquin [otherwise], and in Italian Altrimenti, although in this entry it doesn’t mention that use), I mean used in that sense, is very rare in good Latin, and might be thought to be a mistake, and a modern phrase. Here is an example from Aeneid 6, 145ff.: “Et rite repertum” (the golden branch, sacred to Proserpine, as he says, see l. 138) “Carpe manu. Namque ipse volens facilisque sequetur, / Si te fata vocant: aliter non viribus ullis / Vincere, nec duro poteris convellere ferro” [“And when it’s found duly pluck it with your hand. For it will go willingly and easily on its own, if the fates call you; otherwise no strength will enable you to win it nor hard steel tear it”]. See Forcellini aliter, last paragraph. I doubt, however, that those two examples, especially the first, are exactly to the point. (27 Jan. 1822.)
For p. 2340, margin. Also see Forcellini under Fido [to trust], Fisus [trusting], Confido [to trust], Confisus [trusting] (past participles that are not passive but neuter, and not from deponents but from neuters) and Virgil, Aeneid 5, penult. line (870–71): “O nimium coelo et pelago confise sereno, / Nudus in ignota, Palinure, iacebis arena” [“O too trusting in the sea and the serene sky, Naked you will lie, Palinurus, on an unknown shore”]. (27 Jan. 1822.)
The very few Italian poets who in this or the past century have had some glimmer of genius and poetic nature, some hint of power in their minds [2364] or feelings, some hint of passion, have all been melancholy in their poetry (Alfieri, Foscolo, etc.). Parini, too, tends to melancholy, especially in the odes, but also in the Giorno, however playful it may seem. But Parini didn’t have enough strength of passion or feeling to be a true poet. And generally it’s only pure weakness of feeling, the absence of poetic force of mind that allows today’s Italian poets (and those of other centuries, and every other nation, too), even those who are most distinguished and who thanks to certain stylistic merits, or their strained imagination, are considered poets, to be joyful in their poetry, and also inclines them, and compels them, to prefer the joyful to the melancholy. What I say about poetry I say equally about the other parts of literature. Wherever melancholy is not dominant in modern literature, weakness alone is the cause. (27 Jan. 1822.)
The use of the preposition senza [without] plus a noun as an adjective is characteristic of our language, of French, of Spanish: e.g., luogo senz’acqua, vento senza umidità, casa senza luce [place without water, wind without dampness, house without light], etc., that is, deprived of, etc. [2365] It is not frequent in Latin and can seem a barbarism. But you see it in Virgil, Aeneid 6, 580, in Forcellini under sine [without], first example, in the quotation from Caligula in Suetonius, “arena sine calce”
[“sand without limestone”],1 etc. We use other prepositions in the same way as well. This usage is not very proper in good Latin, but many other examples of it could be found. We also use such expressions as adverbs, as I said pp. 2264ff. (28 Jan. 1822.)
For p. 2360, end. Therefore, just as the genitive plural was contracted, and manum was said for manuum [of the hands], so, too, the other cases—which, like the genitive, must have had the double u from the beginning—must have been contracted. Likewise, noting that the i, which is always, or almost always, short according to the rules of Latin prosody (I say the rules, and not in those cases that depend on custom alone, such as ītălĭa, etc.), is always, and regularly, long in the dative plural ending of the first and second declensions leads us to believe that it was originally double, or accompanied by some other vowel, which made that a two-vowel syllable and δίφθογγον [diphthong].2 On that subject, observe that vowels that are naturally long in Greek, η and ω, were in the beginning double, that is, two E E, two O O. Similarly, I think that those vowels which were as a rule long in Latin were originally double. (28 Jan. 1822.)
Nimium vobis Romana propago
Visa potens, superi, propria haec si dona fuissent.
[The Roman race would have seemed too powerful to you, gods, if it possessed such a gift.]
Virgil, [2366] Aeneid 6, 870–71, speaking of Marcellus the younger in the person of Anchises. Compare this to what I’ve said elsewhere [→Z 197–98, 453–55] about the envy of human things that the ancients attributed to the Gods, about the belief that the Gods could become jealous, and take offense at and fear our power, etc. Only small traces of that and other similarly absurd opinions, however natural and primitive they may be, are found in Virgil, for he is too learned, and writes in a time that was too open-minded, and philosophical, and beginning to be saddened by metaphysics, and not long after produced Christianity.1 (29 Jan., Feast of St. Francis de Sales, 1822.)
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